by Liz Crowe
She laughed at whatever she heard and Dustin jumped right into it, wanting more than anything to sleep and wake with that sound in his ear. Every easygoing, go-slow bone in his body screeched to a halt and ushered in a need so deep he nearly choked on it.
Mine.
He squared his shoulders and pulled her to her feet, holding her close.
She sputtered, tried to resist the way he manhandled her out of the chair. “I’m on the phone,” she whispered, but he took it, touched the screen to end the call and tucked it in his pocket, at the same time covering her mouth with his. His firm, forceful lips gave her a clear message of possession and desire. The entire world shifted under her feet when she met his tongue’s demand, let him sweep inside her, thread his fingers in her hair and push her back against the wall.
Holy hell, the guy knows how to kiss.
She made a little noise in her throat when he moved his amazing lips from hers and traced a line down her neck. Against all logic, she wrapped her arms around him, angled her body so she could feel every inch of him, including an obvious erection straining his zipper. He moved one hand down her back, cupping her ass and pulling her tighter and higher up his body. She parted her thighs, let him slip one of his between them. The restaurant noise faded, leaving nothing but the sound of their breathing in her ears.
He released her ass, reached up to cradle her face.
“Helena, you are—”
She pushed him away. “Horny now, thanks to you.” He burst out laughing. She covered her mouth. “Sorry. I’m a little blunt. It’s a failing.”
He pulled her close again. “Not to me, it’s not. Let’s go.”
She frowned, disentangled herself and stared at him. “Oh okay. Yeah.” She readjusted the skirt that had slid up her thighs and forced away the lusty mist clouding her brain.
Not your type, remember? Work to do, remember? This trust-fund asshole obviously wants to notch his bedpost. Fuck that.
His intense gaze didn’t change and he had not moved out of her space yet. Placing her hands on his still too-close chest, she cleared her throat and pushed him back. “You’re right. Let’s go. Work to do.” She grabbed her purse and marched out on wobbly heels, assuming he would follow.
By the time she made it to her car, a cold winter wind had picked up and she shivered, regretting leaving her slightly threadbare dress coat at home. Tears of anger at herself threatened to spill over.
What did he think she would do anyway? Fucking playboy jerk. She wrenched the door open and gasped when he spun her around. His now-stubbled jaw clenched.
“No. Work is over,” he ground out.
“Are you nuts? Some of us have to put in a whole day, Prufrock. You know, bills to pay and all that?” Pushing him away again, she climbed into the car, slammed the door and prayed she hadn’t shut his hand in it. She had to get away from him. Either that, or lose all control and prove herself a desperate, poor sales girl, willing to let the rich boy between her legs after just one kiss. He slid into the passenger seat, cupped her neck and brought his impossibly handsome face up to hers.
“Don’t.” She heard her voice, papery and thin, and shut her eyes against the temptation to let him do whatever he wanted.
“Open your eyes.”
That now familiar rasp in his throat made her whimper. He smiled before kissing her again, gentle, taking his time, exploring her lips and tongue with his. She clutched at him over the console, gasping when he cupped her breast under the silk blouse.
“You are perfect,” he said. “And I need to touch you more. Now. So let’s go. I’ll give you directions.” He tore his lips from her neck and sat back, keeping his fingers in her hair. She gulped and shook her head, turning to grip the steering wheel so hard her knuckles ached with the effort.
He put his warm palm over one of her hands, pried her loose and put it against his chest. “Do you feel that?” His heart beat hard and fast. “I’m terrified of this. But I need you. I can’t explain it. And I will excuse you from work. I know your boss.” He grinned.
Reality gave her a hard smack in the face, reminding her exactly what must be happening. Horny men were no new concept to her. Time to nip this right in the bud before she did something she really regretted. She trailed her fingers down to the impressive bulge between his legs. He squirmed when she cupped his balls, stroked his cock. “I know what you want, Prufrock. It’s pretty fucking obvious. So keep your bullshit, heartbeat-romance lines to yourself.” She glared at him, putting her hands back on the wheel.
