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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.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE 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.
