Real Men Will (12 page)

The last column. Eric swallowed hard. A guide to threesomes. He didn’t even read it. He couldn’t. Whatever she did when she wasn’t with him, that was her business. He clicked away, but his mind kept turning and he opened the threesome column again. Then he closed it.

No. He didn’t want to know. She was an amazing force of sex and sensuality. That was what had attracted him. And whatever she did with other men—or women—she’d called Eric last night. She’d wanted him and no one else.
All I wanted was for him to be like you.

The memory of those words filled Eric with such fierce triumph that he felt like he’d grown taller. He might be vanilla as all hell, but maybe that was her favorite flavor. Or at least the flavor of the month. Let her go out with however many faceless bastards she wanted to, as long as Eric was the one making her come. She could be that hobby he’d been looking for. She’d sure as hell taken his mind off work for a few hours.

Eric glanced at his calendar and bit back a groan. The sales rep for the oven company was coming this morning to give them all a tutorial on working the new pizza oven. As if Eric would ever be anywhere near it.

This was just the first step. Now that the oven was in, Jamie would start bringing in chefs for interviews. Next Sunday the new dining deck would be built, and Eric was still pissed that the brewery would be closed on Monday because the front door wouldn’t be accessible.

Then they’d bring in servers, new equipment, flatware, dishes, supplies. But today was the start of it.

The truth was that Jamie had been right. Eric dreaded all of it. He’d been faking his way through it for Jamie’s sake, but what Eric really wanted to do was stop everything. He needed time to think. He needed to catch up or make new plans or…

Jesus, he wished he’d stayed in Beth’s bed instead of getting up.

Eric was still staring into space when a hard fist rapped at his door. He didn’t have to look through the small window to know it was Jamie.

“I’m coming,” Eric snapped. By the time he forced himself out of his office, Jamie and Tessa were waiting with a balding man sporting a thick mustache. Eric introduced himself, but he was distracted by his suspicion toward his siblings. Tessa stood with her arms crossed and her lips pressed tight together. Her eyes touched on Eric and then slid away.

Jamie looked dead serious, and that was hardly a natural state for him. So why was he shooting Eric such a searching look? Had Tessa told Jamie?

Eric scowled at both of them as the salesman began his well-rehearsed spiel. Jamie and Tessa got caught up in it, and within minutes, they were huddled around the oven with the sales guy. Eric listened, but he hung back, watching from a few feet away. Jamie and Tessa tried out the different vents and knobs. They opened doors and adjusted the exhaust.

Jamie grinned as the salesman made a small pile of kindling in the oven and explained that the temperature would need to be kept low for the first day, then gradually heated from there. “What kind of wood are you planning to use?” the guy asked as he checked the exhaust one more time.

“Apple,” Jamie said.

“Nice choice.” The guy drew a lighter from his pocket and set it to the kindling. And just like that, Eric’s old life was over. Flames licked at the tiny pile of wood. Donovan Brothers was no longer just an artisan brewing company. It was a brewpub.

They all stood around staring at the flames, though Eric knew he was the only one who saw the fire eating away at their life. Everyone else saw it as creation.

Finally, the salesman declared the initial lighting a success, and both of Eric’s siblings walked the guy out to the front room. Eric stared at the oven for a minute, slightly interested despite himself. He hadn’t known what to expect. The only wood-fired ovens he’d ever seen were huge brick behemoths. This oven was stone on the inside, but the outside was galvanized steel just like any commercial oven. It definitely took up too much space, but it wasn’t so obnoxious that Eric could reasonably complain about it.

Jamie walked back in, hauling a bundle of wood. “Pretty cool, huh?” he said as he laid the wood out on the floor.

Eric grunted.

“The applewood should be here this evening, but for now, we’ll warm the oven with oak.”

Eric nodded. “Good. Great.” He glanced at Jamie and found that his brother was watching him instead of the oven. That same strange, tense expression was on his face. Eric decided to meet it head-on. “What did she tell you?” he asked.

Jamie scowled. “What are you talking about?”

“What did she say?”

“Who?”

“Tessa.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Eric threw his hands up. “I can tell by the way you’re looking at me that something’s up. So tell me what she said.”

