by Meg Benjamin
“I’m sure she needs you. She can’t do it all.”
He shrugged. “She needs me right now, but she can do a hell of a lot on her own.” He gave her another quick smile. “Bec’s a genius with beer. You’re a genius with cheese. No wonder the two of you work well together.”
Ruth’s cheeks flushed. Liam managed to make her blush more than anyone she knew. She wasn’t great with compliments, but then, she didn’t get too many of them anymore. “Thanks.”
“So you learned how to do it when you were a kid?”
She recognized a change of subject when she saw one. Given the bleak look in his eyes, she was happy to move on. “Mostly. I did an apprenticeship with some cheesemakers in Denver one summer in college. It came back to me when I was looking around for something to do here in Antero.”
“Making goat cheese doesn’t seem like an obvious choice.”
“It wasn’t. And I wasn’t sure it would work at first. But the business took off and Brett and I opened the store so we could expand production. The building belonged to my uncle, along with this house, so we got sort of a deal on it.”
“And here we are,” he said slowly. “Both of us trying to make it in Antero with products that pretty much depend on tourists and dedicated locals. My dad owned a warehouse. My mom kept his books. I think they’d both consider their kids to be raving lunatics for doing something like this. My mom has sort of a thing about not mentioning the brewery when I visit unless I bring it up.”
She nodded. “My folks would never have considered something like the Salty Goat. Making cheese was just what we did. But here we are.”
“Here we are,” he echoed.
The warm light from the dining room overhead made his hair glow dark gold, his changeable eyes the dark gray-green of fir trees. She thought he was waiting, but she wasn’t sure for what. Come on, Ruth, you know what. She knew, but she also knew she shouldn’t want it, too.
He ran his fingers lightly along the line of her cheekbone, and there was a quick thread of heat where he touched. She was simultaneously delighted and terrified. Her almost-teenage daughter was upstairs, and who knew how long she’d stay there?
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she whispered.
“Aren’t you?” He gave her another of those seductive smiles. “I am.” And then he leaned forward until his lips touched hers.
Chapter Nine
Liam wasn’t exactly sure where they were heading with this, but he’d go with his gut. Or lower.
Sitting with Ruth in the warm light of the dining room had sent his libido into overdrive. He’d forgotten—maybe deliberately—just how lovely she was, with her tousled dark hair and her brown velvet eyes with impossibly long lashes. Her voice had a slight rasp, a huskiness that sent his temperature soaring. Her lips were pink and lush. When she’d paused in her dinner to lick off a morsel of tzatziki from the corner of her mouth, he’d almost moaned.
He’d been longing to touch her since he’d walked in the door, but he didn’t want to rush things. He’d managed to slip beneath her defenses as they’d talked, but he was afraid if he pushed her too hard the walls would slam back into place.
Once he’d touched her, once he’d run his fingers along the sloping line of her cheekbone, seen the slight widening of her eyes as she watched him, he was a goner.
Her lips were soft, warm, as sumptuous as he remembered. He ran the tip of his tongue along the seam, sliding his hands up to cup her face as he tasted. She opened on a sigh, her hands moving up his chest to rest upon his shoulders, and then to the joining of shoulder and throat.
She angled her head slightly and he plunged deeper, relishing the way her hands gripped him more tightly. He leaned farther forward.
And ran into the dining room table.
Ruth pulled back slightly, her eyes dazed. “Oh.”
He took a quick breath, then pushed himself to his feet, which wasn’t as easy to do as it had been a few minutes ago, given that his lower half had turned to granite. He extended a hand to her. “Come on.”
She frowned. “Where?”
“I’m thinking the living room sofa unless you have a better spot.”
“Oh.” She shook her head. “What about Carol?”
“What about her?” Since Carol had given him pointers on how to date her mother, he didn’t think she’d be too upset if he made a few moves, but what did he know about twelve-year-olds?
“I don’t want her to walk in on us.” Ruth blew out a quick breath nodding toward a door on the left. “The study.”
