Deliciously Smooth (Naked Brews #1)

by K. B. Jacobs

  Son of a bitch. How much worse could this day get?

  “How much are they offering you?” Maybe if I could beat their offer, she’d sell the brewery to me.

  “That’s really none of your—”

  “How much?”

  “Five hundred thousand.”

  I stared at the phone as if she’d just told me aliens were landing on the roof. Half a million dollars? There was no way I could come up with even a fraction of that.

  “Please. Don’t do this.” I wasn’t above begging.

  “Sweetheart, don’t you see that I love you? I’m doing this for your own good.”

  “My own good!” My voice cracked on the last word, and Alex shot me another warning glance. “Can’t you see that Naked Brews is the only thing I have left of Dad? This was our dream, and we did it together. You’re trying to take away the last part of him I can still hold on to.”

  “Lake.” The word came out tired, like this was an old argument. It was a given that we always managed to come up with a way to argue about the brewery during our few conversations each year. “If I thought for even a minute that the brewery was anything other than a dead end and a path to loneliness, you could have it.”

  “Then let me prove to you that it’s not.”

  “How?”

  I glanced around the office, hoping the four walls covered in peeling paint and beer signs might hold the answer. A red poster caught my eye. The faded words were hard to read, but the logo of a national beer competition was unmistakable. “What if I won a beer competition? If I could show that we made something an objective outsider thought was valuable...would that be enough to prove to you that the brewery is a real career?”

  Silence flowed through the phone line. Not even the clacking of keys came from her end. If the little red light indicating an open connection wasn’t shining, I would have thought she had hung up on me.

  “If you can win a legitimate competition—not some local guy tasting beer in his basement. A real beer-tasting contest. If you can win, I’ll let you buy the brewery. Show me that you can succeed, and that you really want it.”

  I didn’t have five hundred dollars, let alone five hundred thousand, but if this was the only way I could keep the brewery, I’d figure it out. “Deal. How long do I have?”

  “I can probably hold the buyer off for thirty days. In the meantime, the company president should be coming to inspect the place soon. You will be on your absolute best behavior, or our deal is off.” Emily sighed, and the clack of keys returned from her side of the conversation. “Lake, I’m swamped here, so I have to let you go. I love you. Talk to you soon.”

  The call ended before I could say anything, but that was fine. I didn’t want to talk to the womb of record any more than I had to.

  “Five hundred thousand,” I repeated weakly. “Where in the hell are we going to get that kind of money?”

  Melissa grabbed her spreadsheet and dragged her finger down a few columns. “We can probably wiggle some things around and pull up a bit of profit this month, but nowhere close to what we need.”

  I stood up and threw the remaining darts at the board. One of them hit the bull’s eye, and I took that for a good omen. “Do what you can with the books. I’ll make an appointment at the bank and see what I can get by way of a personal or business loan.” I looked at both of them and could read in their eyes that they were with me. “We can do this.”

  “Okay, let’s talk about this competition.” Alex walked around the desk and fired up the ancient computer. “I’ll need to do some research and figure out which ones we can still enter that will put us inside our thirty-day window.”

  “Perfect. I’ll—”

  My cell rang, and I glanced at the screen on instinct. The caller ID froze the blood in my veins. Trinity Hospital. I pushed the call button on autopilot, flashbacks of the last phone call I’d gotten from the hospital hitting me like a hammer to my chest.

  “Hello?”

  “Lake, it’s Susan over at Trinity. There’s been an accident.”

  Chapter Ten

  Walsh

  I tried to focus on what the middle-aged nurse was telling me, but my head hurt so damn much. She’d told me her name...Misty, Mandi, Cindy...something like that.

  I couldn’t dwell on it. I was pretty sure gray matter was going to start leaking out of my ears soon. “Gorgeous, please cut to the chase.”

  Her eyes lit up at the compliment, which is exactly why I’d used it. That and because I couldn’t remember the name she’d told me not ten minutes ago. Catch more bees with honey and all that jazz.