Tessa pushed through the doors. “What who said?”

“You,” Eric snapped. “You told him.”

“I did not! I said I wouldn’t say anything and I didn’t.”

“Hey!” Jamie barked. “Care to clue me in here?”

Eric could suddenly see the truth on Tessa’s face. She hadn’t said a thing. Shit. “Nothing. You were just giving me a weird look.” Boy, that didn’t sound guilty at all.

“I was looking at you weird because I thought everything was cool between us, but you’re growling at me like a pissed-off bear. What the hell’s wrong with you?” What
was
wrong with him? His conscience had poisoned him and turned him into an idiot. “Nothing,” he finally said. “We’re good.”

“Hard to tell these days,” Jamie muttered. “So what are you keeping from me now?”

“Nothing,” Eric snapped.

Jamie looked at Tessa, but she shook her head and shot Eric a wary look.

Eric sighed. “I’m sorry I was in a bad mood. It has nothing to do with you. Really. So how long before you can try out the oven?”

Just as Eric had hoped, talk of the oven distracted Jamie. “Tomorrow at the earliest. We’ll let it warm through today so we can try it out tomorrow. I’ll have to mix up a batch of dough myself. Unless someone else is willing.” He gave Tessa a significant glance.

“Oh, fine,” she groaned. “I’ll make the dough. Have you settled on a recipe yet?”

“I’ve got it narrowed down to a few. But Olivia recommended I wait until a chef is hired so I can get his or her input. I’d like to have somebody with their own brain, since I’ll need guidance.”

Great. Another strong personality in the building. Eric shot a look at the tank room. “Just make sure whoever it is gets along with Wallace. We don’t need two temperamental creative types in here. Speaking of which… Where is Wallace?”

Jamie and Tessa shrugged, so Eric went to look, happy to have a chance to escape. Wallace wasn’t in the tank room or the bottling room. It wasn’t like him to not show up. Heck, it wasn’t even like him to stay gone on his days off.

Eric headed to his office to check for a message from Wallace. There was nothing on his phone, so he paged through his emails before finally pushing back in his chair and checking his desk. And there it was on the far corner. A letter.

Wallace was off to California. Faron had discovered that her husband had cheated with someone she’d asked him not to date. She was done. So Wallace was off to help her pack. To declare his love. To bring her back.

“Good Lord,” Eric muttered. “Seriously?”

This was a firing offense. Wallace couldn’t just walk out on the tanks for however many days because he was
lovesick.

Eric looked over the letter again. He’d be gone for three days. Maybe four. Eric would have to drop all his office work and take charge of the tank room.

His scowl faded a little. He’d have to spend hours in there, scrambling to cover Wallace’s duties. He’d be stuck in the tank room for the rest of the week.

A slow smile spread across Eric’s face and he felt a strong urge to rub his hands together. Four days would be more than enough time to get a small test batch started. Something fun. He’d have to see what supplies Wallace had on hand. He’d also have to be careful not to use too much of Wallace’s special stock of ingredients, or the man would be on the rampage. He’d be unhappy with the intrusion regardless, but he’d just have to deal with it. After leaving them in the lurch, Wallace would deserve to be upset. Still, maybe the sexually liberated weren’t so bad, after all. As a matter of fact, maybe Eric had joined the ranks himself.

He wanted to jump up and get to the tank room immediately, but he made himself answer emails and shift his schedule around to deal with distribution problems first. Nearly two hours passed before he could manage it, but he finally slipped into the tank room and closed the door.

Heaven.

He loved this place. Loved the idea of being in charge of product instead of people. It was so much easier. So much more natural for him. The problem was that he wasn’t needed here. Wallace had already been the brewmaster for three years when Michael Donovan died and Eric had stepped in to try to fill his shoes. The brewing was the one thing he hadn’t needed to worry about. Wallace had it covered. So Eric had taken care of everything else.

And now…Wallace
still
had it covered. His beer won them awards every year. He was highly respected on the national scene. And he was utterly in control of every step of the process.

Eric smiled grimly. “Except when he’s not here.”

