Lightstruck: ( A Contemporary Romance Novel) (Brewing Passion Book 2)

by Liz Crowe

  He clenched his hands together under the table and forced himself to calculate the final gravity of the beer he’d brewed today to lessen the stress under his zipper.

  Down, boy. This one’s not for you. She will eat you alive.

  And yet…

  He glanced up at her again. Her eyes were fixed on his. She blinked slowly. Ross believed he could hear her long brown eye lashes touch. Those amazing full, red lips were moving again. He gulped.

  “Well,” she demanded.

  He flinched. “Oh, sorry. What did you say?”

  She sighed. Their beers arrived, along with a bowl of smoked nuts. He popped a few into his mouth to cover his embarrassment. Holly sniffed her beer then sipped, smiled and took a longer drink. Smacking her lips, she set the glass down.

  “Well done,” she said. “I’m a tough gal to please.”

  “Oh?” he asked, taking a long drink of his own, resisting the urge to pat himself on the back over the tricky style. Without trying to be too obvious, he shifted in his seat, attempting without success to alleviate the pressure behind his zipper.

  Holly tossed a few of the peppery, smoky cashews into her mouth, drank then blotted her lips with a napkin. “Now, where were we?”

  “Talking about how I please you, I think,” he blurted out.

  She raised one light brown eyebrow at him. He matched it.

  “I don’t make a point to screw around with my interview subjects,” she said, tracing a fingertip around the rim of her glass then putting it to her lips.

  “Could have fooled me, Holly,” he said, putting emphasis on her name. His lizard brain had taken over and the rest of him was so emotionally and physically drained, it put up little fight. “But that’s fine with me. My place, or yours?”

  “Mine, I think,” she said, draining her beer and tossing down a ten-dollar bill. Ross watched as she rose, her movements like silvery liquid. She stood, hands on her hips, staring at him a few seconds. “You coming?”

  “Without a doubt,” he said, slamming his own beer and getting up, no longer caring if she could see his boner. She could. And she made a point of letting him know she’d seen it before she smiled and put a cool hand to his hot face.

  “I thought as much. Let’s go, hot stuff.” She gave his beard a tug, turned and sauntered through the crowd.

  Chapter Three

  Holly Grant looked even better naked, not that Ross ever doubted that she would. She had a skill set just shy of a pro, too, which was nice. But by the time they were done, gasping and sweating side by side in her gigantic bed in front of her own wall of windows facing the Flatirons, the distinct feeling edging out the exhaustion and brain-numbing pleasure of a long-repressed, monster orgasm, was one of despair.

  He felt sick at his stomach at his own cravenness. The level of raunchy pleasure he got touching, licking, kissing and fucking her made him want to run for the bathroom and throw up. Which was not a happy feeling to have post-sex and not one he’d ever had before.

  For her part, Holly stretched and sighed and rolled away from him before tottering across the room and into the bathroom where she shut the door and remained as long as it took for him to drift off to sleep. When he woke, the place was dark. He sensed a warm body next to him. And the sensation of loneliness, of missing the two people in the universe he cared most about, rolled through his brain like thunderclouds, muttering and dangerous.

  You’re the one who left, you numb nuts. You bolted and you barely acknowledge their communication attempts with you. You are the one with the problem, whatever the hell it is. Deal with it.

  He did, by shoving all thoughts of Evelyn out of his head, wrapping his body around the sleeping curve of Holly’s until the good old lizard brain took over and his dick was hard enough to break concrete.

  “Hmmm,” Holly murmured, arching back so her bare ass pressed against his eager erection.

  By way of response, Ross cupped her breast with one hand and put his lips to her shoulder, sucking in the essence of her, willing Evelyn away from him. He kissed his way up her long neck, pulling that thick fall of hair aside so he could nibble there. She shivered and gave a low moan of pleasure as her nipple hardened under his fingers.

  When she tried to reach back and grab him he bit down on the soft skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, making her squeal. “I’m doing the touching,” he whispered, licking the bite mark until she shivered again. The smell of her lust coiled around in his brain as he kept teasing her skin with his lips and teeth, tugging hard on her nipple until she was shoving her hips and ass so hard back against him he gasped.