  “You’re letting me go home, right?”

  And just like that the light fled from her eyes, and she pursed her lips together. “Mr. Brackens—”

  “Call me Walsh,” I corrected when she used my real last name. It had become such a habit to hide who I really was that even when my brain was only functioning at one-quarter speed, I still did it. It was the reality of the mess I’d made of my life, and I almost laughed out loud. Just another example of a long line of why I was a complete screw-up.

  “Walsh...” She patted my arm like I was a small child. “If I understand what you’re telling me, you were just in town for the day, up from Denver. That’s a three-hour drive...on good roads, in a car that isn’t wrecked, when you don’t have a concussion. For you, that’s strike three. Unfortunately, all our beds are filled here. Your concussion is mild, but we can’t turn you out onto the street, not with a head injury.” Her voice was kind, even though she was sitting here, telling me the worst news. “You’ll need to call someone to come get you.”

  “It’s okay, Susan,” a deep voice said from the doorway.

  Susan! That was her name. That was nothing like what I’d remembered.

  The paramedic who’d brought me in after the wreck came in, pulling someone behind him. “I found this little lady out in the parking lot. She told me she was here to pick you up,” he said. “My brother, Warner, works over at Naked Brews.”

  I was only catching bits and pieces of conversation, so I locked in on the most obvious part of that statement. “Baby face is your brother?” Man, my head-to-mouth filters had disappeared with the blow to the head. But still. I looked at the man in shock.

  The paramedic just laughed. “Yeah, I know, right? Believe it or not, he’s only two years younger than me.” This guy was a huge bear of a man with a five o’clock shadow that looked like he probably had to shave three to four times a day to avoid turning into a lumberjack.

  From what I’d seen, baby face didn’t have a speck of facial hair yet. This guy held no resemblance at all to the kid I’d met at the brewery.

  The guy rubbed his beard, humor sparking in his eyes. “It should be happening for Warner soon, too. We’re all late bloomers. There are five of us boys—Warner’s the baby—and we all develop around the age of twenty-two. Let me tell you, there’s been many a girl around town who has regretted blowing us off before that happened.”

  “I imagine,” I murmured, wanting to go to sleep so badly that it was a fight to keep my eyes open.

  “But she’s one of the good ones.” He pulled someone from behind him, and suddenly I was wide-awake.

  Lake.

  Her eyes widened when she got a good look at me. I must look like a shit fest. The blow to my head had opened a gash above my temple requiring six stitches, and it had bled everywhere. Luckily, they’d left me in my clothes since the only injury was to my head, but I probably looked like some sort of war survivor with all the blood coating them.

  But I could pretty much guarantee that no matter how bad I looked, I felt worse. I wasn’t up for crossing swords with Lake O’Brien.

  I waved my hand at my bruised face. “Look, you didn’t even have to pull out your bat. I’m trying my hardest to get out of your town, but you’ll have to excuse the slight delay.” I grimaced when I thought of the shape Desiree must be in. “They tell me my car is going to need some repair work done
.”

  She walked right up to where I sat on the bed, focusing on the bandage high on my forehead. She lightly ran her fingers on the skin below it. I inhaled at the shock of her ice-cold fingers touching me. Fire raced through my veins straight to my groin.

  And then my nose filled with her scent. It reminded me of frosty mornings and coffee. Good things that made me want to sink into her and never let go.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked, concern and compassion marring her beautiful, perfect features.

  This close I could see the silver flecks in her blue eyes. I wanted to touch her and see if her skin was as soft as it looked. So far, I’d seen her pissed off, ranting, and stubborn as all get out. This total turn around to being nice had my head spinning and not just because of the head injury.

  “Yeah, it hurts,” I answered truthfully. We were so close together, this moment felt intimate even though there were still two other people in the room watching us.