Her own heart pounded in her ears. How had this man, who’d been nothing but a name to scoff at, turn into something every nerve ending cried out for—clamoring in her brain to give in, drive him home and dive between his expensive sheets.
“I have work to do.” She hated how weak she sounded. “Sorry you don’t understand that.” Turning the key, she jerked the car into gear. “I’m not some freebie that comes with the ride-along.” She heard herself, tried to stop the words tumbling from her lips but couldn’t. “You can’t have me, Dustin. Got it? I’m not part of the deal today.”
She glared at him when they stopped for a traffic light. The combination of unhappiness, desperation and regret on his lovely face nearly unhinged her, made her want to turn into the nearest parking lot and jump him in broad daylight. But surely he knew how to put on such a face, used to coaxing stupid co-eds into his bed in the middle of the day while the rest of the world worked for a living.
No.
She would not go there. He could find some other gullible girl. Surely a line of them existed somewhere.
Chapter Four
Dustin stared hard at his computer screen, willing Helena’s face to stop searing his retinas. But every time he thought he had her good and banished, her eyes, legs, the curve of her hip or something smartass she’d said would surface, sending him into a spiral of longing he couldn’t suppress. After a solid hour of battling his inner horny guy, he stood and stretched, groaning at the tension in his jaw from clenching it all damn day. Figuring that some time in the brewery would clear his head, he started to pull off his sweater, still fighting the urge to call her, text her—hell, to jump in his car and drive to her place and kiss her. The soft ping of an incoming Skype message made him stop mid-strip. He frowned at the name that popped up, then shrugged and sat back down.
Dustin leaned on his elbows and contemplated the small photo alongside the name Erik. He’d known from a young age that he loved both men and women, and had spent a wild year in college out on the west coast before enrolling in the Institute exploring but never truly consummating. Content to let his success with women get him through, he’d attended a few parties where threesomes were the norm. But he tended to stop before the full man-on-man become anything more than kissing or a bit of groping.
Then he’d gotten to Germany, met Erik and all bets were off. Ignoring another text from his meddling mother, he read the message from the man who’d turned his young life inside out during his three years learning how to do what he loved—brewing beer.
The long days of lugging hot rocks to place beneath the copper boiling kettles, being berated in German and other mind-and ego-numbing activity took their toll. One night, about six months into the first year, Dustin had collapsed into a chair after a particularly hot and miserable shift. He and Erik had determined early on that it made sense to share the small flat, saving expenses since Dustin was “on his own” according to his parents other than for the tuition. He’d emptied his personal savings account to set up a small fund for food and rent and the occasional beer but did not regret making this leap for a second.
He sat, trying to work the kinks out of his tired arms. He heard Erik come in, then move around in the kitchen.
A fresh, cool, brown bottle of brew appeared beside his neck. He took it. Then strong hands were on his shoulders, kneading out pressure. He jumped a little then gave into the deep-tissue manipulation Erik offered, groaning as his body released stress.
Through a fog of semi-pain and pleasure, his cock stiffened beneath his zipper.
He shifted, uncomfortable at what passed through his brain. Erik’s breath warmed his skin. Dustin closed his eyes, felt fingers pass down his chest and slip his zipper open. His brain spun with lust and embarrassment. Was this a good idea?
“I can’t do this.” His voice sounded rough to his ears.
“Don’t worry.” Erik made his way around the chair and knelt at Dustin’s feet. “Let go, Dustin. I’ll catch you.” He sighed and had Dustin’s cock down his throat in seconds.
“Holy shit.” Dustin moved his hips, relishing the sensation, the erotic energy in the room. His spine tingled as a kneejerk orgasm approached. “Stop.” He put a hand on Erik’s thick blond hair. “Wait.” Erik lapped at his head and stood. Before Dustin could speak, the man had him on his feet, had his mouth slanted over his, parted his lips with his tongue, sweeping inside, pressing what was unmistakably his own stiff cock against Dustin’s. He sensed his own arms wrapping around Erik’s firm body, heard his own groans as Erik maneuvered them into the bedroom.