  “Fuck me, Ross,” she hissed, rolling so she was up on her hands and knees, her back arched. The moonlight slanted in and hit her just so, making her look as if she had a white mark splitting her in two. He positioned himself behind her, leaned over and threaded the fingers of one hand in her thick hair.

  “Tell me again,” he demanded, his voice rough with lust and a strange, emptiness—a distinct sadness at this, at himself, at his piss-poor life choice.

  She threw her head back and spread her thighs wider. Ross stared down at the gleaming white of her skin in the semi-darkness, mesmerized by his one hand, in her hair, and the other one, trailing down her back to her ass and to his dick.

  “Now,” she demanded, her voice filling his head. “Fuck me now, Ross.”

  He did as he was told, reaching around to flick his finger against her clit, groaning into her shoulder. Her flesh rose under his touch, and she cried out, filling his nose and brain and body with her smell and noise.

  He dug his fingers into her hips and pounded hard, watching, and feeling somewhat detached from his dick that was sliding in and out of her, at the way her ass made a heart-shape.

  “Oh, God, yes!” she shrieked, dropping to her elbows and giving him an amazing new angle.

  He came hard and loud, and kept coming so long he thought he might pass out. But at least that meant he could sleep, and not think about Evelyn for a few hours.

  The next morning, she was up early, spinning her legs away to nowhere on the bike in the corner of the bedroom. He stumbled into the shower, his sense of emptiness and agony sharper than ever. Cursing, he shampooed and soaped, rinsed and toweled off, then yanked up the jeans he’d had on the day before, leaving his underwear defiantly on her hardwood floor.

  Don’t be mad at her, you loser. She wanted to fuck. You obliged her.

  “I gotta get home,” he said. But Holly kept pedaling, going even faster as he watched. Once he figured out she had wireless earbuds in her ears, he stomped around to stand in front of her, his arms crossed, his ears ringing and his heart pounding.

  “I’m going,” he mouthed.

  She held up a hand. He waited, getting angrier by the second for reasons that made zero sense whatsoever. Finally, she stopped and sat up, her legs still going round and round, sweat streaming down her face, darkening the sports bra and highlighting the firm peaks of her nipples. Ross forced himself not to respond, although something about her had him programmed already and he knew it. His dick stirred, unencumbered by his jockey shorts.

  “Yes, please go change,” she said, smiling and taking a long drink from her water bottle. “I’ll have the crew in place…” She glanced at her watch. “Two p.m. Be ready, stud.” She winked and dropped her hands to the handlebars, her gaze now trained out on the mountain view, Ross, apparently, forgotten.

  He fumed all the way home. As he slammed his way into the borrowed living space, he tried like hell to square his fury with the superb sex he’d had, twice, in the past few hours. What in God’s name did he have to be pissed off about?

  He drank some coffee and watched the sun rise, then picked up his phone and looked at the screen for the first time since meeting Holly Grant in Brad’s office the day before. The texts were in all caps by the end. And they were all from Austin.

  Ross’ hands shook so hard he dropped the device. It hit the hard wood floor with an ominou
s crack. He fumbled for it, then managed to hit speed dial for Brad.

  “Tell Holly I’m sorry but I won’t be available today. I have to go…I have to fly home…to…I mean…fuck.”

  “What the hell, man? Brad blustered. “How are we going to manage—?”

  “I don’t care, Brad. Fuck it. I quit.”

  He hit the end call button, his ears ringing with anxiety and the early onset of remorse.

  Quit another job? Nice work. Jesus.

  Ah, who cares, anyway? Brad was a tool and a pain in the ass to brew for. He needed to get home. To Evelyn and to Austin where he belonged.

  “Ross?” Austin’s familiar voice sliced through his brain like a hot knife through cold butter. “Is that you? You have to come home, man. You have to. Shit man, she’s… Oh God,” Austin’s voice broke.