He found a list of things Wallace wanted done while he was gone. “Tanks are only to be touched by Eric or Jamie!” he’d written in huge letters. He would’ve included Tessa, too, but Tessa had been afraid of the fermentation tanks since their father had told a story of almost getting a hand blown off when a valve malfunctioned. She’d put in her two weeks with Wallace, learned the ropes and then she’d bolted, happy to escape with her life and both hands intact.

Eric read the list and got to work. He’d have to take care of the scheduled duties before he could indulge in experimentation, but he approached the mash tun with a smile. Between Beth calling him up and Wallace going out of town, this was going to be a very good week, as long as he kept his back to the kitchen and ignored everything else.

T
HE MAN HAD DELIVERED
yet another revelation. Beth shook her head as she disassembled the store mannequin, laying all the poor girl’s parts out on the floor.

Whatever Beth pretended to be here at the White Orchid, Eric Donovan was her own personal sex class, teaching her things she’d been unable to figure out herself. He was like…a learning aid. Because she already knew everything. She understood it. But she couldn’t process it.

Take, for example, the G-spot. She knew all about it. She’d even assumed she might have one. But she’d figured it was like any erogenous zone. What worked for some women might not work for her.

Boy, had she been wrong.

It was so simple that she felt stupid for needing Eric to show her. It was her own damn body, after all. And the answer was easy: all the toys in the world wouldn’t do a damn thing for her if she wasn’t aroused. Stimulated. Shaking with need.

Sex started in the brain, not the G-spot or anywhere else.

God, even while masturbating she’d been thinking too much. She was going to have to find a way to get past that, because she couldn’t keep Eric around as a sexual aid forever. Even if he was such a devastatingly good one.

After all, she’d already learned so much. This time last year, she’d been worried that she was sexually… Beth shook her head, trying to think of the word. Not repressed, but, “Hollow,” she murmured.

Yes, sexually hollow. That was exactly how it had felt. Every structure in place, every appearance correct, but nothing substantial to fill those spaces.

Then she’d met Eric and realized that she was full to the brim, and only one ingredient had been missing: chemistry. That had been lesson one. Lesson two had been less profound but just as important—anything was possible when you were truly turned on.

Beth smothered a laugh and glanced around the store, wondering just what else would feel good when one proceeded in just the right way. A new world of possibilities had opened up to her. She glanced down at the whip in her hand, the one she’d just wrestled out of the grasp of the mannequin. One look at that, and she couldn’t stop her laughter, imagining Eric standing over her with a whip.

He didn’t need a whip. All he needed was that dark scowl and a growled order.

Her laughter died away, and she felt suddenly, completely serious. Eric didn’t need props. He was the prop.

But that was all he could be. As much as he turned her on, as much as he brought her to life, she didn’t trust him. How could she? And with her history of love, brief as it had been, sex was as far as it could go with Eric. He’d already lied to her, and that was the end of that. Her heart wasn’t available to him.

The door opened, admitting a gust of cold, wet air. Autumn in Boulder was usually crisp and cool, but it had been awfully warm and humid up until this point. Maybe the Indian summer was over. She smiled widely. “Hello,” she said to the man walking in. She waved one mannequin arm.

He raised his eyebrows at the limb.

“Can I get you a towel?” Beth asked when a drop of water trickled down his jaw.

“I think I’ll live,” he said, swiping a hand through his wet hair.

“All right. Let me know if you change your mind. And if you have any questions, feel free to ask me or Kelly. She’s in the back room.”

“Are you Beth?”

Beth stood, her smile fading as she studied him more closely. He was tall and lean and dark. She was pretty sure she didn’t recognize him. “Yes. I’m Beth Cantrell.”

The man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet. But when he turned it around, she saw the flash of a badge. “I’m Detective Luke Asher. Eric Donovan may have mentioned me?”

Beth smoothed her suddenly damp palms down her skirt. “Oh, of course. Hello.” She didn’t know what caused the rush of sick anxiety in her stomach—the fact that she had to talk to a police detective, or the idea that Eric had already talked to him about
her
.

His eyes traveled over her, and for a moment, she thought he was checking her out, but then she saw that he looked around the shop with the same assessing gaze. He was only
detecting
.

“Is there someplace we can talk?”

She nodded. There was only one customer, and she was in the toy room with Kelly. “My office,” she said.

