by Liz Crowe
Lust on Tap
Liz Crowe
When brewery owner Dustin Prufrock meets sexy saleswoman Helena Turner, sparks fly—angry sparks. They seem destined to clash, until a hot hookup in a cold beer cooler changes everything.
For Dustin, it’s a life-changing moment that sets him on a path away from his birthright, while Helena faces her fears about committing to a man considered the playboy of the microbrewing world. The power of preconceived notions nearly tears them apart—until they meet up with Dustin’s friend Erik, who provides an erotic and emotional connection that completes them all.
But fate has different plans. When Dustin is forced to honor his responsibilities as heir to a large business, Helena and Erik are thrown together in an attempt to run Dustin’s brewery. Now the strength and trust of their once-balanced threesome has been shattered…and mutual lust might not be enough to keep them all together.
Lust on Tap
Liz Crowe
Dedication
For Jessica, My Personal Gibraltar
Chapter One
The man must be out of his ever-loving mind. Helena tried very hard not to yell.
“I won’t do it.” She rose to her feet. “Screw that.”
From his position behind the desk, her boss, Grant Taylor—president of TriCity Distribution—tipped back in his chair and appraised her from head to toe. “He asked for you specifically. And I am certain I don’t have to remind a professional such as yourself that Prufrock is our best craft beer brand—one of our only craft beer brands and the one I hope to use to build a huge goddamn beer portfolio.” He feigned a pitiful look.
“You look like a constipated crocodile when you do that.” She slumped back in the chair on the other side of his ugly metal desk. The day had just grown that much worse, if it were cosmically possible.
“Helena, honey, it’s not that bad. He’s a good guy, really.”
She let the foul liquid that passed for coffee at the TriCity offices pollute her throat. After only two years in the beer and wine sales business, she’d found her niche, with the incentive trip to Barbados from the Corona guys nearly in her grasp. She stared out the window at the annoyingly perfect blue sky.
“Grant, you know I need a heads-up longer than an hour.” She winced at her whiny tone. “Seriously, I have to re-jigger the whole sales day. Jesus. I don’t even know where—”
He shook his head to stop her. “Yep. I know. And I also know you’ve probably already committed where his products are placed to that gorgeous, top-selling brain of yours. You sold more of their amber, IPA and Winter Spice bullshit than anybody. Don’t kid a kidder.” He grinned at her.
Stress bloomed in her chest and spread, bringing a familiar anxious mantra to the forefront of her brain.
This stupid job is the only thing between me and the homeless shelter.
Nothing would make her jeopardize it. Who knew she’d be a sales star? A two-year associate degree was all she’d been able to afford before she’d started managing one of the downtown bars. When the TriCity rep mentioned they were hiring and how much she could make in commission, she’d jumped at it.
“Fine. But if you think I’m gonna suck up to the Chosen Son of the Prufrock fortune, you are sadly mistaken. He can ride in my car and go on calls with me, but I refuse to like him.” She sucked back the last of the stomach-destroying caffeine before setting the mug down on Grant’s desk with what she hoped sounded like a decisive bang.
He raised an eyebrow at her and started to open his mouth.
“No, don’t say anything. You know I’m right. Everybody says he’s just a trust-fund baby, opening a brewery with his daddy’s money, then gallivanting around the world, getting his degree,” she hooked her fingers in the air around the word, “in brewing science. Jesus. Who needs a degree in that? He should just stick to polo ponies and deflowering debutantes.”
The petulant sound of her own voice annoyed her, but stories like this Prufrock asshole’s made her the maddest. She’d been raised by a single mother who’d waitressed by day and, she’d later learned, turned tricks at night while the young Helena did homework and watched TV at her aunt’s house. Her mother had died of lung cancer in Helena’s second year of college, forcing her to quit after she figured out that the modest funeral would cost every cent her mother had managed to save.
