Specific Gravity

Specific Gravity

by Liz Crowe

Breathless Press Calgary, Alberta www.breathlesspress.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Specific Gravity Copyright © 2011 Liz Crowe ISBN: 978-1-926930-93-0 Cover Artist: Victoria Miller Editor: Clarissa Yip All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Breathless Press www.breathlesspress.com

For Marvin Go Blue

Chapter One

Trent stood behind the bar and took a long gulp of his dark imperial stout. He relished the roasty, fruity, bittersweet concoction that their new brewer had hit right on the money with his first attempt. He held up his half-empty pint glass and watched as the “legs” worked their way down the sides, indicating the perfect amount of alcohol. The dry finish was a characteristic of a well-attenuated stout. When his Blackberry buzzed at his elbow, vibrating all the way across the bar, he pressed a button to stop the noise, but not before catching the eye of his business partner and friend, Owen Maxwell, who sat in one of the chairs across from him. “This guy is good.” Trent set the empty glass in the sink. Jeff Thornton, their new brewer was proving well worth the effort in finding him and also in the money they paid him. Owen snorted. “Yeah, and rest assured he knows it.” He watched their other business partner, Erin, emerge from the brewery, stacks of

1

Specific Gravity coasters in her hands. His friend’s humorous expression hardened at the sight. “Well, cocky is good, we need it.” Trent sighed. He’d tried to get those two to see sense and just admit how they felt, but they were both too stubborn for words. He continued to observe Owen staring at the redheaded woman, who had turned their craft lager dream into a reality with her marketing expertise. When his phone buzzed again, he turned it off and noted Owen pointing to the taps. Trent filled a glass with the bright, dry pilsner he knew the man preferred and glanced up to see Erin next to him, brewery phone in hand. “Are you here?” she asked, eyebrows raised. It’s Lisa, she mouthed. Trent tensed and took a deep breath. The pace of their relationship panicked him. He’d fought every impulse by not responding to her these last few days. He ran a hand over his face. An average of four hours of sleep in the last week had not done much for his outlook, either. He sensed Erin’s angry eyes boring into him. “Look,” she snapped, “I am not your social secretary and I won’t lie for you.” She started scrubbing the glasses in the sink. Unnecessary, Trent knew, since they had recently hired two new employees who were waiting on tables out in the Tap Room. But he also knew she needed something to keep her hands busy while she tore him a new one. He grabbed the dishes out of her hands and faced her. “Sorry, I’m...we...well, we’re taking a break, okay?” He shrugged at her sharp look. Not wanting to delve into the topic, he looked to Owen. “Have you guys eaten? I’m starving. Let’s leave the inmates in charge of the asylum here and get some food.” Erin glanced at their other partner. He shrugged, emptied the rest of his beer, and set the glass down. One of the new girls scooped it up and smiled her biggest, notice-me smile at the attractive blond man. Trent laughed. “Damn kids. We should get outta here before we all get into trouble.” He smacked Erin on the ass. She glared at him before issuing last minute instructions to the new employees. Not for the first time Trent realized that bringing Erin into their company to handle sales and marketing was probably a major turning point for them. He took a breath and stared at the ceiling, trying to come to terms with the roiling in his gut. He did not like ignoring Lisa, the woman who had been rocking his world since he first laid eyes on her. But he had to. He wished for the millionth time he could be like one of those guys who cruised through a sea of women, never anchoring to any particular shore for very long, and not got attached beyond the 2

Liz Crowe physical. He’d quickly figured out he was simply not that guy. But it still scared him. They’d met a few months ago, when he had gone undercover for a day to scope out her sales skills. He had heard a lot about her. She worked for their newest distributor; one Erin hadn’t been convinced was representing their product very well. Their sales day together crackled with sexual tension. The minute he’d met her that morning he wanted her, which set him on edge immediately. And after watching her sell, he could hardly sit through lunch—his cock was so hard. He’d nearly regretted his knee-jerk reaction to her, up until the moment he’d taken her in the beer cooler, unable to contain himself another minute. They’d carried their day into the evening at his place, where she’d proven every bit as eager for his body as he was for hers. It had been an intense relationship ever since, and everything in him was content when he was around her. But something felt wrong recently—rushed—so he’d backed off this past weekend. He’d become hard to reach, busy, unable to meet up. He was acting like an asshole, and he knew it. The nights he’d lain awake staring at the ceiling, still feeling her against him proved his inner conflict. But he’d buried himself in the Tap Room’s latest expansion plans, unable to keep up with demand for their product, thanks to the success between Jeff’s brews and Erin’s sales numbers. It made for exhausting days, but still sleepless nights. The three of them breezed into the local foodie joint, a venture Trent helped start up ten years ago. They ordered martinis and made random small talk he didn’t register. It wasn’t long before their drinks arrived. As they clinked glasses, Trent watched the two people across from him dance around their own complicated relationship. Erin was coming off a divorce and was trying to take it slow. Owen was so head over heels for her; it was hard for him to hold back. The goddamned brewery was turning into a hotbed of hookups and drama—a veritable Peyton Place. He smiled into his Vespa martini, a perfect blend of Gordon’s and Russian vodka with a splash of Lillets. When he sensed Lisa enter the restaurant with her boss—that tool, Frank Jordon—he nearly choked. Erin slapped him on the back. She laughed until she followed his gaze to the handsome couple making their way across the room, straight toward their table. His every nerve ending zinged as she drew closer. He could feel her flesh under his hands, could envision her face as she came. Press3