“My partner will be here in just a moment.”

“Oh.” His partner? Beth’s hands started to sweat. This sounded serious. “Should we…?” She gestured vaguely toward the back room, wondering if she was about to be interrogated.

“Sure.”

Oh, God, she sincerely hoped that Luke Asher was the bad cop on this team, because even though he was intimidating he seemed like a fairly polite guy. Sure, she could feel his eyes boring into her skull like lasers, but…

Beth used the excuse of stopping at the door to the toy room to glance behind her. She was surprised to find that the man wasn’t even watching her. His eyes were still sweeping the room.

She stuck her head through the curtains to the toy room. “Kelly, can you listen for customers? I have to step into my office for a few minutes.”

Kelly nodded and gave a thumbs-up. She was chewing gum again. Beth sighed. She’d warned the girl twice. Now she was going to have to write her up.

But she forgot all about Kelly when she heard the front door open and turned to see a beautiful woman step in and give the shop the same sort of assessing look that Detective Asher had.

“This is Detective Simone Parker,” he said.

“Oh,” Beth said, feeling immediately calm when the female detective smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

But her calm disappeared once they were all seated in Beth’s tiny office. She pressed her palms flat to her desk, then realized she looked like she was about to bolt and clasped them tight together instead.

“So, is this serious?”

Asher smiled. “It’s likely nothing, but I do need to get the story directly from you.”

“Is Monica going to get in trouble for this?” As objective as she could be about Monica, Beth had known her for over fifteen years.

He leaned forward. “It’s not your story that’s causing her problems, Ms. Cantrell. This isn’t the first time she’s done this. And you know what? She’s not even the point of this investigation. I want her brother, and I need to persuade her to stop protecting him.”

That surprised her. “Is she protecting him?”

He smiled. “I see you know her fairly well. You’re right. Her father is asking her to protect him.”

She nodded, even though she really wanted to shake her head. Roland Kendall was arrogant and cruel in business, but he’d always been kind to Beth.

“But his son is already in trouble. He doesn’t want his daughter to go down, too.”

“I don’t want to hurt them,” she said quickly. “I just wanted to be fair to Eric. I mean, to the Donovans.”

He nodded, his gaze sliding past her shoulder. When his eyes froze, she glanced behind her to the crowded shelves where inventory was stacked. She didn’t try to figure out what had distracted him. It could’ve been any one of the brightly boxed toys. Or maybe the spectacle of all of them together.

The female detective cleared her throat. “We’ll do our best to keep you out of this as much as we can,” she said.

“Thank you.” Beth took a deep breath and told them exactly what had happened. Whatever these people had done, they’d done to themselves, and she couldn’t let herself feel guilty about that. Monica was the one who had pulled Beth into this mess in the first place.

By the time they stood to leave, Beth had managed to suppress most of her guilt.

Detective Asher shook her hand. “Thanks for getting in touch with Eric about this.”

“Oh, sure,” she stammered. “We local businesses have to support each other.”

His eyes darted behind her one more time before he smiled and tipped his head. “We’ll be in touch.”

Beth walked them out, but her relief was premature. Before the door closed behind them, she heard Simone Parker call, “I’ll meet you at the station,” and turn back around. Beth almost groaned.

“Here,” the woman said, holding out a business card. “I forgot to leave you this.” But the woman stayed where she was after Beth took the card. Her eyes shifted over the store and her gorgeous brown skin turned suspiciously pink along her cheekbones.

“Detective?”

She cleared her throat. “I saw the sign on the door that you do bra fittings. I just had a baby a few months ago, and…”

“Yes!” Beth said, relieved to be back on solid ground. “Absolutely. Most women wear the wrong size for their whole life, and certainly after having a child, everything changes.”

Simone nodded.

“I should warn you that we don’t have a selection of sports bras or everyday underwear.”

“Right.” She bit her lip, her pretty face turning even pinker. “The truth is that someone asked me on a date. It’s nothing serious, but it’s the first one since…” She waved a hand over her body. “And I’d really like something that isn’t cotton or absorbent or just…
sturdy
. But I’m so big now!”