Grant cleared his throat and stood, buttoning his suit coat. Her brain still on fire with fury and frustration, she stared, guessing their little chat was finished. Even if she’d agreed to haul Prufrock around, she had no plans to sell craft beer that day. “I need to schmooze my wine buyers today, Grant. I can’t be babysitting this guy.” The back of her neck tingled as the paperwork on Grant’s desk fluttered in a sudden breeze. She frowned, observing her boss stick his hand out as if about to shake hers, a big smile pasted on his face.
“Well, if I weren’t deathly allergic to both horses and debutantes, that might have been a career choice,” a raspy, sexy voice came from right behind her.
Holy shit.
It continued, “Grant, good to see you again.”
She gritted her teeth and rose to her feet, giving Grant what she hoped was a withering glare before turning around. The vision surprised her. Dustin Prufrock looked nothing like she’d expected.
Deep green eyes met hers and she was struck dumb by their depth and humorous sparkle. Dark jeans and a simple green crew-neck—undoubtedly cashmere—sweater hugged his body like the sexiest glove on the planet. Box-toe, rich-brown loafers and a camel-colored dress jacket completed the look that would be at home on a GQ model as easily as a guy who could brew sixty barrels of beer at a time to sublime perfection. Close-cut, dark-brown hair topped a clean-shaven, nearly perfect face. A face that seemed pretty damn amused by her.
“And you must be Helena Turner, sales woman extraordinaire.” His smile lit up the room. She remained speechless until Grant nudged her shoulder, then she started and held out her hand. His warm, firm grip lingered long enough to make her gulp.
“I see she’s mesmerized by the size of my trust fund already.” He glanced over her shoulder at her boss then back at her, pinning her in place again with his gaze. “Dustin Prufrock, at your service, or at least,” he gave her palm a final squeeze before letting go, “the albatross around your neck for the day.” His eyes remained squarely on hers. She had on her best thrift store designer suit over a silk blouse open at the neck. Used to men eyeballing her from tip to toe, she found it refreshing for one not to automatically zero in on her cleavage.
“Never had such a hot babysitter before, Grant. Thanks.”
She swallowed when Prufrock’s eyes narrowed at her, then frowned as he quickly flicked them down her front and back up, lighting an unwanted fire in her belly. She reached for the familiar anger as an excuse for her reddening face. Not trusting her voice, she stared back at him.
Pig. Of course he’s checking me out.
The moment passed and he shrugged, sidestepping as if to get out of her way. “Ready to go when you are. I hear you have a big day ahead,” he said, the expression on his handsome face suddenly neutral.
“Good. I have a lot to get done.” She strode past him, needing to get out of Dustin’s line of sight to regain her composure. Their loud laughter echoed in her ears on the way to the women’s room. She splashed water on her face and stared in the mirror. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
He is still a spoiled rotten trust-fund brat. No matter if he wears it like a fucking stockbroker-slash-daytime drama hero. Christ. I do not need this distraction.
*
Dustin tried to focus on the distributor tool’s voice as they stood in the claustrophobic office. His brain spun with a combination of fresh perfume and sudden, kneejerk lust for the woman who’d just st
alked out of the room.
The day suddenly looked a lot better—less “annoying ride-along bullshit” and more “honest to God, get to know a beautiful woman”. He had countless headaches back at his brewery to deal with. Didn’t need the time away any more than she seemed to want him around but he grinned at the sight of her deep blue eyes, flat and determined to resist him when she emerged from the around the corner.
Yeah. Not if he had anything to do with it.
“After you.” He held out a hand and followed her down the narrow hall toward the parking lot door, adjusting himself behind the zipper of the stupid jeans he’d grabbed off the rack yesterday, desperate for something to wear that was suitable for selling and not brewing.
Damn, she is hot. Alarmed at his instant, adolescent response to her, he took a breath and held the door open. She breezed past him, and he had to shut his eyes against the quick breath of light, clean scent that invaded his nose again.
He helped put his sample bottles in the trunk of her car—a piece-of-shit Toyota, one step from the graveyard, best he could tell. But he bit his tongue and slid into the immaculate interior. She pulled out her itinerary for the day and studied it, pushing back her thick blonde hair, a frown creasing her forehead.
