by Crowe, Liz
Chapter Seven
Eli sat at his desk, dog at his feet, Beethoven pouring through the speakers. It was four-thirty in the morning on the first day of the last week he would get to see her. At least the way he liked—dressed to brew, wild curly hair pulled back, face clear of makeup, that annoying, yet incredibly sexy gleam in her eyes. She’d been all his and what had he done so far?
He had trained her—turned her into an absolute convert. Helped her discover her deep love for the brewing process from malty start to yeasty finish, humiliated her into remembering formulas, processes, crucial steps. He’d even made her shed angry tears more than once, forcing her to defend herself, and tricking her with questions designed to make her do just that.
He groaned and put his boot-clad feet up on the desk, sipping the dark caffeinated elixir that got him through the early morning funk. Hopster whined and tried to put his huge head under his master’s hand, but Eli shooed him away.
Somewhere along the way he’d managed to fall in deep, dark lust with the woman in spite of how utterly stupid that was. Something he’d had to address with a few girls he’d met since moving here, fucking them hard and long and making at least one of them beg him to move in with her. But he remained aloof. As he’d told Lori, he’d travelled this exact road once before.
The brewery in Oregon, two jobs before this one, he’d fallen for the owner of the company, after they’d given in to a long simmering sexual chemistry—frequently, and with gusto. Her husband had not been amused and the resulting chaos had been a nightmare. Eli finished the coffee, then slid the photo out of the two of them together at the National Beer Fest in Colorado, the year they’d been discovered deep in each other’s pants. He’d begged her to come with him, to move, to escape, to run away. Of course she didn’t. “Grownups stay put, Eli.” She’d said. “They take responsibility for their action. Please stay—with me?” She’d asked. He didn’t.
He’d heard through the grapevine that she’d divorced and her ex-husband had tried to take the brewery from her but had failed. She reached out to him once after that, sending a newsy, noncommittal email informing him that she was now single. With a simple question at the end. “Did you ever really love me, Eli?”
He’d deleted it in seconds unwilling to address it in his own head, much less to her. Because he had, desperately, and had spent the intervening seven years or so doing everything in his power to forget her, he would never make that mistake again. Then he’d clapped eyes on Lori Brockton that morning, her eyes wide and naive, glancing around to see who the “girl in his brewery” might be. And his long held resolve had shattered as if made of glass.
Jesus Christ, Buchanan, will you never learn?
She was out of his league, not his type, practically his boss and, as a bonus, now living with the guy who was indeed his boss. But his palms itched to touch her again; his lips burned to taste her one more time. The few intense moments they’d shared he’d forced on her, just to see what she’d do. Her response had been immediate and satisfying and utterly unacceptable. So, he stopped and contented himself with helping her learn how much she loved his work. Brewing. Now, she claimed she would go study at the Munich Institute.
Yeah, as if her father and boyfriend would allow that. He groaned, tugged automatically at the crotch of his jeans, making room for the familiar and irritating hard-on. Remembering how she tasted, the soft curve of her hip under his hand, the soft noise she made when he—. The sound of a slamming door made him jerk backward, dumping himself unceremoniously onto the office floor. Irritated, he clamored to his feet and took a breath. One more week with her. Then what? Would he even stay here? He already had another brewery courting him away, as usual.
Brockton had state of the art equipment, a dedicated staff, and the willingness to let him experiment. But he knew himself well enough to realize that if he stayed much longer he’d be the catalyst for another human resources mess. Then he saw her, flipping through the brew log, tugging her long hair up under a hat, exposing the line of her neck. He licked his lips, then slid back inside the office to get himself under control before stomping out, yelling at anyone in his way. This was going to be a shit day. One that would make her happy to be shed of this rotation — and of him. He gulped when she turned, a smile lighting her face. He frowned and pointed behind her.
“So, what the fuck were you thinking last night, leaving vessel number five at forty degrees, Brockton? I think you may just have ruined an entire batch of expensive pilsner.”