Specific Gravity ing his hands down hard on his thighs, he rose to greet them. He stared into Lisa’s bright blue gaze, which were cold with anger as she approached. “Trent.” The tool pumped his hand up and down. “Great to see you. Hey, how about those sales last month?” He didn’t take his eyes from Lisa who stood back with her arms crossed. He clenched his jaw to keep from punching the obnoxious asshole. Being this close to her made him nuts. And that in turn scared the shit out of him. He felt his brain seize up, and fought the simultaneous urges to throw her over his shoulder and sneak away before he had to talk to her again. “Yeah.” Erin took Frank’s hand. “Nice work, Lisa,” she said pointedly before giving the woman a brief hug. They remained side by side, both glaring at him. Trent ran a hand down his face, stifling that impulse to grab Lisa’s hand and yank her out into the night. He could even picture himself begging her to never leave, to stay with him forever. Christ. He looked back into Lisa’s face, which was hard and angry. She linked her arm through Frank’s and steered him away without a backward glance. He lingered on his feet longer than necessary and watched her go. Sinking into the chair, he drained his martini, never taking his gaze from the woman he loved as she flirted with her boss across the room. What the hell is my problem? “What the hell is your problem?” Owen snapped his fingers in front of Trent’s face. “She is amazing and perfect.” His friend rolled his eyes and drained his own glass before motioning for another round from the waiter. Trent kept his retort about Owen’s problems owning up to his feelings for Erin to himself. Wouldn’t be productive at this point. He loved them both and they would eventually sort themselves out, but as for him—well, he seemed destined to watch the woman he wanted laugh and flirt with another guy across a crowded restaurant, thanks to his own stubborn idiocy. Lisa forced herself to focus on Frank’s face. She watched as his mouth moved and nothing came out. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Able to sense Trent staring at her from across the loud restaurant, Lisa resisted the impulse to stare back. She’d already broken every sacred vow in the last forty-eight hours—calling, texting, leaving him messages, asking for an explanation more times than she was willing to admit.

4

Liz Crowe Frank touched her arm a little too much but she didn’t shy away. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, really, as she pondered him in the strange quiet that enveloped her. She downed a second beer, taking perverse pleasure in ordering something that Trent’s company didn’t brew. She sighed. The man across from her was still moving his mouth. Wonder what he was saying. My God, his hand is on my thigh. Lisa shifted, not exactly discouraging it but somehow she froze and was unable to move away like she normally would have. “So, I guess you and Trent...” At the sound of her lover’s name, Lisa’s hearing cleared, and the clamor of the restaurant noise pressed in on her eardrums. “You guess me and Trent...what?” she muttered, moving out from under her boss’s hand, her frozen reverie broken at last. Images rushed through her brain. Trent, when he grabbed her that first day, taking her like she was some kind of slut in the beer cooler. Her... letting him. That very night, they shared an amazing dinner he’d prepared. He had fed her pieces of delicious scallops in cream sauce. And chocolate-dipped strawberries later, in his bed. Lisa shuddered with remembered passion. Jesus, I have to stop this now. He’d likely had his fill of her because she’d let him have whatever he wanted. Her long-nurtured anger at men who couldn’t deal with her “personality” bubbled up. She shot a deadly glare at Frank. He was trying to get into her pants too, asshole. Before she could formulate an appropriate piss-off comment to her boss, likely costing her a job, Erin appeared at their table. “Hey.” She looked at Lisa. “Um, I need a buddy for the bathroom, you know.” She smiled at Frank, who seemed somewhat bedazzled to be between Lisa and her. “Of course.” He stood. “Ya’ll love to go in pairs, I know.” Erin linked her arm through Lisa’s, and they passed Trent and Owen. Trent’s eyes were trained on his plate. Lisa sighed. What was it about him, anyway? He’d turned her into a sappy teenager, and she’d sworn off overreacting to men years ago. How did he bring it out in her? “Fucker,” she muttered. “Yeah,” Erin agreed, pushing the door to the ladies room open. “Generally speaking, I agree with you.” “Well, you’d know.” Lisa flopped into the soft chair in the sitting area. “You’re with him more than I am.” Erin looked up sharply. “I’ve known Trent a long time—” 5