“Okay, so I’m trashing this, I guess.” She tossed the papers into the backseat. “Let’s hit it, shall we? By the seat of our fucking pants. Not the way I usually like to approach a work day.”
“Yeah, good plan.” Without even realizing he was doing it, he touched her hand as she shifted into reverse. It was meant as a “we’re in this together” sort of gesture. Nothing more. She stared at it, then up at him. Utterly unprepared for the spark that leapt from her skin to his, he swallowed hard, jerking his arm back, speechless.
“Sorry,” he muttered, grabbing his own thigh while she backed out of the parking space. Trying to calm the buzzing in his brain, he chanced a glance at her while they waited at a red light. Her angry stare made him smile and hold up both hands. “Don’t nail me for harassment, okay? My mommy and daddy won’t bail me out anymore, or so they claim.”
Her quick laughter was music to his ears.
“I’m sorry. I was just…” Her jaw clenched and he had to force down the urge to run his finger over it if only to get her to relax. Such a beautiful woman should not be so uptight. A surge of protectiveness nearly suffocated him. He blinked and looked straight ahead.
Wow, Prufrock. Get a hold of yourself. You’re engaged. Remember? To be married?
For a guy raised never having to worry about where his next pair of designer sunglasses might come from, Dustin remained fairly introspective. He knew his reputation, but hearing it tumble from her mouth earlier had pissed him off, and then made him need to prove something to her. The fact that he’d finally given in to his mother’s harping about marrying the Masterson girl had honestly slipped his mind since laying eyes on the gorgeous creature behind the wheel. He suppressed an inward groan at his dilemma. But couldn’t resist keeping the spark alive between them. He loved how she played along with him.
“It’s okay. Really. Just an awkward moment we’ll laugh about with our kids someday.”
She snorted. “Sure we will. Just before you dump me and the brats for the trophy wife your mommy always wanted for you.”
He narrowed his eyes, hoping she didn’t realize how close to the truth she was about the mother-approved arrangements. Two amazing dimples appeared on either side of her wide smile, making him grateful he was sitting, since his knees had turned to jelly. He tore his eyes from her face, stared straight ahead. Making a mental count to ten, he calmed his breathing, reminded himself he was there to work. Helena’s voice interrupted the inner monologue he had begun with his fiancé breaking off his engagement. Valerie, a girl who quite honestly would be a debutante had such things existed in Grand Rapids, Michigan, was heir to the Masterson restaurant empire. She was an interior designer of some repute, thin, brittle and desperate for the Mrs. Prufrock designation. He put a hand over his eyes. He tried not to groan at the mess he was about to make of Valerie’s life. Never mind what his mother would have to say about it.
“All right, we’ll swing north and hit all the big chain stores first.” She spoke and drove, and Dustin used all his willpower not to stare at the leg exposed by her short skirt, at the way her thigh muscle flexed when she worked the clutch, gunning the engine too high every time. “I’m close to getting the winter lager placement alongside your amber. Then I know the boys at Beer Baron and Hop Cat would love to see your rock star face, so we’ll stop in there.”
He glanced over to gauge her level of seriousness. The tingling sensation in his scalp at the sight of her ironic smile alarmed him all over again. All thoughts of the woman he’d been halfheartedly screwing for years gone in the blink of Helena’s amazing blue eyes. He swallowed hard and listened to her talk business.
“Finally, I’d like to drop in on a couple of new boutique beer and wine stores that opened last month. Your esteemed presence gives me the excuse I need.”
“Uh, okay. You’re in charge. Just give me the high sign when I’m supposed to speak.”
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll figure it out. I’ll have to do some inventory shit at most of these places, so there will be time for you to bond with whatever management tool is on hand. A few of them are ladies—you’ll make their day, I’m sure.”
Unable to stop himself, he touched her again, this time enjoying the heat that passed between them. “Don’t be jealous, honey. I’d never cheat on you.”