“The study it is.” He took her hand, pulling her after him before she could change her mind. The study was small and cozy, with a desk and an ancient easy chair. It also had a door, which he closed as Ruth flipped on the desk lamp.
He sank down in the easy chair, pulling her into his lap. “That’s better.”
“Is it?” She gave him a dry smile. “What did you have in mind, anyway?”
“Canoodling.” He brought his hands to her face again, pulling her down so that her lips reached his.
“Old-fashioned word,” she murmured against his lips. “I think my grandmother used it now and then.”
“I’d rather not be thinking about my grandparents just now.”
She chuckled, and he took advantage.
She tasted of wine and musk, all woman and just right for his arms. He let his lips move along the line of her throat, his tongue touching the warmth of her pulse. His own body was racing ahead, but he ignored it. There were limits to what they could do, and he intended to explore them thoroughly. He wasn’t about to hurry into anything that would get him into trouble with either Ruth or her daughter.
Ruth gave a shuddering sigh, then pulled his mouth back to hers, her tongue sliding in to ignite a few more fires in his body. He dropped his hands to her waistband, sliding underneath the edge of her shirt to feel warm skin. Then he wrapped his fingers around her waist, rubbing his thumbs in a line up her center, then down to circle her navel.
She broke the kiss, staring back at him, eyes wide.
He moved his hands to her breasts, pushing beneath her bra to catch the nipples between his fingers. They hardened as he tugged and her breath caught. He pushed the bra aside, leaning forward to take a nipple in his mouth, biting lightly, running his tongue across the tip. He pulled on the other nipple, letting it peak as she moved restlessly against him.
Much more of that restlessness and he’d be pulling her underneath him, hoping Carol would stay in her sulk a little while longer.
“Wait,” Ruth whispered. “Wait a minute.”
“I can do a minute.” He closed his eyes, trying to slow down his pulse. “Please don’t ask for an hour.”
She chuckled softly, loosening her hand on his arm, and he turned to the other nipple, suckling hard as Ruth gasped. Her fingers dug into his shoulders again, as if she were hanging on.
He dropped his hands to the waistband of her jeans, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper. He managed to jerk both jeans and panties partway down her legs. And then he dropped to his knees in front of the chair, pulling her forward so that she was at the edge of the seat.
He moved his mouth to the joining of her legs, letting his tongue scrape against the hard nub of her clit. Above him, she gave a dry sob and then gasped, holding herself tight. She wouldn’t want to make a sound. He was suddenly tempted to coax her to sob again. Totally inappropriate, dumb-ass!
He managed to slide one finger into her opening, running his tongue across her clit once, and then again, as he worked her slowly.
His cock strained hard against his jeans. He only hoped he didn’t shame himself, but he was committed now. Ruth’s hands tightened more firmly on his shoulders, her whole body going stiff as she strained against him. He could almost feel her struggling to keep silent. And then she was convulsing, gasping as her body bent at the waist, her hips trembling against his shoulders.
He let her down slowly, moving back into th
e chair so that he could cradle her in his arms, resting his forehead against hers. “Okay?” he murmured.
She blew out a long breath, still trembling slightly. “Are you seriously asking me that? It may take me hours to be okay again.”
He moved his hand to her breast, pressing against the nipple again. “I could try administering another cure.”
Her head fell back against his shoulder as she laughed quietly. “No. Interesting though that might be, I think we’ve pushed our luck as far as we can.”
She reached down to pull up her jeans and panties, then fastened the button and pulled up the zipper. “We should probably move.”
Liam shook his head. Moving was pretty low on his list of priorities. Plus, he wasn’t entirely sure he could. “Where? Why?”
“To the living room, because Carol’s not an idiot. If she finds us in here with the door closed, she’ll probably figure there’s been some hanky-panky going on.”
“Hanky-panky?” Liam grinned. “I prefer canoodling.”
“If that was canoodling, I’m revising my ideas of what my grandparents did during hay rides.” She pushed herself to her feet, pulling down her shirt and bra.