Specific Gravity Lisa held up a hand. “I’m sorry, Erin, I’m not trying to be bitchy. I know you guys go way back.” When Lisa met Erin, she made a point to introduce herself, bringing along some seriously excellent Italian red wine. Their girl’s night yielded her a great friend and the tale of Trent and Erin’s history—the friendship through high school that morphed into a hot summer before they parted ways to college. Lisa had zero jealousy issues and hoped Erin realized it. She was glad for their friendship, but Trent... She looked up at the ceiling, holding back tears. And that pissed her off even more. Goddamn Trent Franklin and all his confessions and professions of heartfelt bullshit over the last few weeks. And screw his fucking weak-kneed rejection of her now. Erin washed her hands, grabbed a towel, and sat on the arm of the chair. “Yeah, I know you know. I guess I’m here as a sort of...oh... goodwill ambassador?” Lisa snorted, covered her mouth, and laughed until her friend joined her. “Jesus, what are we, in middle school?” She waved a hand in front of her eyes to dry tears. “No, no, not exactly. Well, maybe.” Erin wiped her own eyes. “The man is fall-down, head-over-useless-male-heels crazy about you. Let him have his little snit,” she pleaded and stood up. “He’ll come around.” Lisa shook her head. “I ended a long relationship about a month before I met Trent.” She moved to the mirror and leaned in to the mirror to apply lipstick. “That guy was amazing, really. We were together almost five years.” “Wow.” Erin fluffed her hair. Her gaze met hers in the mirror as if waiting for more details. “Yeah. He did a similar stunt as your business partner. All of a sudden vanishing, telling me I’m ‘too much for him’ and ‘he can’t handle my type-A self’.” Lisa sighed, dropped her hands to her sides. “Thought Trent might be different, really.” Her friend gave her a hug. “I’m sure he is. But Caroline fucked him royally, you know,” she said mentioning Trent’s ex wife. “She was a true bitch, but we put up with her...sort of how they put up with Bradley for so long...” Lisa looked at her sympathetically. Erin had ended her own twenty-year marriage over the course of the last few months. “Men,” she spat out. “Can’t live with ‘em...pass the batteries.”

6

Liz Crowe “True that.” They walked out of the back hallway into the even more bustling restaurant. “But...” She stopped in the middle of several tables and everyone in the area looked up at the pair of them. “Give him a mulligan, okay? Let him make it up to you. He’ll come around, I know it.” Lisa shrugged. “We’ll see.” She linked her arm back into Erin’s and walked by Trent and Owen without a glance. “He has to come to me, though. I’ve said my piece. Acted like a teenager enough for the last week. I’m done.” She sat down in the chair Frank held out for her, giving Erin a little wave and bestowing a one hundred watt grin on her boss’ suddenly fascinating and handsome face. He beamed back. Lisa restrained a yawn, drained her beer, and signaled for another before resuming her position to watch Frank’s mouth move. Her brain flashed pictures of Trent—his body, his lips, his calm demeanor, such a perfect foil to her highly strung personality. She sighed and laughed at something Frank said on autopilot. Trent looked up at the sound of her laughter. She narrowed her eyes at him and returned her attention to her boss as if he were suddenly the most amazing man on the planet. Fuck Trent Franklin six ways to Sunday. If he can’t handle me, then maybe I’m better off without him. When Frank put his hand back on her thigh, she let him. At least this way she would be able to keep her job. If she and Trent stayed together, she might have to quit, since her company was his beer’s sole distributor in the area. Lisa sighed, and tried to refocus on the man next to her, pushing thoughts of Trent firmly out of reach.

7

Chapter Two

Erin sat back down and glared at Trent. “You are such an asshole.” Her voice was matter of fact. He looked at her. The hurt and confusion in his eyes nearly made her cry. But he had to hear this. She would not let him fuck this up. He and Lisa were perfect together. She felt Owen’s hand on her leg but she ignored him. Trent had been her friend for years. They had serious history, and she wanted him to be happy. Owen was hardly one to talk. He couldn’t string two coherent sentences together around her anymore for some reason, ignoring her nearly as aggressively as he once pursued her. “Well?” she demanded. “Look, it’s—” Trent ran a hand down his face. “Oh fuck, I don’t know. I panicked this week, stopped taking her calls, but I miss her, really, but I can’t...” Erin snapped her fingers in his face. “Dude, you gotta get a grip. Lisa is not going to wait around for you.” Owen grabbed her hand 8