She crossed her arms and met his glare. “No, I didn’t. We don’t lower the temp again until,” she checked her watch. “Until about ten minutes from now. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take care of that and be out of your way.”
He grinned in spite of himself, watching her ass as she walked away. The stone that had replaced his heart dropped a little further into his gut.
Damn, he was gonna miss this place.
Lori smiled as the classical music rolled around in the brewery, watched the staff scurry around, efficient, happy, in spite of the scowling presence of the brewmaster. They’d all learned so much from him. He’d instilled a sense of pride, a ton of new processes and systems and generally made the whole place run better. She looked over at him and blushed when she realized he’d been starting straight at her, his eyes dark and brooding.
She ignored him for another hour, busying herself with cleaning, then running the filter for a new batch of dark lager. When a hand touched her arm, she jumped, and the safety glasses slid down her nose. “What?” Eli gestured for her to follow him out of the cooler. She did so, all the way into the office at the back, nerves jangling at the memory of their one encounter there. His face radiated anger when he turned to her.
“What is it?” She slid her arms out of the coverall she’d been wearing now that she was back in a room with normal temperatures. The usual buzz and hum of her libido did its song and dance. She kept plenty of space between them, determined not to let him near her again. Things with Garrett had been great. She had no reason whatsoever to want anything else. Of course, she still had not told him about the Institute. But she probably wouldn’t get in anyway, so that would be a non-issue.
When Eli gripped her upper arm she gasped, jolted out of her mental deflection, and stared at his hand, then up at him. “Why are you selling?” He bit each word off at the end, precise and clear. But she still didn’t get what he meant. His proximity, his touch, and the words coming from his mouth simply wouldn’t square in her brain. She pulled out of his grasp.
“Selling what? What are you talking about?” She stepped away, ears buzzing and heart pounding. Attempting to control her breathing, she crossed her arms over her chest. Her hardening nipples irritated the crap out of her behind the thin cotton of her bra and T-shirt. He frowned and dropped into his chair. The dog’s head emerged, and he scratched it distractedly. She perched on the desk across from him. Garrett. Garrett. Remember what you have Lori. Don’t be a dumb ass, impulsive… Oh, my Lord….
In an eye blink he’d risen, pulled her to her feet, and was kissing her, sweeping into her mouth with his tongue, the hard rasp of his beard against her face bringing tears to her eyes. He maneuvered them back into a corner, flipped off the lights and kept kissing her, pressing his tall, hard body into hers. They stayed silent, lips and hands all over each other without words or explanation. He popped the button on her jeans, shoved a hand into her panties and fingered her swollen clit with a groan against the skin of her neck. She propped a foot on a chair, tilted her hips, gave him access as she tugged his long hair loose, let it tumble around his face and shoulders.
“Eli,” she mumbled into his mouth. “Please. I need you.”
“Not half as much as I need you,” he pressed into her body, reached high inside, keeping his thumb against her clit. “Lift up your shirt,” his low, growly voice made her shiver, but she did it. God help her she lifted it up, reached back and released the clasp of her bra and cradled his he
ad as he licked, and sucked and finger fucked her until she groaned and came all over his hand. Her whole body trembled, wouldn’t stop shaking as he put his fingers in his mouth, then into hers letting her taste herself.
His next kiss was gentle. He held her close until she calmed. “I’m sorry,” he said, and stepped back, running a hand down his face. The regret she saw in his eyes brought a twinge of anger to her lusty energy. If he asked, she’d do anything he wanted. Right then. In the office.
She let the wall hold her up and looked him up and down, licking her lips at the sight of the huge mound under his zipper. “I’m not.”
“Well, you should be.” He turned from her.
Fury flared in her chest. How dare he judge her. “Fine. You’re the one who….” He whirled around to face her, his eyes alight with something she’d never seen in them before. Hope.