By the time Dustin’s legs bumped into the edge of the bed, they’d left a trail of clothes between the rooms. Dustin stared at the hard angles and planes of Erik’s tall frame. He licked his lips, cupped the man’s stubbled jaw and ran his other hand down his chest, to his hips, around to his ass. He needed this. Bad.
“I want you to fuck me, Dustin.” Erik’s deep blue eyes were bright, piercing. Dustin’s cock jumped at his words. “I need you to. And I think you want it, too.”
His hips tilted at the touch of Erik’s hand. He shook his head. “I can’t. I’m not what you think.” His hoarse voice wavered.
“I don’t think anything. I want you to fuck me.” Erik pulled a tube of lubrication and a condom from somewhere and put them in Dustin’s hand. Then he turned, presenting his muscular rear view to Dustin’s gaze. He heard a groan. Realized it came from him. He slipped a lubed finger inside Erik’s ass, slowly, carefully. Erik kept his hips angled, encouraging the penetration.
Fascinated, and more turned on than he’d been in his entire life, Dustin rolled the condom down his length and turned to look in the mirror over the dresser reflecting them, etching the erotic image in his brain forever. By the time he had his cock sunk deep inside Erik’s body, it only took a few thrusts. Erik cried out and the scent of the other man’s passion, the sound of his groans, made Dustin gasp and release.
The ensuing couple of years were a blur of hard classroom and on-site work and some of the most erotic moments of his life. They clashed a fair bit as Erik tended to overreact to nearly every obstacle while Dustin was able to see each challenge merely as one more to overcome, one more skill to master. Dustin fell in love with Erik, but knew it was on borrowed time. He’d go back and run the brewery he planned to open in Michigan. Erik would stay in Germany or perhaps work on the west coast. His skill was that of a musician, a true artisan, innate and sometimes over the top. While Dustin studied, learned, and filed it away as part of his master plan to open and run the most successful brewery in the Midwest.
The memories came at him fast and hard and were nearly too much after the turmoil of the day. He almost ignored Erik’s note, unsure of where his head was anymore with regard to the man. He’d been trying like hell to get Erik to come and be the brewmaster for his place. The realization that he’d likely resume some kind of physical relationship with the guy even after he married the mother of future Prufrock heirs hit him square in the gut. Now that he had a totally new outlook on his life thanks to a chance meeting with the incredible Helena Turner, getting Erik here seemed somehow less urgent. He read Erik’s message again.
Sorry Dustin. I can’t. Although I am flattered that you keep asking. I do miss you. Stay in touch, Erik.
Realizing that no response was required, he closed the laptop and stared at it a minute before resuming his clothes change. By the time he hit the door of the brewery and the familiar smells and sights of his successful venture enveloped him, he’d managed to shove memories of the man out of his head. Which meant he could make room for the sexy loop that starred Helena. After a couple of hours of checking on fermenting batches, reading brewery floor reports for the day, studying the pick sheet and inventories and mentally calculating the outgo for the sales he’d made that day, exhaustion had settled over his psyche. It made him groggy and snappish with the few staff members remaining. They ran a twenty-four-hour shop and the night shift had just clocked in as he made his way up to the large office overlooking the brewery floor.
Without giving himself time to think, he fired up the large computer, signed onto his email and sent two messages. The first to Grant at TriCity: Had a great day with Helena. Can you put me back on her schedule for Friday? We need to do some follow-up work and hit some places in Muskegon and Manistee, cheers, Dustin.
He knew damn good and well the man would shuffle whatever needed shuffling to make this work and had a small twinge of guilt for manipulating the situation to suit himself, until he recalled how perfect she had felt, how soft and amazing her lips had been. Willing himself back from fantasy land, he wrote the second email to Valerie. She was spending two weeks in Europe for work, ostensibly, but he knew most of her time was taken up with shopping for their “future home” and for her own, already well-clothed self.
Hey. When you get back we need to talk. Alone.
Dustin had broken up with girlfriends in the past, but this one promised to be a real doozy. But it had to happen. There was no way in hell he would be married to anyone else while Helena Turner existed in the universe. Realizing he was literally counting the hours until Friday, he turned off the computer and the lights and headed home.
