Real Men Will

by Victoria Dahl

  Not for the better, anyway.

  Beth stared down at the phone, feeling that she should do something. She had to do something, didn’t she? A woman who was being investigated by the police had just asked Beth to lie for her. Was Beth an accessory now? She’d never even had a parking ticket.

  But she didn’t understand. What could Monica have to do with theft? She was hardly going to climb over security fences in her Manolo Blahniks.

  Beth did another Google query for Graham Kendall, but she didn’t find any new details. Then she pulled up the website of the Boulder Police Department. She couldn’t call 911 about something so trivial. But who would she call? The tip line? That seemed melodramatic.

  She stared at the phone, biting her thumbnail until she realized what she was doing and forced her hand down.

  The thing was…what if part of Monica’s story was true? What if Jamie had taken advantage of her? Would the Donovans even want Beth bringing all this up to the police?

  She couldn’t imagine it. The man Beth had met had been outraged over Eric’s lie. Surely, if Jamie Donovan was an immature, arrogant asshole, he would’ve been high-fiving his brother over a good score. Then again, you couldn’t tell what some men were like. Beth knew that from personal experience.

  She didn’t owe them anything. Even if she had encouraged Roland Kendall to do business with the Donovans, this wasn’t her fault. Not really. At most, they were even now, she and Eric. He’d lied to her over and over, and she’d…introduced him to a family who’d stolen and lied and dragged the brewery into an international fraud investigation.

  “Crap,” she muttered.

  She wanted nothing to do with any of this. She certainly didn’t want to talk to Eric again. But now she had information that might affect a police investigation.

  “Crap.” She had no choice.

  Beth picked up the phone, but she didn’t call the police. She called the brewery instead. Eric wasn’t in, so she asked for his voice mail, even as she wondered if a brewery would have a voice mail system. Somehow, she pictured messages being written down on napkins, but then the phone clicked and Eric’s voice was in her ear.

  Beth closed her eyes at the sound. His voice was gruff and deep and sexy, and she was abruptly taken back to Saturday night and her fantasies about him.

  Silence rang in her ear and she realized she’d already heard the beep. “Oh, hi. Eric. This is Beth. Cantrell. I wanted to talk to you about something. Um…could you give me a call?” She left her cell number and hung up, accidentally clattering the phone hard against the receiver.

  Cringing, she waited. And waited. Ten minutes later, she made herself get back to work. An hour later she told herself to stop worrying. And by the end of the day, she’d put him from her mind. If he never wanted to talk to her again, so be it. Good riddance to bad rubbish. She’d only been trying to help.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ERIC HADN’T PLANNED ON setting foot in the brewery until Tuesday. He’d worked from home instead, making calls and booking hotels for the winter beer fest in Phoenix in November. He didn’t want to talk to his family, and when Tessa finally called, he let it go to voice mail. But by the end of the day, he was pacing the small dimensions of his condo, desperate to get behind his desk and do the last few things on his schedule that he couldn’t do from home.

  By six-thirty, he’d decided it was safe. Tessa was likely long gone, and if Jamie was still there, he’d be in the front room. Eric could sneak in, shut his door and work for another hour or two before heading back home.

  When he saw neither Tessa’s nor Jamie’s car in the lot, Eric breathed a sigh of relief. Monday was a fairly quiet evening, so they’d left the barroom in the capable hands of Chester, who’d recently been promoted to supervisor to let Jamie spend more time on the restaurant plans.

  Eric walked in without worrying he’d run into a family member he owed an apology to, and sat behind his desk with a grim smile. He had fifteen voice mails, but he knew from experience to leave those until he was done with his current worries.

  He sank into his work, the only place he could manage to lose himself, and was surprised to look up an hour later and realize how much time had passed. Once he’d sent the last graphics file he owed the ad agency, he picked up his phone and jotted down messages. Distributors, the glass company, a follow-up question from the liquor board. He was in auto mode halfway through, but then a message took him by surprise. A big surprise. Eric wrote down Beth’s number and hung up the phone, his heart suddenly speeding.

  What did she want? And why had there been so much tension in her voice?

  He’d assumed he’d never see her again, and the sudden shift of expectations made his pulse surge. He grabbed the phone and started to dial the number, but stopped before he got past the area code.

  It was nearly eight o’clock. He was done here. Why call her when he could use this as an excuse to see her?

  “Because you don’t want to see her,” he told himself even as he hung up the phone. And it was true to an extent. He didn’t want to see her, but maybe he needed to. Because every hint of the weariness that had dogged him all day had vanished at the possibility.

  She was wrong for him. She hated him. Yet she made him feel alive.

  That had to be a tale as old as time, but here he was telling it again. And here he was shutting down his computer and grabbing his phone and setting out for the White Orchid.

  “Why not?” he muttered. She might still be at work. And if she wasn’t, he could always wander around the shop to find out what secrets it held.

  This time when he pulled into the White Orchid, the parking lot was packed. Monday nights were slow at the brewery, but they seemed to be a hopping time for an erotic boutique. Maybe the stress of getting back to the workweek was too much for some people. They needed a release.

  He spied the same red sports car that had been there the other morning and pulled in next to it.