  I developed a sudden overwhelming desire to tell her the real truth about me, but that wasn’t even a possibility. I needed to shut this line of thinking down quickly. I was already sinking, and that was so fucking dangerous.

  “Be careful,” I whispered, although who knew if I was talking to her or myself more. “You’re in danger of acting like you care.”

  She stepped back like I’d bit her. And quite honestly, I had. I’d bitten her with the truth. We didn’t want the same thing, so there was no way I could give into this dangerous lust that overcame me every time she stepped within ten feet of me.

  Her eyes flashed. Yeah, there was that girl from this morning. “Walsh Thorne, don’t act like you know a damn thing about me or my feelings on the matter. Just because I have some basic human compassion does not mean I like you. But you’re hurt, and I’m not so hard-hearted that I’ll leave you on the curb. Since you can’t stay here, you can stay on my couch tonight. We’ll figure out how to get you the hell out of Aspenridge tomorrow.”

  I wanted to argue. Hell, I wanted to see those amazingly gorgeous, icy-blue eyes spark with temper again. But as another wave of pain rolled through my head, I had to swallow hard to keep from puking. Yeah, I was done.

  “Okay,” I said meekly.

  “Well, hell,” she muttered. “That was easy.” She turned to my nurse. “I like this quieter, meeker Walsh. Will this change be a permanent one? And if it’s not, can I hit him in the head again later?”

  “Afraid not, Lake. We don’t want to permanently damage the pretty man. Just enjoy the quiet while you can.” Both Susan and the paramedic laughed.

  “Laugh it up, beer-girl. Just be warned, I’m likely to puke in your car.” And for once, I was telling the full truth.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lake

  “Here.” I shoved the empty, plastic personal-belongings bag I begged from Susan toward the big pain in the ass sitting in my front seat.

  “What’s this for?” Walsh’s voice was still a little weak from the pain meds, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry for him. What kind of moron drives a featherweight sports car across three inches of fresh snow?

  “You will not throw up in my Bronco.” I shook the bag until he took it, and then I slammed his door shut.

  I gave the hood of my candy-apple-red baby a pat. “Sorry, girl.” She didn’t deserve to have her door slammed or be forced to transport the sorry lout in her passenger seat. But we were all doing things we’d rather not.

  I climbed into the driver seat and fired her up to get the heat going. It was only a three-block drive, but every little bit helped.

  “Are you serious?” In the passenger seat, Walsh stared in derision at the four-point harness Dad and I had installed to replace the rotting seatbelts.

  “Yes. You’re in the mountains where the roads are slick and accidents happen. I thought you’d get that, but maybe that was expecting too much. Wear it or don’t. I couldn’t care any less.”

  “And just when I thought we were friends.” Walsh buckled the seat belt and fluttered his eyelashes at me, sending traitorous goosebumps up my arms. “What has you in such a delightful mood?”

  “You,” I spit out between clenched teeth. “You try to steal my brewery, tell me I suck at my job, and then nearly get yourself killed in some little boy’s wet dream of a car. The last thing I had time for today was driving clear across town to pick you up.”

  “Clear across town? That took, what, ten minutes? This town is smaller than a postage stamp.”

  I grinned over at him and fluttered my own lashes. “And yet, you still couldn’t find your way out without rolling your car into a ditch.”

  “Ouch.” Walsh held his hands up, the plastic bag crinkling over his head. “Can we call a truce? At least until I don’t have a concussion and can fight back.”

  Emily had insisted I be nice to the investor or our deal was off.

  “Fine.” I threw the Bronco into gear and backed out of my spot in the hospital parking lot. “Truce.”

  We drove the three short blocks to my condo in silence, the town glittering around us with freshly fallen snow. When we reached my place, I didn’t offer to help him up the few steps into my place. Walsh was sore from the accident, but Susan said he was fine to move around. Lord knew I was helping him enough, letting him stay here.

  “Nice place,” Walsh said from behind me as we entered.