  “I’m on the first flight,” he said, grabbing the duffel bag he’d unpacked a few months before when he’d moved in and shoving all his belongings into it. “I’m coming, Austin. Tell her to hold on for…for me.”

  “She’s at the U of M Hospital, Ann Arbor, room two-oh-five. Hurry.” With that, Austin ended the call leaving Ross standing in the sun-shot great room of his new life, packing up to go back to his old one.

  Chapter Four

  The four-hour flight into Detroit was a nightmare, and not just because of near-constant turbulence. Ross’ guts roiled as he tried to relax, tried to distract himself, tried like hell to pretend that the texts he’d read from his friend weren’t true. But by way of penance, or something like it, he scrolled through them repeatedly.

  Come home, Ross. Something is wrong.

  Evelyn’s in the hospital. Her BP is sky high and she’s bleeding.

  Get your sorry ass here, you fucker. Evelyn needs you! I need you!

  GOD DAMN IT, ROSS!

  And finally…

  JUST CALL ME. PLEASE.

  The last one had come through at about three a.m., right about the time Ross had been rough-fucking Holly Grant. He groaned and pressed his aching forehead against the airplane window, the phone still clenched tightly in his hand. He must have slept because the next thing he knew, they were landing with a thump and roar on the wet tarmac at Detroit Metro Airport.

  Going against his usual wait-it-out-and-be-the-last-one-off M.O., he yanked his bag from the overhead compartment and stood in the aisle, waiting for the moment that he could power up his phone.

  “Sir, please sit down until we taxi all the way to—”

  He gave the woman his sternest glare. “I have an emergency. I need to be the first one off.”

  She blinked in the face of his rudeness. “All right. Follow me please.”

  He did, and found himself standing in the area between the service carts and the cockpit while the plane trundled along the various runways on its way to the terminal. The jetway extended like an arm out from the building and attached itself to the side of the plane. Finally, after what felt like three contiguous eternities, the door opened and Ross leapt out and ran all the way up to the door before putting his phone to his ear.

  “Where are you?” Austin snapped.

  “Just landed. Didn’t check anything. I’ll be there as quick as I can rent a car.”

  “Make it fast.”

  “She’s… The baby is…?”

  “You haven’t earned the right to ask me anything yet. Get your sorry ass here, Ross. And see for yourself.”

  Ross closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. “Austin, I’m—”

  “Spare me. Just get here.”

  It felt as if the entire world had descended all at once upon Detroit, and on the Hertz office in particular. Ross stood in line, his heart whamming around for nearly forty minutes before he was finally handed the keys to a vehicle. As he maneuvered through the traffic in a seemingly vain attempt to get to the freeway, his phone dinged with multiple texts. This time, from Holly.

  What the fuck, Ross? led to

  You’re an inconsiderate asshole.

  To

  Brad said you quit??!!!!

  and

  You can’t just leave like that!

  And finally

  Are you all right? Call me.

  He sighed and gunned the SUV’s anemic engine to join the line of cars and trucks headed toward Ann Arbor. As he focused forward, trying to concoct reasonable excuses for not only the powder he’d taken on Austin and Evelyn’s wedding day but for his long string of non-communication with them, the sum total of his fucked-up personal life hit him square in the face.

  “Shit,” he muttered, balling his right hand into a fist and pounding on the steering wheel. “Shit, god damn, fuck.”

  A string of red brake lights ahead gave him yet more reason to curse. He sat for a solid five minutes without moving before grabbing his phone and fumbling to re-dial Austin. But the damn thing was already buzzing with a call. “I’m stuck in traffic,” he said, his chest tight with anxiety in anticipation of Austin’s well-earned fury.

  “All I want to know is,” the honey-smooth voice of the woman from last night hit his ear. “What’s so damned important that you’d get out of my bed, pack your bag, quit your job and leave town?”

  “Holly,” he said, exhaling as his ever-diligent lizard brain started dumping erotic memories into his brain. “It’s… I’m… Shit.”

  “Well, yes, I’d agree with that assessment.”