  Strangely, even though he’d been so self-conscious about his first trip, this time he didn’t even blink. The place was filled with customers who might know him, and he didn’t give a damn. He was too focused on getting a glimpse of Beth.

  Would she be wearing one of those fantastic tight skirts she’d worn at the expo? The ones that were knee length and showed hardly a hint of skin, but somehow seemed dirtier because of it? Or would she be wearing tight jeans that framed the shape of her thighs? He didn’t give a damn which it was, but the anticipation of finding out shot through his body and squeezed his heart tight.

  Eric opened the door, expecting to see customers in pairs and groups, spread throughout the store. His eyes were still sliding over the racks, searching out Beth, when he realized that everyone was gathered on one side of the store. In chairs. And Beth was standing in front of them, talking about…

  “…the argument about the existence of the G-spot continues to this day, with each side insisting that the facts support their theory. Either that there is no G-spot and it is simply a figment of an overeager doctor’s imagination, or that every woman has a G-spot and if she doesn’t enjoy that sort of stimulation, she’s simply not doing it right. Personally, I can’t discount women’s experiences on either side of the issue, but we’re not here to take a stand either way. We’re simply here to help you explore the possibilities, and hopefully have fun while doing it.”

  A class? Eric listened to laughter roll over the crowd and shook his head. A class?

  This was what Tessa had mentioned a few weeks ago, when Jamie had chimed in and told Eric he should drop in and see if he could learn a few things from this woman. Eric had nearly choked on the horrifying irony. He’d already had his own one-on-one session with Beth Cantrell, and he’d learned plenty.

  But this…

  Beth was giving an anatomical description that sounded a bit like a map to treasure. Eric listened closely, because he’d never heard anything like this. The teacher in health class hadn’t even mentioned a clitoris, much less
a G-spot. Eric and every other boy in his junior high had been left to figure out female pleasure on their own. What a damned injustice, for both the boys and the girls.

  But this information was priceless, and Eric considered taking a seat. He considered it, but found he was unable to move, frozen by the sight of Beth gesturing, shaping sexual knowledge with her hands as she coolly discussed the female body. Her body. She described female erectile tissue and the correlation to male anatomy, and all he could think about was touching her, making her wet, making her shake and scream for him.

  Suddenly, she was done talking, and the audience was clapping. Eric blinked from a daze. Was it over? Had he missed it? But no. A dark-haired girl he recognized from the expo took Beth’s place and started talking technique. Eric wished he’d brought a notebook.

  Beth edged over to stand at the side of the crowd, her back to the wall. She was dressed like the perfect model of an up-and-coming businesswoman, just as she had been at the expo. So how did she manage to make a black skirt and a gray button-down blouse look so…promising? Was it just her generous curves? Was it the schoolteacher vibe that reminded him of that damned mannequin near the register? Or was it the flash of a bright red necklace drawing his eye to her throat and the intriguing glimpse of skin above that first button?

  Eric divided his time between keeping an eye on her and listening to what the other woman was saying. Something about pressure and stimulation. Something about female orgasm and—

  His eyes slid to Beth again, and she was staring at him, her lips parted in surprise.

  Eric straightened as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. He cleared his throat and shifted. She still stared.

  Finally, she pushed away from the wall, skirted around the crowd and walked toward him. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, not exactly looking happy to see him.

  “Sorry, I only got your message a few minutes ago. I was on my way home, so I thought I’d see if you were here. I didn’t realize you were…um, giving a class.”

  A blush crept up her face. It had to be a blush. But that couldn’t be right. Maybe it was pink fury. “What did you want to talk to me about?” he asked before she could start yelling.

  “Oh,” she said, turning to look around before tipping her head toward the door. “Can we speak outside?”

  “Are you done?” He gestured toward the presentation, where the dark-haired girl now had her fingers thrust up inside an anatomical model. Eric tilted his head to the side to get a better view.

  “Cairo has it under control,” Beth said quickly, wrapping her hand around his elbow. “Let’s talk outside.”

  He tore his eyes from the girl’s slender hand disappearing into plastic flesh and followed Beth to the parking lot. She walked all the way to her car, then crossed her arms and paced next to it. Eric noticed her red spike heels immediately. Did she know how distracting they were? Is that why she wore them? Or was it because they made her legs look impossibly long?

  “Do you remember that night…?” Her voice trailed off and her pacing faltered. “I mean…” She glanced up, but her eyes slid quickly away from his. “I don’t know if you remember this, but at the expo, I told you that I knew the Kendall family.”

  His mind spun. Out of all his memories of that night, this one had taken very low priority. “Right,” he said, crossing his arms in defense. “I’d forgotten.”

  “I had no idea about…you know.”

  “Their side project?”

  Beth winced. “Yes. I just found out about it last night. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I’m sorry.”

  He tilted his head in acknowledgment, but he had a feeling this was leading somewhere. “All right. Thank you.” She was friends with someone who’d violated the security of the brewery and tried to damage Eric’s employees. And she hated him. This couldn’t mean anything good.

  “Would you be willing to tell me what really happened?” she asked.

  “Why?” he asked more harshly than he’d meant to.

