Paradise Hops (4 page)

Her therapist had given up trying to get her to play. She’d done everything else the woman insisted upon, up to, and including, getting back to exercising, working, and pretending the whole horrific thing had never happened.

But she drew the line at playing the piano. Wasn’t going to happen. The final cord struck and quavered through the room like a live wire. Lori blew out a breath, not realizing that she’d been holding it, and slumped against the wall, her heart thumping so loudly she was surprised it wasn’t echoing through the place. She started back towards the main brewing office that Eli had claimed as his own, booting everyone out except his huge black Labrador retriever, Hopster. He brought the damn dog with him every day, in a direct up-yours to the rules.

As she rounded the corner, the music changed. Mozart this time. The long wall of glass between the brewery floor and the office came into view and she slowed, then stopped. She saw him, seated at his desk, head in his hands, staring at nothing; or what looked like nothing until she got close and saw it was a photograph. Before she could study him any further, Hopster spotted her and leapt up.

She had to restrain a gasp at the look on Eli’s face when he glanced up at her. Raw emotion, anger, sadness, and everything in-between reflected in his blue eyes, but then he narrowed them to the familiar glare. “What the fuck are you looking at?”

She touched the doorway, not willing to let this go, and no longer intimidated by his rough words. “Who is she?” She pointed to the picture still on the desk. He swept it into an open drawer.

“Nobody.” He stood and stretched, giving her a brief glimpse of the tattoo, the vine of hops that she wished she had the guts to ask about. It poked out of his T-shirt sleeve, wound around his bicep, and then disappeared back up under the shirt. She looked up to discover him within inches of her. She didn’t move, couldn’t really. He smelled of leather, hops, coffee and something she couldn’t put her finger on, but that made her want to lean closer and suck in huge breaths of him. “You should mind your own business.” His voice barely registered in her ears, so focused was she on not bridging the miniscule tempting gap between them.

She watched as her hand rose, brushed his rough jaw. It was as if observing someone else’s hand, someone much braver than she. He closed his eyes once, then drifted closer, setting her nerves jangling with something she had never felt in her life. A jolt of lust shot through her, a need so compelling it made her blow out a breath. He stopped, mere centimeters from her, and he put a finger to her lips. Unable to stop herself, her tongue darted out, touched it. He sighed. “No. I don’t think so.”

She frowned as he stepped back, her entire body on fire with a twitchy, nervous energy. “You don’t think what?” She crossed her arms and tried like hell not to gasp for breath, to beg him to move closer again, to take her over the desk and…
Holy shit, Lorelei Brockton, calm yourself
! The twitchiness remained but without a drop of the panic she usually felt. She wanted this man. Needed him. But she’d be damned if she would beg for it.

He rested against the desk letting her observe just how much their moment had affected him, not making any attempt to disguise the bulge under his zipper. She gulped, and forced herself to look at his face. The attitude of supreme asshole made her catch another breath, this one full of fury.

“Never mind.” She turned, hoping to get as far away as possible. She would not be played, not by this guy. This was her fucking company, and he was, technically, her fucking employee. She already had a man—an amazing, gentle man with a lovely structured life.

She had a date with Garrett that night, as a matter of fact, and she had every intention of going to bed with him, finally, ending all the heavy petting and valiant efforts at stopping he’d made for her sake. After she told him the truth, so he wouldn’t think he was at fault for her squeamishness about sex.

Eli gripped her bicep, yanked her back, his arms crushing her against his wide chest. His rough face rubbed against her skin when he covered her lips with his, as her arms snaked up to wrap around his neck. She had to go up on tiptoe to reach him properly. He swept into her mouth, probing, tasting, making her dizzy. She waited for the panic to surface, but it didn’t; even as he shoved her up against the wall just outside the office in the darkened hall, as the last of Mozart’s
Requiem
swirled around them. The music ramped up her need, sent the scared little girl inside her to the corner, and brought out something she’d forgotten she possessed.