Liam glanced down at himself. His clothing was mostly in place, but there was nothing he could do about the sizeable bulge of arousal. Or rather, all the things he could do about it were currently off limits. “Does Carol ever have overnights?”
Ruth narrowed her eyes. “Sometimes.”
“Any chance she could have one soon?”
Ruth shook her head, giving him a rueful smile. “Come on, we need to move to the living room.” She took his hand, pulling him toward the door.
“It’s a reasonable question,” he mumbled as he followed her into the much less private room at the front of the house.
“You’re incorrigible.” Ruth tapped his arm, grinning at him.
“What’s incorrigible mean?” Carol rounded the landing, heading down the stairs to the living room.
Liam’s shock at seeing her almost down the stairs did quite a bit to tame his unruly body. “It means you can’t be changed or taught something.”
Carol frowned. “That sounds like it means stupid.”
“Not exactly. It’s not that you’re unable to learn, it’s that you’re unwilling to do it. Stubborn is closer to what it means than stupid.” Ruth gave her a bland smile.
Liam was amazed. To look at Ruth now, you’d never know she’d been lost in erotic bliss not ten minutes ago. Which he guessed was sort of the point. It was quite a skill.
She raised her eyebrows at Carol. “Did you bring your dishes down?”
Carol looked faintly disgruntled. “No.”
“Then go get them. I’ll be loading the dishwasher soon.”
Carol’s expression slid toward rebellion, but finally she turned and trotted back up the stairs again.
Ruth beckoned to him. “Your hair’s a little mussed.” She smoothed her hand across his forehead and then paused, her dark eyes luminous in the lamp light.
He’d never wanted to kiss a woman so badly. Particularly when he couldn’t, when he shouldn’t even consider it because her daughter would be back in the room within seconds.
He closed his eyes as he heard Carol’s footsteps on the stairs. “Dammit,” he whispered.
Ruth put a hand on his arm, maybe warning him to shut up.
Carol was apparently back into sulking mode. She marched through the living room, heading toward the kitchen without giving her mother a glance.
Liam drew some air into his lungs, which suddenly seemed mostly empty. Ruth’s eyes were laughing, but her expression was sober.
A moment later, Carol reemerged. “I put my own dishes in the dishwasher.” She made it sound as if it was a major accomplishment, to say nothing of a major imposition.
“Great. Thank you.” Ruth gave her a calm smile.
Carol made a noise that sounded a little like “hmph” and marched back up the stairs. Apparently, she’d had enough of insults like being forced to bring her dirty dishes down to be washed.
Liam leaned forward, resting his forehead on Ruth’s. “I feel like I’m in a bedroom farce without the bedroom.”
Ruth chuckled. “It’s not always this exciting. This has been an unusual evening.”
He glanced down at her. Her cheeks were bright pink. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who remembered the more pleasurable parts of that excitement. “Have dinner with me.”
She stepped back, frowning. “We’ve already had dinner.”
“I don’t mean tonight. I mean…some other time.” He went through his mental calendar a little desperately. He worked the night shift at the tavern four days a week. The other two days he worked afternoons and usually went straight to the brewery. But surely Bec could get along without him for one evening, given that he was only doing grunt work. He’d make up for it another day.
If he didn’t get Ruth into bed soon, he’d probably explode.
“Some other time?” Ruth’s voice sounded dry.
“Thursday. I work the early shift at the tavern. If you can wait until seven for dinner, we can go grab something after that.” Which could put them back at his apartment by eight thirty or so. He could have her home before midnight. For all he knew, she might have a curfew.
Ruth frowned. “I’d have to find a sitter. I can’t leave Carol by herself. I mean, I probably could, but I don’t want to. Leaving Carol to her own devices could be dangerous.”
He nodded. “Right. Maybe Bec could do it.”
Ruth shook her head. “I wouldn’t ask that of her. She’s got enough on her plate without having to take up childcare, too. I’ve got sitters I use. I’ll just have to check around and see who’s free.”