  She swallowed, her gaze sliding away again. As if she felt guilty. As if she’d done something wrong.

  “Look,” he said. “If you know the family, that’s your business. But don’t expect me to help them out just because I feel guilty about what I did. If Graham Kendall is someone you know well—”

  “No! That’s not it at all. It’s complicated. I’ve known the family for a long time, and I…”

  His heart sank. “And you want to help them?”

  “No. I just…I think I might be responsible. That’s all.”

  Eric dropped his arms and stepped back. That hadn’t been what he’d expected at all.

  “EXCUSE ME?”

  Beth hugged her arms harder to herself and paced to the bumper of her car before making herself walk back to Eric.

  “Beth, what are you talking about?”

  “That night at the hotel. You called me to give me the room number.” Her body warmed just saying the words, and she could feel her face turn red. “I was on my way to the elevator when I saw Roland Kendall. I shouldn’t have said anything, I know, but I was flustered. I told him I’d heard he was negotiating a deal with the brewery.”

  “Okay.”

  “Kendall said he wasn’t going to go with Donovan Brothers, but I asked him to give you a chance. I told him you were a good guy. At least I thought I was talking about you.”

  “Beth, what does this have to do with Graham?”

  “Roland Kendall called you just an hour later. I think I’m the one who convinced him to go with Donovan Brothers.”

  Eric shook his head. “You’re hardly responsible for what happened afterward, though.”

  “Then would you be willing to tell me what happened? Please?”

  He didn’t look happy about it. In fact, his frown made her want to squirm and apologize and promise she’d never do it again…whatever it was she’d done. “Eric—”

  “I’ll tell you. The stuff that’s a matter of public record, anyway.”

  She nodded and didn’t say a word. She wanted to get his take on it before she told him what had happened. She wanted to know how upset she should be about Monica’s bullshit.

  “So…Roland Kendall called me and finally agreed to the meeting.”

  She met his gaze and felt the quiet spark that arced between them. Roland Kendall had called while she was naked in Eric’s hotel room. Eric had still been on the phone when she’d quickly scrambled into her clothes and made her escape.

  “The meeting went well,” Eric said. “Really well. As a matter of fact, we came to an agreement. A month later, we were waiting for Kendall to sign the contract, when the brewery was robbed. All that was taken was one keg and the computers. It was similar to a series of robberies in the area. At first, it seemed like we were a random victim.”

  She nodded. “But then?”

  “Then the detective on the case managed to find a fingerprint, and it belonged to Graham Kendall. It all unraveled from there. Apparently he’d been pulling the same thing in Denver the year before. We just ended up being hit because we were on his radar, I think.”

  “So that’s it?” she asked, folding her arms tighter.

  “Basically.” Eric’s eyes dipped down her body. “You’re cold. Here.” He pulled his keys from his pocket, and the SUV next to her beeped. The flash of the lights reminded Beth that it was starting to get dark. As she looked around, the lot lights of the restaurant across the street blinked to life.

  Eric slipped a coat over her shoulders.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. The cold leather creaked as she pulled it tighter, but her body heat soon warmed it up. As she grew warmer, his scent drifted up from the coat. She actually had to close her eyes at the smell of his body, his soap. It surrounded her and stole inside on every breath.

  “So why did you want to know?” he asked.

  Beth opened her eyes and it seemed to have grown darker in those few seconds. She could still see Eric clearl
y, but he was dimmer now. As if this weren’t real. Yearning pushed against her breastbone as if there were no space for it inside her chest. “So Monica had nothing to do with this?”

  All the easiness left his body as he stiffened. “Monica Kendall? Why?”

  That wasn’t the reaction she’d been looking for. Beth sighed and pulled his coat tighter around her. “Did she have something to do with it?”

  Eric looked away. “If she’s a friend of yours, I don’t want to say anything.”

  “She’s not. We just happened to be roommates our freshman year at the U. That’s it.”

  “Then why are you asking about her now?”

  Beth hesitated. She wanted to hear his side of the story first, but he was obviously suspicious. “Because she called me today. And I want to hear the truth.” She knew that what Monica had said wasn’t the truth, because Monica wouldn’t bother with it if there was a lie that painted her in a better light.

  “I’m not sure if I should tell you this.” He looked away again, staring at the lights of the restaurant.

  “I won’t tell anyone. And I think I deserve a little truth.”

  That brought his face back around, his eyes flashing silver as the distant lights caught them. “You do,” he said, and those quiet words made her feel a hundred times better than all his apologies and explanations. “All right. Monica was there the night the brewery was robbed.”

  “She helped break in?” She was frowning at the ridiculousness of that, but Eric was already shaking his head.

  “No. She was in the front room. She had some beer and then told Jamie she needed a ride home. While he was in the back, she unlocked the front door. They left through the back. That’s where he set the alarm.”

  “And she watched?”

  “She was right there.”

  Beth nodded. “And she asked him to take her home?”

  “She did.”

  Beth could tell from the edge in his voice that there was something he wasn’t saying, and she figured it had to do with what had happened when they got to Monica’s house. “When Monica called me today, she said that Jamie had given her name to the police because she refused to see him again after that night.”