Helena laid awake into the early hours, staring at the water-stained ceiling and willing her tired brain to sleep. After an hour or so she gave up trying to find a comfortable position, and hauled out her trusty vibrator to take some of her edge off. Then gave up. She clenched her eyes shut as she sat on the side of her bed, trying to force Dustin’s green eyes, his strong jaw, firm lips and hands out of her consciousness. It didn’t work.
She checked her smart phone for texts or email, hoping—like a lovesick teenager waiting for a prom invite—to see his name there. But of course nothing appeared other than the usual reminders to pay her credit card on time this month please and to renew her health club membership at the low-low rate of $9.99 a month (for one month). She tossed the stupid thing onto the dresser top and glared at herself in the mirror.
You are not his type. He might try to grope you in the back hall of a grocery store but he’s probably all snuggled up right now with Debutante Barbie. Get a grip. You did the right thing cutting him off. But her chest ached as if she’d run several miles and her breathing wouldn’t slow at the thought of him. No man had this effect on her, ever. It was unsettling in the extreme. And Helena was determined to conquer it. She had no time to spend being moony over the one guy every woman in Western Michigan was after.
A glance at the clock confirmed the hour of four a.m. had come and gone. She pulled on her worn-down running shoes and stuck earbuds in her ears. Cranking the hard rock up to a level that would hopefully drown out everything including the gravelly, sexy sound of his voice, she headed out into the already warm summer dawn.
By the time she hit the office, her brain had kept up its weird schizophrenic leapfrogging between her to-do list for the rest of the week and intense memories of Dustin’s lips on hers. She was already sick of herself. She grabbed coffee and passed by Grant’s office, heard him laughing and suppressed a shiver of déjà vu. The “before Dustin” and “after Dustin” parts of her life were now permanently separated. And that damned office would never feel the same to her again.
Oh for Christ’s sake, Turner! Stop being so melodramatic.
“Helena!” She stopped at the sound of Grant’s voice and forced her legs to carry her back to the office, halting at the doorway, unwilling t
o enter. “Nice work yesterday.” Grant leaned back in his leather chair, grinning at her. She summoned a weak smile. “So good, as a matter of fact, it seems Mr. Prufrock is a fan and wants another day in your august presence. As soon as possible, like Friday.”
Helena sputtered, nearly choked on the sip of coffee she’d taken in attempt to be casual. Grant held out a tissue as she stumbled over to his desk to look at the email he’d pulled up on the computer monitor. There it sat, glowing and real, like the kernel of lust she’d nurtured in her core since yesterday. Damn. She was not going to be rid of him that easily was she? She fell into the chair, hand over her eyes.
“Beat it, chick. There’s beer and wine to sell.” Grant’s voice broke through the haze that threatened to overtake her. She looked up at him. His shrewd, handsome face was pensive as he looked at her. “Be careful.” He waved a hand to dismiss her.
“What about?” She stood, still clutching the tissue and coffee mug.
“Oh, you know. Predatory country club boys looking to score. I’m forwarding you this, so you can answer yourself. But it’s fine with me, you want another selling day with him.”
She frowned at him but her heart leapt into her chest yet again, making her breathless as she hustled down to her cubicle. Stopping herself from mentally flipping through the meager options in her business wear closet, she clenched her hands together and watched the email drop into her inbox. There he sat, his email as real as day. Typing her name, requesting more time with her, for “follow-ups” and some other shit about going up the coast to sell. Nothing they had actually discussed, but of course their parting had been a bit strained. She squared her shoulders, read it for the hundredth time, then started to respond and politely decline his request. But her fingers would not cooperate and she found herself typing out the words, Sure. See you then. Same time same place. Helena, then hitting send before her inner smart person won the battle raging inside her head. The thing about email, she reflected as she put her aching head on the desk, was that once you sent, it couldn’t get called back. Within a minute she heard the little ding of an incoming message and knew before she raised her eyes to the screen who it would be from. The words seared into her brain like a brand.