“I’m the one who gave you what you wanted.” He stepped into her space again lips near her ear. “That’s all. Nothing more or less.”
“Okay,” she put a hand to his face, relishing the rough beard under her palm even as she slid her other hand down, running it along his denim-covered cock. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. “But, something tells me there is more.” She ran her tongue over his full lips. But he pulled away, out of her arms. Anger rushed back in to fill the void he’d left. “Fine. You want to play games with me?” He started to speak but she kept talking. “Mission accomplished. Nothing more is necessary. You proved yourself. Now,” she sat, determined to make this be the last time she asked. “What are you talking about selling? Who is selling? What?”
Eli pinched the bridge of his nose and sat back down in his chair then flipped open his laptop, pulling up his email. He hit a few keys, then turned the machine to face her. “Seems as though your boyfriend is talking to some big boys. He leave that out of your pillow talk this morning?” She glared at him then tried to focus on the small words on the screen.
After reading through the email twice, considering its source and quelling the sudden terror in her brain she sat back. “It’s just a rumor. There are always rumors. We make money, of course we’d be courted. It’s happened before.”
“Huh, well, then if ‘courting’ includes a high-level meeting with the Sullivan Brothers, then okay. I guess Hunter’s had his cherry popped pretty hard. Seems they got to third base with him just last week.” He found another email and turned the laptop screen her way again.
Hey, Buchanan! The email stated. You still with Brockton? I thought you might be interested in this pic I snapped tonight down at Motor City. Lori hit the attachment icon. A photo appeared, covering the whole screen. Garrett, at a dinner table, shaking hands with Fred Sullivan, owner of Sullivan Brothers Brewing and partner with a conglomerate that was partly owned by South African Brewing that owned Miller, Coors and a couple dozen other “macro brews.” She shook her head. Garrett would never sell. He couldn’t. The company wasn’t his to sell.
She stood, needing to be away from this man, and wanting him back in her arms so badly her shoulders ached. “You’re an asshole, Eli Buchanan. You think you can show me this and I’ll just,” she stopped. Eli stayed in his seat, staring at her.
“That you’ll what? Break up with yon climbing management rock star? Fall into my bed? Into my life? Ha!” The loud clap of his harsh laugh made Lori wince. He stood, towering over her, put a hand to her cheek. But, his words stayed hard. “You wanted me, remember. You said so not fifteen minutes ago. I obliged you. Now, I’m out of your system. I don’t give a fuck who you sleep with Lori, but I’ll be damned if that suited tool sells this company out from under you.” He gave her lips a quick swipe with his then pushed her away. “Go back to your organized suburban future. Forget the brewing institute. Forget me. Forget this,” he put the fingers he’d had inside her back to his mouth. She shuddered, trying to decide what was worse: still wanting him so badly her head pounded or being so furious at him she wanted to bash in his face.
“But, you should ask yourself: What does Mr. Hunter want from you, hmm? Are you a woman or a meal ticket?”
Closing the two feet between them she slapped him, then again, the satisfying feel of his jaw against her palm making her smile. He caught her wrist on the third upswing. “Enough.”
She turned and walked out, face stinging with unshed tears, body clamoring for more from the man she’d just left behind, brain spinning with the concept that Garrett was indeed looking to profit somehow, and that all he’d done for her, for the company was only for himself.
Chapter Eight
Garrett stared at the phone, incredulous. Then let pure white fury take over. “Fuck!” He threw the stupid device across the room. It made a wholly unsatisfying bounce on the couch and hit the floor without a scratch. He glared at it, surprised at himself and wondering if the extreme emotion that Lori had brought into his life was a good or a bad thing.
His assistant was at the door in a flash. “What happened?” She took in his bright red face and frowned. “Vernon giving you fits in the warehouse again, hon?” She picked up the phone and put it back on his tidy desk. He glared at it.