“Okay.” He brought his hand to her cheek. Somehow he couldn’t seem to stop touching her. “Does that mean you’ll have dinner with me?”
Her lips spread in a faint grin. “Yes, Liam, I’ll have dinner with you. On Thursday. If I can get a sitter.”
“Great.” He leaned down to catch her lips in a quick, slightly frantic kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against his body. Stay upstairs, Carol, stay upstairs. If he had to back away now, he was a goner.
For just a moment, she wound her arms around his neck, pulling even closer so that her breasts pressed warm against his chest. And then she stepped back. “This is insane.”
He closed his eyes, yanking himself back under control again. “Yep. It is that. You never got your foot rub.”
Ruth giggled. “That’s okay. What I got made up for it.”
He snickered himself. Maybe foot rub could be code. “Next time.”
“Maybe you should go?” She raised an eyebrow in his direction. He had the distinct feeling she didn’t want him to go any more than he wanted to himself. But she had a point.
They kept coming close to doing something foolhardy. And he didn’t want her to regret anything she did with him. Ever.
He sighed. “Okay. I’ll call you to find out about the sitter and, you know, everything.”
She nodded. “Right.”
“Should I say goodbye to Carol?”
She shook her head. “Nope. She’s busy sulking. You’d only interrupt her. I’ll tell her you said so long.”
He grinned. “Right.”
There was nothing for it. He had to leave. Yet…
He wrapped his arms around her one more time, kissing her for all he was worth, feeling her hands ball up in his shirt as she hung on.
Footsteps on the stairs.
“Well, shit,” he muttered. “Time to go.”
Ruth laughed, but it was rueful. “Time to go. Talk to you later, Liam.”
“Right.” He glanced up the stairs as he headed for the front door. “Night, Carol.”
She stared down at him, her forehead furrowing. “You’re leaving?”
“I am.”
“Okay. See you.”
He nodded. “See you, kid.” And
he was out the door. Time to take off instead of pushing his luck.
Chapter Ten
The next morning, Liam headed for the brewery, as he had every free morning for the past couple of months. This time, though, he wasn’t just going to be Bec’s assistant. This time, he was going to start working on a beer of his own. The saison. A light, crisp summer beer, flavored with herbs and hops, perfect for hot days and cool shade and stolen kisses in the shadows.
Perfect for Ruth.
He wasn’t just making the saison for Ruth. The Salty Goat didn’t even have a liquor license. Antero Brewing could use a saison to change things up a little. It was more off the beaten path than Bec’s IPA. Every brewery had an IPA. Not every brewery had a saison.
Maybe he wasn’t the brewmaster, but occasionally he had some ideas of his own. Even if Bec had her doubts.
The building had a small brewing setup at one side that was more like a home brewing system than their big brewing tun and aging tanks. It was, in fact, Liam’s home brewing equipment from days gone by, when he’d been working on his own during his down time. He had a quick pang that might have been nostalgia. Back in the good old days. When I actually had something to do at the brewery.
Knock it off. You’ve got saison to brew. The small system was perfect for his purposes. It functioned well for small test batches, which was what he was going to be putting together today.
He grabbed a polypropylene bucket and filled the brew pot with cool water. The brew pot sat on a metal stand at the side, out of the way. He turned the heat up to medium high, checking the thermometer.
The pilsner malt, the roasted cracked barley that Bec had gotten from Abel Parsons, came in fifty-pound sacks, considerably more than he wanted for a test brew. He grabbed another polypropylene bucket and measured out an amount that looked right, then weighed the bucket to confirm that his guess was on the money. He emptied the grain into the brew kettle, stirring a bit with his long-handled plastic spoon as the liquid came to a boil. He added more water until the grain and water mixture reached the right consistency. As a rule, he was more of an eyeball-brewer than an exact measurer, but he wanted to keep track of what he was doing this time, which meant keeping semi-exact notes.