  The traffic started moving forward. Ross shoved the lizard brain back into its hole and stepped on it so he could concentrate.

  “Ross,” she said, drawing his name out to more than its usual number of syllables. “Honey…”

  “I gotta go, Holly. It’s a family emergency.”

  “Well, if you must know, I made sure Brad understood you were having some kind of a crisis and didn’t mean it when you said you quit.”

  Ross sighed. “Not your business, really.”

  “Maybe not. Maybe not. Listen, do you need anything?”

  “I…don’t know yet,” he admitted, acknowledging the undercurrent of relief that she’d done what she’d done with his boss.

  Lame. Triple lame. God but you are a mess.

  “But, uh, thanks. For talking to Brad, I mean.”

  “No trouble, sugar. No trouble at all. I’m here, whenever you want to talk.”

  He opened his mouth to assure her that wouldn’t be necessary, but she’d ended the call.

  “Fuck,” he spat out as he redialed Austin’s number only to have it go straight to voicemail. “Christ,” he muttered as he inched forward and tapped out a text. Within ten minutes, whatever was holding up the works on I-94 must have cleared and the line of cars and trucks began gaining speed.

  Ross wove in and out of the traffic, waving his middle finger at various honks, terror gripping his entire body, making him rigid and achy by the time he screeched up to the hospital parking garage. The bank of elevators confounded him for a few seconds but he jumped into one and hit the second floor button, praying it would be this simple. He’d find her room, apologize to her and to Austin, make sure the kid—his kid—was still cooking away, or whatever it did in there. Then he could leave again.

  That was his special talent—leaving.

  He skidded around a corner, reading the room numbers as he fast-walked down the hall. The distinct rubber-plastic-medicinal-piss smell of the hallway made his stomach churn even harder. As the numbers counted down from two-forty toward the target two-oh-five, he slowed, then stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of Austin, talking with a woman in blue surgical scrubs.

  Attempting to gain some knowledge of Evelyn’s status by their body language, Ross watched for a few seconds, until Austin raised his eyes and met his gaze, as if he’d known Ross was there the whole time. The man looked positively strung out. His normally clean-shaven jaw was covered in a week’s worth of dark growth. Shadows were gathered under his eyes. Ross hesitated another second, then marched over to him and faced the person he assumed was Evelyn’
s doctor. He stuck out a hand. “Hello. I’m Ross Hoffman. I am the baby’s father. Can you fill me in, please?”

  His voice sounded strong and sure. But he was quavering inside. He noticed that the door to room two-oh-five was slightly ajar. Then, he heard it. The thin, strange to him but somehow recognizable sound of a baby’s cry coming from the room behind them.

  Mouth hanging open like a dolt, he turned to Austin, who nodded and gave him a tight smile. “It’s a girl,” he said. His voice broke on the last word.

  “Mr. Hoffman,” the doctor said, pulling his attention back to her. “You are all very lucky. The baby was well-developed for only being thirty-five weeks old. She began breathing on her own after about an hour in the NICU. There’s no sign of jaundice at all.” The woman glanced down at her tablet. She cut her gaze to Austin, then back to Ross, seemingly confused. “Congratulations,” she finally said. “To you both. I’ll be back to check on her in a few hours. For now, just support your…ah…”

  “Wife,” Austin said, abruptly, his brow furrowed. “She’s my wife.”

  “I see,” the doctor responded, looking eager to escape this complex tableau. “Well, then, okay. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Austin?” Evelyn’s thin voice cut through Ross like a blade.

  Austin stopped to glare at him, then ducked inside the room, making soothing sounds that Ross couldn’t assemble into words.

  The baby.

  It’s here.

  My…baby.

  He ran a hand down his face and realized he was taking steps backward, away from the half open door.

  “Ross, join us, please?”

  “Yes,” he said, straightening up and dragging his fingers through his wild, too-long hair. “Right. Coming.”

  He strode into the room, reminding himself that this was all right. This was good. Everyone had agreed months ago that the fact that he had fathered Evelyn’s child was not going to be a problem.