“No. I wish it were that simple.” Her eyes widened. “Never mind. Do you want tickets to the Detroit Symphony tonight Mrs. Anderson? I seem to have a spare pair on me.” He turned away from her realizing he was being petulant but unable to care at the moment. Jesus. Every time he felt he had a breakthrough with Lori she blindsided him with some kind of new personality wrinkle.
Her breezy excuse sailed through his brain again. “Sorry. I have to work this weekend.” She’d kept her voice light but he heard the tension in it.
“Work.” He’d repeated like an idiot. “We have plans.” As if that mattered.
“Yeah, well, here’s your chance to be more flexible, Garrett. I can’t be with you this weekend. Eli needs me to run the third shift tonight and be around tomorrow for…”
“All right, I get it. Fine.” And he’d hung up.
Mrs. Anderson cleared her throat once, then again.
“What?” He winced at the sound of his harsh voice.
“I will take those tickets, thanks, but in the meantime I need to tell you a little story.”
“I don’t have time for—”
“You will for this one.”
He turned and glared at her, but she sat and arranged herself for a long chat.
“Lorelei Brockton was the biggest tomboy, the toughest teenager, the most amazing, smart, beautiful girl.” She stopped, as if to gather her thoughts. “Her mother died when she was twelve. Cancer took her in something like six months. It was awful. Her father was…is a tough man, and he took over her teenaged years that way, on his own. They fought, good Lord did they fight. But he loved her and thought he was doing the right thing, making her defend herself about everything from her hair color which turned pink one year to her college classes.”
Garrett shifted in his seat. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear any more, but she went on.
“She graduated from Michigan with honors, and an acceptance letter to medical school, but she balked. Something happened. Probably her dad pushed her hard one too many times. She turned it down, took a job selling prescription drugs and bought herself a little house. She did well, for about three years, and then she met that Thad.”
Garrett’s hands clenched into fists under the desk.
“After that terrible incident, she literally became a different person. She wouldn’t leave her dad’s house, stayed in her old room for months. Made her dad get rid of the piano she loved. We all tiptoed around here for almost a year. Mr. B would blow up at the slightest provocation, but we all let him do it. We understood.” She shook her head, and wiped her eyes. Garrett frowned but didn’t know what to say so he kept his mouth shut.
“Finally, one day she appeared, a shrunken, scared version of herself. Her father declared her ‘well’ and ‘ready to work’ and that’s when the rotations began. She started in distribution, worked
the warehouse for about nine months. Then went to the pub, doing everything from food prep, to bartending. I was so worried about her. She lost more weight, hardly talked to anyone. We all said we’d give anything to witness a good knock down drag out between her and her father, like the old days.”
Garrett looked out the window, realizing where this was headed. He closed his eyes and fought the need to get up and pace.
“Then, Mr. B. tells us he’s hired a manager. A general business manager. Someone who will take over most likely, and here you are.” Mrs. Anderson stared at him, making him squirm. “The old Lori is back, Garrett, and we have you to thank. But that means you have to understand her, stop trying to be so controlling because that Lori won’t be controlled. Thinking you can will only lead to your unhappiness.”
She stood. “I’ve watched you and her. I see what’s happening, and I can’t think of a better thing than for you two to be together. You balance each other, but only if you are willing to let go a little. Otherwise, it will never work.”
He frowned. “So, who’s giving her the little pep talk about how swell I am?” He couldn’t help himself.
The woman smiled and patted his shoulder. “Oh, hon, Lori has twenty or so moms and big sisters, and even a few big brothers, in this building. I’m pretty sure somebody has, or is right now.”
“I hate this.”
“But you love her.”
He nodded, not speaking.
She smiled at him. “Well then, that’s really all you need. Trust me. That and patience. She’ll see the light.”
She turned to go as her desk phone started ringing. Then threw out something that Garrett would remember for a long time. “You know, as much as I hate to admit it, it’s as if between you and that horrible man Eli, you brought our Lori back.” She smiled, but he felt his heart sink to his feet. Her next words didn’t help.