Page 11 of Silver Brewer

I don’t suppose that thing has a clawfoot tub with fragrant bubble bath and a few scented candles. Oh, or a glass of wine. Conrad Lodge, the place I’ve stayed while in Blue Ridge, had all those luxuries before I began this adventure.

My eyes travel to Giant’s backside, still visible despite the length of the pack on his back. Even in his rugged pants, he has a fine ass. He’s the epitome of outdoor sexy. The way he blew on my knee had my girlie parts swirling in wonder at how his warm breath might feel down there. It’s been a long time since anyone’s given attention to my nether region. My eyes leap up to the fine curve of his firm globes, and I curse him again.

I don’t want to think about him. I don’t want to be attracted to him.

A sliver of something. What was it that punctured my lungs, stealing my breath when he looked at me? His deep eyes warming to liquid iron instead of cold steel.

I lose Giant in a copse of trees, and I shake my head. He’s doing this on purpose. He’s trying to ditch me so I’ll give up my pursuit. Well, he doesn’t know me, and the second I’m told no, I redouble my efforts. Only my efforts are waning as my feet pinch. When I near the thickness of the trees, I notice Giant leaning against one, his arms casually linked, and his ankles crossed. He looks like a man ready for a photoshoot for Outdoor Life or Lumber Men. I don’t know if either is a magazine, but I’d subscribe if all the images inside matched him. He’s watching me, his lips twisting as though he’s thinking. Probably wondering how he can toss me down this mountain or hide my body.

I must have been crazy to agree to this scheme. I didn’t even know if he was married, and I said yes to a camping trip. In the woods. With a stranger. I don’t know anything about his history. Prison records. Background check. Unknown felonies committed. Yet here I am, traipsing up a mountain with him. Of course, a quick Google search on him last night didn’t produce any illegal dealings in his past. In fact, he’s a decorated military veteran from what I learned.

Still.

Hysteria wells in my chest, and I’m ready to break out in song. The hills are alive with the sound of music…Anxiety-riddled laughter builds in my throat. I’m going to sound like a madwoman.

What was I thinking?

Be brave. Be strong. Marcus’s words come back to me, and I try to muster emotions I don’t feel. I’ve made a mistake. I’m going to die. This man wishes I would.

I exhale heavily as I reach him, realizing I’m turning into a drama queen.

“Well, fancy meeting you here,” I mock.

“Won’t meet another soul.” It’s a warning and a reminder I’m alone with him and at his mercy. I’ll need him to survive whatever awaits me for the next three nights. Then again, the thing I fear most is him.

I step into the shadow of the trees, and he swipes an arm forward, suggesting I lead the way.

“There’s a path from here.”

The worn-down trail, crushed by well-traveled feet, leads deeper into the trees. I keep my eyes on the flattened leaves and broken twigs before me, not wanting to take another fall.

“My great-great grandfather brewed beer up here.”

I’m startled by the sound of his voice, both the deepness and the nostalgia in it.

“I thought the mountains were known for moonshine.”

“He might have done that, too, but beer was his product. Even though it wasn’t legal to distribute craft beer in Georgia until recently.”

“That seems a little archaic. I’m from Chicago. We’re fond of our liquor and have the history to prove it. It’s called Prohibition.”

He snorts behind me, and I concede this to be a chuckle.

“He hid his talent up here and made runs along the miner trails.” Pride fills his voice with this heritage. “Today, we don’t need such a thing for our beer.”

I’m stumped once again as I don’t know the personal side of his story. “Which is?”

“Giant Brewing Company. I’m Giant.”

I stop and spin to face him. “You own a beer company. Like Budweiser?”

I found this information during my Google search but didn’t realize he was the Giant in Giant Brewing. His slow grin is evidence of both his answer and his pride, and I’m blinded by the effect of his lips slightly curling along the heavy scruff on his face.

“We’re more of a craft beer company. Our sales have jumped since my brother opened the pub, but we aren’t quite at the success of a major beer distributor.”

“I thought you said your brother was the mayor?”

“He is. This is a different brother.” I remember what he said while we stood outside his cabin. He thinks I’ll expose his family, so he isn’t sharing much, but this is another tidbit about him.