Liz Crowe and put it to his lips. Erin looked at him, shocked. Trent smiled at them both. “I love it when you’re bossy,” Owen said, his eyebrows raised suggestively. Erin rolled her eyes and yanked her hand out of his grip. “Christ, you guys are impossible.” She took a sip of her second martini and leaned back. She’d known Trent for so long, she felt intuned to him, could sense his misplaced anxiety, and she wanted to save him from himself. Seeing him miserably watching Lisa as she blatantly flirted with her boss, Erin had to give the woman some credit, but Trent startled her when he stood so quickly, jarring the table. “Gonna sit at the bar minute. Get some space from you two. You’re making me crazy.” Trent flinched every time Lisa laughed. He observed in utter misery as she touched Frank’s arm or graced him with her whole attention. He had one martini too many, he knew, as the place got louder. He walked over to chat with the attractive woman tending bar, needing something to do with his nervous energy. He justified it by telling himself he was leaving Owen and Erin alone to cope with their own complicated bullshit. As he was looking down the bartender’s blouse and trying like hell to get Lisa’s face out of his mind, he felt someone move up nearby. Familiar perfume enveloped him. Trent closed his eyes before turning to face her. She was holding out her hand. He stared at it, unable to compute for a minute, as the martinis and emotion swam around in his brain. “Key.” “What? Oh right.” He fished in his pocket and found his key ring, pulled hers off, and placed it in her outstretched hand. “Sorry.” He faced the hot bartender, knowing he couldn’t handle Lisa another minute without grabbing and kissing her. When she slammed her hand down on the bar next to him, he started until she opened her palm and revealed the key to his condo. He glanced at her, but the look on her face froze him. He was on the verge of a horrible mistake, but was unable to stop himself. The bartender had moved away, leaving them to their little scene. Lisa leaned on the bar. He winced as his body reacted to her proximity. Her long blonde hair was loose, wavy, like he liked it. Her skirt was short, high-heeled boots a soft-looking tan leather. Her blue eyes held him speechless and frozen in place. So help him, he could take 9

Specific Gravity her right now. But the connection, deeper than physical, he’d been experiencing terrified him. He simply could not go this fast. It was… a mistake. Or the most amazing woman he could ever hope for. He suppressed a groan of frustration at himself. “So.” She grabbed his drink and helped herself to it before she said, “You must know me well enough by now to realize I won’t let you simply walk away without some kind of decent explanation.” She slammed his nearly empty glass onto the bar, loud enough to draw glances. “I’m not the kind of girl you can ignore, Trent Franklin. And I don’t mean that in a high-maintenance way, either, so don’t start making excuses.” He signaled for the bartender to bring him another. He had no answer for her, at least not one that made any sense. What could he say? “I love you already so I gotta get the fuck away from you?” Or how about “You are perfect for me so I’m out of here?” Or maybe “I can’t sleep at night from thinking about your body next to mine and am pondering happily-ever-after with you, so I’m ignoring you. Go away?” Holy shit, it sounds idiotic to my own ears. His heart pounded as he took a sip of his fresh drink. “You know, I think it’s too much too soon,” he said, not looking at her. He could feel her incredulous gaze burning holes in his skull. He closed his eyes to keep from contradicting himself by kissing her—the one thing he wanted to do right now more than anything. “A break, like we said, right?” He turned to her then, thinking himself under control. She gave him an inscrutable look, slowly reached for his drink, and poured it over his head. “Break this, you colossal asshole,” she declared. “You cannot talk to me like you did two weeks ago in my bed and then turn into this...this...fucking Peter-Pan-syndrome-lameass jerk!” She put the empty glass down on the bar, gave him a peck on a cheek that was now dripping with vodka and tonic water, and breezed past him on her way out the door. “Don’t call me,” she threw over her shoulder. Trent watched her go. Made no moves to clean up the alcohol rolling down his face and onto his shirt. Owen appeared at his elbow, perched on a barstool, and indicated he should do the same. The bartender silently handed Trent a dry towel. He wiped himself off, knowing he deserved everything she said. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Owen signaled for a couple of glasses of water. When they appeared, Trent stared at his, as if it 10

Liz Crowe held all the answers he needed. His friend pushed it closer to him, picking up his own icy glass as an example. Trent took a deep breath and drank the water down, the cold searing his throat, bringing a bit of calm to his rattled brain. “Feisty, that one,” Owen commented. “Yeah.” They sat in silence a moment. Finally, his friend turned to him. “Why the hell are you still sitting here? Go out there and get her back. This is not like you. Go be the Trent we know, not the lame-ass-PeterPan jerk.” “I hardly think you’re in a position to give relationship advice or—” “Stop, right there,” Owen interrupted. “This is not about me and Erin. This is about you. She and I”—he glanced over at the redheaded woman who had her smart phone in hand and was either texting or emailing as she finished her martini—”we’ll figure it out. You, on the other hand, obviously need to be shoved over the edge. This is me— shoving your sorry ass out the door.” He stood. “I’m not giving you advice, my friend. I’m telling you to go out there and get Lisa back. Period. Or I will revoke your man-card permanently.” He walked to the door, opened it, and gestured with his other hand for his friend to exit. Trent glared at him, then at Erin who blew him a kiss. Scowling at them both, he grabbed his coat and walked out. The night air was bracing. It sent a sobering chill down his spine. He could hold his alcohol, but even he couldn’t combine three heavy martinis, a ten percent Imperial stout, sleep deprivation and extreme swings of emotion, and still remain terribly coherent. Sucking in deep breaths of cold air, he searched for Lisa’s retreating back, nearly desperate with desire to hold her again, to wipe that hurt look off her face forever. Owen and Erin were right. My God, I am an idiot. I may have ruined the best thing ever to happen to me. Logic and general man-fear be damned. Where was she? It had only been a few minutes since she’d doused him with alcohol and left. He stopped and his heartbeat stuttered in his chest. He closed his eyes, for some reason picturing his ex-wife Caroline, whose parting shot when she walked out was to drop the bomb on him that she was pregnant—had been. He would never forget that moment—the moment he swore off relationships forever.