  I shut the door and nodded in agreement. My mountainside condo was filled with wood and rock and leather, like pretty much every other place in town. It was a place to sleep. My real home was the brewery. But the less I said about that, the less likely I would say something I might regret later.

  “Not that I’m not grateful for the ride, but why exactly am I staying here and not the very nice resort hotel I saw on my drive into town?”

  I tossed my bag on the end table and flipped on the lights. “Because the inn is full. There’s a competition in town, and every skier and snowboarder in the country is there. They’ll clear out tomorrow, but tonight, they don’t have an empty room for any price.”

  Walsh tilted his head and lifted his eyebrows.

  “You think bringing you here was my first choice?” No amount of bribing could convince anyone else from the brewery to come get his sorry ass.

  “Fair enough. Honestly, my head is killing me, so a comfy couch sounds like a little slice of heaven.”

  We both glanced over at my tiny loveseat. Walsh wasn’t a giant, but no way was that thing going to be comfortable. Not that I cared about his comfort, but the pampered ass was probably used to five-star elegance. Emily’s words sounded in my head once again.

  “You were the one in the car accident today, so you take my bed. I’ll crash on the couch. I doubt I’ll be sleeping much tonight anyway.” Not with a beer competition to research and a gorgeous guy sleeping in my bed a few feet away.

  “I can’t take your bed.” Walsh eyeballed the loveseat over my shoulder and grimaced. “On second thought, maybe I will take you up on that offer. Just for tonight.”

  I walked over to the bedroom and flipped on the light, sending a silent prayer to the gods of young women that I didn’t have any underwear lying on the floor. “Bedroom. Bathroom is next door. I just have one, so try not to puke all over it.”

  Turning back to Walsh, I really took him in for the first time since the accident. He was a mess. Susan had said the cut over his eye wasn’t anything to worry about, but the black stitches poking in every direction made it look worse. His once-crisp shirt looked like something from a low-budget horror movie, and his pants hadn’t fared much better.

  “Do you want a shower?” I asked.

  Walsh glanced down at himself and then back at me. “God, yes.”

  The bathroom was in shambles from my usual morning rush fest, but it would have to do. I handed him a clean towel, closed the door, and went in search of something he could wear.

  In my closet, tucked into the corner, was a huge cardboard box I hadn’t looked at since I shoved
it back there two months ago. I kicked several pairs of shoes out of the way and dragged it into the room.

  The second I tore off the tape and lifted the flaps, the scent of Dad hit me. A mixture of pine and hops that always meant safety and comfort. I dashed at the hot tears threatening to fall and reached in. Dad was always a jeans and T-shirt kind of guy and several sizes bigger than Walsh, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. I found an old Naked Brews T-shirt that didn’t look too ginormous and a pair of gym shorts Dad probably hadn’t worn in ten years. Maybe if he had, his heart wouldn’t have given out on him driving home two months ago.

  Getting that call from Susan had brought it all back, sending my heart rate skyrocketing and frizzing my nerves. I would have given anything to drive to the hospital that day and take Dad home with me.

  But this wasn’t Dad. This was Walsh, an irritating, though ridiculously sexy, guy who would be just fine. I tossed the clothes on the bed and shoved the box back into the closet.

  Grabbing my nightshirt, I turned to leave just as Walsh made his entrance, smelling like my peach shower gel and covered only in a thin bath towel around his waist, his chest dripping with water. I threw my hands up on instinct as I collided with his chest and ended up way too close, his muscled pecs tightening under my fingers. His growing shaft pressed against my stomach. I fought the urge to push my body closer.

  “Sorry.” I jumped back. Dashing around him, I called back over my shoulder, “Pajamas are on the bed. See you in the morning.” I slammed the door shut behind me and took a long quivering breath.

  Walsh Thorne was the enemy. We do not picture our enemies naked and tempting us with their manly goodies. We do not sleep with our enemies. No matter how soft the enemy’s lips look, we will not kiss them under any circumstances. Enemies are for crushing under the heels of our boots.