“Oh, I’ll farm you out in a heartbeat, honey. You’ll do whatever it takes to increase our bottom line. Hope you took your vitamins.” She yanked her hand out from under his. Smiling at her once more, he shifted in his seat to relieve the pressure building under his zipper.
He’d asked Valerie to marry him a couple of months ago. He’d left her and her bitch of a mother to the arrangements, just nodding at what he hoped were the proper intervals when faced with decisions that they pretended to want his input about. His own mother had finally stopped haranguing him, left him to run his brewery in peace, and he’d made a similar peace within himself, realizing the Faustian bargain he’d struck. But now, as he climbed out of Helena’s car and followed her to the trunk to collect his samples, a lightning bolt of longing and long-buried urge blinded him. And he knew Valerie was history.
Chapter Two
As if on autopilot, Helena pulled into one of her biggest retailers. The Beer Barn was a store that took up nearly half a strip-mall on the east side of town. The ride from her office had been nearly silent as Dustin fiddled with his smart phone, either engrossed in email or pretending to be while playing Angry Birds. She had resisted the extreme impulse to let her eyes flick over to him and felt smug about her victory. Then they stopped and she made the crucial error of looking straight into his eyes. The intensity of his gaze made her whole body tingle, brought a flicker of resentment to the confusion roiling around in her gut.
The moment sizzled in her brain, etched a groove in her psyche so deep she glared at him until realizing she still had a grip of death on the steering wheel. Yeah, a grip, Turner, get one. She ground her teeth and looked away from him, nearly falling out onto the asphalt in her haste to put some distance between them.
He stayed quiet, merely holding out his hand to receive the samples of his two best-selling brews she shoved at him. “Good choice,” he remarked, as she slammed the trunk and squared her shoulders. “This place is pretty mainstream.”
“No, it’s not actually.” She grabbed her smart phone and fired up the ordering program. Might as well make a few bucks while she let him do his dog and pony show for Victor. The owner and self-described beer snob would happily throw young Mr. Prufrock out on his ear, she knew. She grinned to herself, realizing why she’d come here first. This guy needed to learn his place in the real-world pecking order. She’d toss him to the wolves right up front, take some orders for Victor’s higher-gravit
y section of beers and be on her way. “You guys just don’t have a good sense of what to make beyond these two.” She gave the two bottles in his hand a glance. “Those are fine. But you need to expand your offerings beyond the basics. But what do I know?”
He shot her a strange look, which she ignored as she made her way to the huge glass front door, walking through as he opened it for her.
“Helena! My gorgeous girl!” Victor Jabro came out from behind the counter, a huge smile on his dark face. “To what do I owe the honor of two visits in a week, hmm?” He kissed her square on the lips and folded her into a bear hug.
She sensed Dustin’s eyes on her but she continued ignoring him as she flirted and small-talked with her best small retailer for another ten minutes. To his credit, he didn’t butt in.
Finally, Victor broke the ice. “Did you bring your new boyfriend to carry samples, my love, or just to make me jealous?”
She flushed and mentally acknowledged her childishness for making the guy stand there like a third wheel.
“Oh God, no, you know you’re my one and only.” She winked at Dustin and he took a step forward. “This is Dustin Prufrock. Owner and…” Victor stepped right in front of her and held out a huge bear paw of a hand.
“Why, of course! I wondered when you’d be stopping by my little store, Mr.—”
“Dustin. Please,” he said. Helena had to step out their way. “And this is hardly a little store, Victor. Don’t be so modest.”
She stared as the huge man practically squirming with delight. What the hell? Dustin’s loose-limbed stance never changed; the casual yet in-charge manner shifted into high gear as he gripped the two bottles by their necks in one hand and gave his pitch.
Victor gushed, preened, and stopped just short of falling on the floor and letting the guy scratch his exposed belly. Helena’s ears buzzed with fury and something she now recognized as bright white jealousy. They flat-out ignored her for a solid twenty minutes, exchanging industry and local gossip, then segueing into one of the cleanest sell jobs she’d ever seen in her life. She leaned back against a shelf and watched Dustin work, unable to resist the need to devour him with her gaze.