11

Specific Gravity They’d been too young to really know what it meant when they got married and had spent too many years working through their own immaturity to ever really be happy. And when his ex-wife told him she had an abortion because she didn’t want an “excuse to try and work it out,” he’d nearly strangled her. But instead, he had walked out, vowing to never expose himself to that sort of hurt again. He recalled the night a week ago, when he’d been unable to sleep after an intense encounter with Lisa after a concert. He had lain awake watching her sleep, pushing the hair back off her face, running his fingers down her bare arms, watching her skin react. When she sighed and rolled onto her back, flinging an arm up over her head, he’d had to get up and leave the room. At that moment in the deep black of the very early morning, he knew that he loved her. Loved her more than he ever thought about loving Caroline. Sitting in his study, he’d watched the sun rise. He’d been startled when Lisa walked in on him, wrapped in one of his dress shirts and nothing else. Still trying to process his sudden emotion and exhausted from a long week and no sleep, he’d not reacted well. He had shrugged her off when she tried to rub his shoulders, not daring to meet her direct gaze when she’d positioned herself in front of him. She was nothing if not straightforward. It was one of his favorite things about her. But right then, he could have done with less of it. He needed some space to wrap his head around the sudden realization that he had so quickly found someone he could easily spend the rest of his life with. He’d even caught himself daydreaming about children, about the sexy swell of her belly carrying his child. It was terrifying. And he handled it badly. She had left in the early morning hours that day, not even bothering to argue. This entire week he’d ignored her, like the lame-ass he was. But now, he needed to fix that. He owed it to her. No, he owed it to himself. People surrounded him, making their way around in a bustling college town on a Saturday night. He ran around the corner, thinking she might have parked in the tall structure at the back of the restaurant’s block. A few steps, a brief stumble over nothing in particular, and he stopped. Taking another gulp of late fall air, he tried to regain some control. He was Trent Goddamn Franklin, hugely successful business owner, rising craft beer rock star pursued by women. He

12

Liz Crowe didn’t chase one down the street like a lovesick teenager. No sir. His head was starting to ache as he leaned against the building. How had he managed to get himself into this particular mess? Just a couple of weeks ago, he had a ready, willing, and eager bed partner. A beautiful woman who shared so many of his interests and hobbies—it was scary. They could and did talk about anything into the night, passing a bottle of beer back and forth, typical of post mindblowing sex. He looked up into the twinkling starry sky and heard someone call his name. Glancing to his left, he saw her. Her long hair blew around her face as she tapped her toes and crossed her arms. Tears ran down her face. Trent straightened up, suddenly stone cold sober as a weight was lifted from his heart. A nearby nightclub opened its doors and young people surged forward, as thumping house music spilled out into the street. Exhaust spewed from passing cars and several people in Michigan spirit-wear passed by, probably heading back from the football game across town. Trent was aware of all these things. But all he saw was Lisa at the other end of the sidewalk. He took several long strides toward her, his long wool coat flapping around his calves. She stood, not meeting him halfway. No matter. He knew what he had to do.

13

Chapter Three

Lisa had walked out of the restaurant without even saying goodbye to Frank. The pain in her gut over Trent was so piercing she had wandered around the block a few times, trying to get her breath. Their last night together, last weekend, played in a loop through her brain. They’d gone out to a concert downtown and then caught drinks at a nearby wine bar. Between the two of them, they knew practically everyone in the place and had spent a lot of time talking to everyone but each other. At one point, she’d watched him as he laughed and talked with some friends. She took in his strong profile, dark brown hair, and piercing blue eyes. Her heart had sung with happiness. She recalled thinking how perfect he was for her. Driven, successful, a goddamn amazing lay, working the room just like she could. She’d smiled at him. The warm, sexy smile he’d given her in return nearly brought tears to her eyes. She needed him all the time, his hands and lips on her constantly. A little scary for a fiercely independent woman