Beth grinned. “I understand. Believe me. And I make a point of buying lines that have pretty bras in larger sizes, because sometimes they seem impossible to find. Do you want to do this now?”

“No!” She looked toward the parking lot in horror.

“I think he’s gone.”

“I’ll come back when I’m off duty,” Simone said. “Thank you.”

After the door closed, Beth found herself standing there smiling. Then she remembered why Simone had been there in the first place.

“Damn,” Beth whispered.

If Roland Kendall found out that Beth had told the police about that phone call, he’d never forgive her. The man took good care of his friends and brought ruthless power down on his enemies. But what could he do to her?

“Besides organize a boycott of the store,” she murmured. God, what had she gotten herself into? What if her scruples put the White Orchid at risk?

Then again, they’d been boycotted when Annabelle had expanded the building and modernized the store-front. The protests had only increased sales. And Beth couldn’t just ignore something illegal because it might cause a blip in sales.

The stress burned in her chest. She tried to close her eyes and let it go, tried to focus on the steady white noise of rain hitting the roof. She was doing the
right
thing. She knew she was. She just needed someone to tell her that.

She retreated to her office and pulled up Eric’s number on her phone. By the time it rang for the fifth time, she was regretting the impulse to call him. She’d forgotten that this was the morning-after call. It could be awkward.

A loud hum suddenly burst through the line. “Hi,” Eric said.

“Oh, hi! Are you…?” The hum grew to a drone so loud she winced and eased the phone farther from her ear. “You’re busy, so I’ll just—”

“No, just a second.” The drone faded. A loud metallic bang rang through her ear, and then there was silence. “Sorry,” Eric said. His voice echoed.

“Where are you?”

“I was in the tank room, but I’m in the bottling room now. It’s quiet when the line isn’t running.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s no problem. Really.”

Beth rubbed a nervous hand against her skirt again. “Detective Asher came by. He wanted to talk about Monica. I told him everything she said, so hopefully it will help.”

“I’m sorry,” Eric said.

“Oh, it’s no big deal. It’s the right thing to do. Isn’t it?”

“Sure, but you sound a little upset and—”

“It’s just that I’ve known them a long time. That’s all. And having a police detective walk in here made it into a bigger deal in my head.”

“You get used to him,” Eric said.

“Is he the one who’s dating your sister?”

“Living with her,” Eric corrected.

“Oh. Well, I just thought you should know. That he came by. That he’s pursuing it.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

He sighed, the sound echoing around the hard-walled space he was in. “I apologize. He told me earlier. I meant to call you, and then I got busy and… I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you.”

He should have. “I was pretty startled by a cop coming in here to interview me, and then his partner came and it kind of freaked me out.”

“I know. I really meant to call, but…”

“I think you owe me again.”

“Oh?” he murmured.

She’d said it as a joke, but the silence on Eric’s end suddenly felt very serious. Beth sat up straight and breathed out so sharply that it rasped into the phone line.

“Are you asking me to come over again?” His voice didn’t echo now. It was too low.

“No, I—”

“Well, if I owe you, I should pay up.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she finally managed to get out.

“Are you sure?”

Was she? Because her body had come to startling life at the idea. “We agreed this couldn’t be a regular thing.”

“We did. But two nights? That’s hardly regular.” His voice was still soft, but there was no mistaking the calm sternness of his personality. He made everything sound so reasonable. “Is it?”

Beth’s gaze fell on the box of faux-fur panties that sat next to her desk.

She needed to stretch her wings. This wasn’t about Eric, this was about her. But working on herself was a long-term goal. In the short term, her choices seemed to be Eric, or fantasies about Eric to help her get herself off. What the hell kind of choice was that? He seemed more than willing to help her out, even if he hadn’t actually applied for the job of sex assistant.

And she wanted him. Wasn’t that enough? “You’re right,” she found herself whispering. “Can you come over tonight?”

“Yes.”

“But we can’t keep doing this.”

“I know.”

“You have your life,” she insisted. “I have mine.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more. But tonight…”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Tonight.”

A loud boom echoed through the phone, and Beth heard a distant voice speaking.

“Okay,” Eric said. “I’ll be right there.” When he spoke to her again, his voice was a quiet rumble. “What time?” he asked softly.