14

Liz Crowe like herself, but at that moment, she knew it was okay. That she could surrender to him emotionally and all would be well. They had lucked out and flagged down a minivan-style taxi quickly. Once in the back seat, she’d crawled onto his lap, straddling him. She loved the sensation of his cock getting hard beneath her and savored the taste of his lips. The smell of the cologne he favored—a citrusy, sort of hops-like thing always took her straight back to the moment she met him. The day he went undercover as a sales rookie and rode along with her to gauge her sales prowess. They’d discovered a lot about each other that day and night, and Lisa would always see it as a turning point in her life. The day she met Trent. He had shifted under her in the cab, kissing her in the way he had, no energy wasted. All focus and intent on her. “Fuck me, Trent,” she’d whispered into his ear. “Right here, right now. You know I’m not wearing anything under this skirt.” “Damn girl, what about the poor driver?” But he’d smiled wickedly and in one motion had his zipper down and his cock inside her. He’d released a breath as she enveloped him fully. “Give me that nipple,” he’d demanded. Lisa yanked her shirt aside, giving him what he wanted. He’d muttered into her flesh, “I’ve been a walking hard on all night long. Thinking about you, about us, about this.” She’d gasped as he moved his hips again, bringing her clit in direct contact with his pubic bone. Lisa remembered the sensation of his thick brown hair between her fingers. She clenched her pussy tight, clamping down on his cock, then released and tightened again. His breathing quickened as he bit down on her nipple. She sucked in a breath and pressed down harder. He fit her so perfectly, spreading her walls, and reaching up high inside. “Come on, baby,” Trent murmured. “Fuck me like you mean it.” “Uh-huh...” Lisa tried not to moan, tried to keep the rocking motion to a minimum. She used her inner muscles, clenching and releasing. Her body flushed with exquisite pleasure. When Trent returned his lips to her nipple, she’d gone right over the edge. She could still feel her nails digging into the skin under his dress shirt, as he muffled her moans with his lips. He’d moved again, positioning her a little higher so he could thrust inside her, once, twice, once more. She watched his dark eyes close and felt him release inside her. They’d forgone con-

15

Specific Gravity doms weeks ago. Lisa knew she was playing with fire, at that point in the month, but she didn’t care. “Okay, we’re here,” the driver had chirped from the front. They’d laughed as she slipped off his lap and they both rearranged themselves to exit the cab. But early the next morning, something about him had changed. She had no idea what happened, but there’d been no time for bullshit. Instead of staying and talking with him, she’d left, holding back tears on her way home. The entire rest of the week she’d tried to call, tried to give him a chance to explain himself—had gone against all of her sworn vows to never beg for an answer from a man, because she honestly thought this man was worth breaking a few rules. But by the time the next Friday had arrived and she’d heard his voice in the cavernous brewery when she called there one last time, she was through. She’d broken her phone from hurling it against the wall. When her boss stuck his head in her cubicle to see what the noise was about, she’d said “yes” to his invite out for dinner. And now, here he was, standing in front of her. His breathing was labored, his eyes full of pain and longing. She forced herself to stay calm, to keep her stare neutral. He was going to have to work for her now, goddammit. She would not be treated like this. When Trent reached her, he stood, at a rare loss for words. He gazed down from his six-foot-plus perspective into her dark blue eyes that matched his own. She started to talk, but before she could say anything, he grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her—kissed her like he’d never kissed anyone. Needing her like he needed no one before, and he was determined to prove it to her. She yanked away from him. Anger flared in her brain even though her hands were still on his chest. “Look, Trent, if you want a break, this is no way to show it,” she said in clipped tones. “Why don’t you let me call you a cab...?” She reached for her phone but he tugged her into the narrow alleyway between the restaurant he’d founded and the tall parking structure behind it. He pushed her up against the old brick wall covered in graffiti and put a finger to her lips. “I don’t want a break from you, Lisa,” he said, softly. “I’m a weak man, afraid to commit again.” He looked down at his shoes. Her perfume wafted around him, making him dizzy with sudden desire. His cock was rock hard in an instant. He put his hands on either side of her, as she leaned back, her stare cool and aloof. 16

Liz Crowe “Yeah, I’m listening,” she said, not touching him, not letting him touch her. Trent ran a palm down his face. He had one shot at this. She would not let him get away with it twice. “I’m sorry,” he said, keeping his arms on either side of her. “I got scared. I just came off a divorce. I don’t know how to process how I feel about you, and...you...shit.” He looked down at his feet again. Determination and hope withered away. “These are all stupid excuses.” She put a finger under his chin and brought his face back up to hers. “You can’t hurt me, Trent. I won’t let you.” Her jaw clenched. “If this is par for your course, you can fucking forget about me right now.” “It’s the last thing I want to do,” he insisted. “Cuts both ways, though, you know?” “Me? Hurt you? Not likely.” She looked away, biting her lower lip. “Look, Trent, I don’t mean to pressure you. I thought we...I mean, it seemed like we were on the same page, sort of from the get-go, you know?” Running her hand down his stubbled face, she smiled, her eyes softening. He let himself relax, hoping against hope he’d salvaged this in time. He heard her take a shuddering breath and realized what he’d put her through. He didn’t deserve her, probably never would. While he knew damn good and well it would be a rocky road with a woman like her, he was more than willing to travel it now. But how to convince her...? He let his arms drop to his sides and took a step back. “Ah, God, Lisa, I...I’m sorry. It’s all I know to say.” “Yeah. Sorry. I’ve heard that before.” If it were possible, the band around Trent’s chest tightened. He was too late. And too much of an asshole. He’d lost her. He opened his mouth to speak, not even sure what he was about to say, but something, anything to keep her here a few more minutes. She held up a hand to stop him. “No, I need you to know exactly what this week has been like for me. How you ignoring me like a high school kid made me feel. You have no idea the affect you have on me, do you?” She crossed her arms. Trent was speechless. Him? An affect on her? Was it possible? She blew out a breath. “No. You obviously don’t.” “But, Lisa, I... You... Shit!” His head was spinning and not from the alcohol. Visions of Lisa in white, wearing a ring he bought her,

17

Specific Gravity standing in their kitchen while he fed her breakfast—he shook his head to clear it. “I’m sorry I’m so fucking frustrating. But this is me. You wanted this, I thought. But obviously I was wrong, so if you’ll excuse me...” She pushed past him. Trent remained frozen. She whipped around and put her hands on her hips, her eyes snapped with fury. “I won’t change, Franklin. Not for you. Not for anyone.” Her shoulder hunched up, as if she were drawing into herself. “I’ve been hurt—badly. By a guy, a lot like you. I promised myself then I would never let it happen again.” She hesitated and Trent saw his moment, seized it before his life ended due to his own stubborn idiocy. He took one step, crossed the divide between them, and grasped both her upper arms. “I want you, Lisa. Like you were the first time I met you. Like you’ve been ever since, even tonight—spitting mad at me and still the most amazing woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to…kiss.” He slanted his mouth over hers then, felt her give, and his heart released its chokehold in his chest. She wrapped her arms around him. Able to reach his face without standing on her tiptoes, thanks to four-inch heels on her boots, she met his lips halfway. Her tongue demanded his. His hands fisted into her thick hair. Small sounds came from them both. Trent owned her with his mouth, held her so tight he was afraid if he let go he’d fall over. She broke the kiss. Tears brightened her eyes. “I want you too, Trent. But I’m just gonna tell you now, so you can take off if you want.” She took a breath and looked up at the sky. Trent brushed his lips along the curve of her jaw, felt her pulse under his mouth. “I love you.” He chuckled and felt her stiffen in his arms. “Shh…wait. Don’t get all pissed again.” He brought his hands up to her face. “I’m gonna tell you this.” He kissed her forehead. “It’s a damn good thing you do because—” he kissed both her cheeks, reveling in her absolute perfectness, “—I love you too.” She sucked in a breath. “I have never, ever meant that more than I do right now.” He ran his hands down her back, cupped her ass, and pressed her against his raging erection. “And right now”—he heard the urgency in his own voice but felt it deep in his bones—”I need to be inside you. I need it more than I’ve ever needed anything.” He covered her mouth once more, tasting her, shoving his tongue between her lips. He heard himself moan when she reached down to unzip his trousers. His cock met the cold night air and her warm hand. His head was spinning, but he knew one thing 18

Liz Crowe for certain. He was going to have her here in the goddamned alley, was going to make her scream in orgasm, and he didn’t give a shit who heard them. He tore from her grasp and turned her around. “Put your hands up on the wall,” he growled into her ear. She groaned in pleasure as he yanked aside her moist silk-excuse for panties under the soft leather skirt. He loved this about her—she was sexy no matter if she were dressed to kill for work or in his old college Tshirt and boxer shorts. His cock ached and strained toward her. Lisa’s swollen clit was firm under his fingers. He caressed it, rubbed it the way the liked. She arched back into him, keeping her hands on the wall. Neither of them worried about anyone passing by. He shoved aside her bra with the other hand to get at her stiff nipple. “Ah, shit, yes,” she muttered. She leaned back onto his shoulder, one leg propped forward, to allow him access to her depths. “Deeper, Trent, please,” she begged. His cock twitched at the sound of her voice. Trent rubbed himself against the leather of her skirt, relishing its butter-soft sensation against him. She shoved her ass further back, against the pressure of his erection, as he pushed two fingers past her clit and into her now soaking wet pussy. She gripped his fingers, and he groaned, knowing how it would feel to his cock. The sweet flow of fluid down his hand and her sigh of pleasure brought a smile to his face. He loved nothing more than making this woman come. Except, perhaps, waking up with her in his arms, making coffee, reading the paper, going for a run together, then easing back into the bedroom for more amazing sex. Oh shit, I’m doomed. But it didn’t seem so bad all of a sudden. He eased his fingers from her body. Lisa whirled around and faced him. Her hair was sexy and disheveled, and there was a dark look in her eyes. She grabbed his hand, the one that had been inside her, and kissed his fingers. She drew each one into her mouth and sucked so hard, Trent didn’t trust his knees to hold him up. He pushed her up against the wall and pinned her arms over her head with one hand. She wrapped one boot-clad leg around his hips. “Are you gonna fuck me right here, Trent?” she asked, a devilish grin on her face. “Yeah, I am, if that works for you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Good, we’re on the same page then.” She yanked one arm out of his grasp and tugged him forward. She lifted up onto an overturned milk crate, pulling him along, and guided his cock into her. She 19

Specific Gravity gasped as he filled her. Their hips took on a specific rhythm, releasing and rejoining, as their mouths met, and tongues entangled. “C’mon baby.” Lisa gripped his hair. “Do it to me. You know how I like it.” Trent grabbed her ass with one hand, keeping the other propped on the cold brick wall behind her. He ground into her depths as release neared, her walls clamping down on his full length. The sensation of being here, practically in front of the entire town, barely hidden from view, made him shove into her even harder. “Oh, yes, I am gonna come again,” she muttered into his ear. “Come with me, Trent,” she commanded. “Fill me up.” She moaned as her orgasm took hold. Her entire body pulsed and gripped him even tighter. That brought his own climax roaring up from his lower back to his brain. Lights flashed in his eyes as he gave one final thrust. His hands grasped her hips, his face buried in her neck as he gained sweet release with a loud moan of satisfaction. He reveled in her scent, the feel of her arms around him as his body shuddered in ecstasy. Trent took a deep breath then pulled out, but kissed her continuously as he zipped himself up and helped her adjust her skirt and blouse. His lips treasured hers. He was unwilling to let them go. “I’m sorry, Lisa,” he said again once they were dressed and leaning against the wall together, still catching their breath. She put an arm around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder. “Yeah, well, I’m not sorry I dumped a drink on your head.” He felt her smile against his neck, and he laughed before leaning back for another kiss. Taking her hand, they sauntered out to the sidewalk. “Tell you what, I promise to not give you a reason to do that ever again. How about that?” He guided her toward her car. His heart and soul were the lightest they’d ever been. Stopping her from leaving had been the right thing, and Trent was grateful to his friends for pushing him out the door earlier. “Oh, don’t be so sure about that,” Lisa said. “I’m guessing asshole behavior comes fairly naturally to you. But you can count on me to keep it at bay. How’s that?” He stopped her before she opened the car door. Taking her hand, he pressed his condo key into it, closed her fingers around the metal, and kissed her knuckles. “Deal. As long as I get to make the same call when you’re being an unreasonably, high-maintenance bitch.” He kissed her tenderly.

20

Liz Crowe “Deal.” She ran a hand through his hair. “Damn, boy, I missed you.” She grinned at him. “I think we are pretty fucking good together. Glad you finally figured it out.” “I can be slow to catch on at first, but try to get rid of me now.” He handed her in to her car, then tapped on the window to indicate she should roll it down before leaning in for another kiss. “Breakfast tomorrow? I’ll buy.” He wanted her to come home with him, badly, but was afraid to press his luck. “What? I’m banned from your house?” He grinned and cupped her breast. “No. I just figured you might want some space. You know, to process what an amazing lover I am or something.” She clutched the back of his neck and pulled him in for a mindblowing kiss. When she came up for breath, she gazed straight into his soul. “The only space I need right now, Franklin, is the kind with you in it. Get the hell in the car.” “Jesus. You’re bossy, aren’t you?” Trent slid into the leather seat next to her, unable to stop smiling. “I will tell you this…” Lisa threw him a pointed glance, and he ran a hand up her leg as she put the car in gear. “You pull another Saturday morning stunt like last week’s, and I’ll pour a pot of coffee over your head. It won’t be as fun as that vodka, I assure you.” He chuckled and put an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll consider myself warned.” Trent straightened up as she drove off. His entire body hummed with satisfaction. He was going to do everything in his power to make sure Lisa never got away from him again. The fleeting thought of his friends and business partners entered his mind as Lisa drove toward his place. Perhaps they’d get over themselves soon enough to figure out they were perfect for each other. Just as Lisa and he were. Trent grinned to himself in the back of the taxi, still feeling his lover’s lips on his, her hand on his cock, and the mark she had left on his heart.

21

Biography

Microbrewery owner, beer blogger, journalist, mom of three teenagers, and soccer fan, Liz lives in the great Middle West in a major college town. Years of experience in sales and fund-raising, plus an eightyear stint as an ex-pat trailing spouse, making her way in a world of men (i.e., the beer industry) has prepped her for life as erotic romance author. When she isn’t sweating beer inventory, sales figures, or promotional efforts for her latest publication, doing pounds of laundry for her sweaty athletic children, watching La Liga on the Fox Soccer Channel, or trying to figure out what to order in for dinner, she can be found walking her standard poodles or doing Bikram yoga. Liz loves her Foo Fighters Pandora station and watching reruns of Deadwood when there isn’t any decent European football on the telly. If you want a beer education, follow her: www.a2beerwench.com. For writing-related stuff, including her backlist, go to: www.brewingpassion.com.