She put a shaking hand over his zipper, reveling in what must lie beneath, as he tore his lips from hers, placed both hands on either side of her head against the wall, and stared at her so hard she believed he could read her every thought. Unable to resist, she pulled up the sleeve of the soft grey T-shirt so she could see it all, the entire beautiful art work. The intricate vine she’d only seen the end of curled around his massive shoulder, held deep green hop flowers, intertwined with…she stared hard…music notes. Smiling, she passed a finger over them, and then tugged his shirt up so she could take it all in. She surprised herself by pressing her lips to a bit of vine that graced his left pec. He groaned and threaded fingers in her hair, tugging enough to bring tears to her eyes and yet more moisture between her thighs.

“Stop,” he whispered, his voice raspy and low. “Lori. I mean it.” She ignored him, lifted the cotton fabric higher leaving him exposed from the waist up, so she could follow the incredible thing down his torso, trailing it with a fingertip. The strains of the
Moonlight Sonata
curled around them again. Eli groaned, cupped her breast through her blouse, ran a finger over a nipple making her shudder with an exquisite bite of pleasure.

She couldn’t stop. “Turn around. Let me see it all.” He did. “My God.” She stared at his back, one side covered with the most beautiful rendition of a hop vine she’d seen in any medium, much less on the flesh of a man. She traced the ink along his shoulder blade and down his spine, loving the way his skin pebbled at her touch.

He turned back around so fast she yelped; kissed her so hard and deep she nearly came right then and there, the sensation unfamiliar and somewhat scary. Holding both her hands against the wall over her head, he licked her lower lip, pressed his firm body against hers. Her usual, expected reaction to being so manhandled did not emerge. In fact, her hips moved, thrust towards him in a primal dance. He grinned and then dropped her hands and stepped away, yanking his shirt back down.

She swallowed hard. He put a hand on his zipper and cupped it, staring at her. She sensed a simmering fury just under his surface.

“When you’re ready for a man, Lori, let me know.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” She tried not to stomp her foot.

“Go on and have your fun with the suit. That’s your life. Not mine. You two make a few more of yourselves, pop out a few little Hunters. I don’t need this. Messing with the boss…” A look passed over his face that made her flush. He did want her. She stepped close again, needing his lips on hers so badly her face burned. He gripped her wrists and held her back. “No. I’ve been down this road, and I’m not going again. Do you hear me?” He shoved her out the way and shouldered past her.

“Eli,” Lori kept her voice low, knowing he’d hear her. He stopped and turned. The look in his eyes flickered between agony and anger. “I want….”

He held up a large hand, stopping her. “You have no idea what you want. Don’t pretend like you do, and don’t try and tell me. Let’s go, we have a full day’s work.” He stomped away, leaving her alone with her frustration and the bright nugget of need lodged in her gut, like a popcorn kernel in her teeth. He stalked to the docking station and shut off the piano music, blaring instead a Nine Inch Nails song through the brewery, already yelling at the brew boys.

Chapter Four

 “Lori? Hey, earth to Brockton,” Garrett waved a hand in front of her eyes. She startled, spilling her wine. He stood, watching her stare at the deep purple stain slowly dripping to the floor. Without a word, he went into the kitchen and brought back a damp towel. She looked up at him, her eyes red rimmed, unhappy, her wild curly hair escaping the attempt to tame it while haloing her face in a way he loved. He knelt down by her side and pressed the cloth to her forehead ignoring the urge to clean up the mess.

A tear dropped onto her lap. Unsure what had gone wrong with their perfectly pleasant date, he put a hand on her knee. The heat of her skin blazed through the dress’ silky fabric. His chest tightened. If only he could fix it, whatever it was that made her so sad, yet so amazing at the same time. He sensed he’d be beating his head against the Lori brick wall, but at the same time that tough girl façade brought out a weird rush of protectiveness, possessiveness even. Two sensations that made him more than a little uncomfortable.

He stood, not knowing what to say, his body yearning for more, but his brain warning him to hold back. He didn’t know her story, but he had heard enough intimated around the brewery to make him antsy in the last few weeks since it had become obvious they were dating. She gripped his hands, held him in place. He tried to arrange his face into something pleasant and supportive.

She looked at him, her gaze flat, and took a deep breath. “I was raped.”

The words scraped across his nerves like sandpaper. He tensed. His hands formed into fists beneath hers, but she pressed down, making them flatten against her legs.

“Not a stranger, not in a dark alley. Nothing I could have prevented, really, by being smart or strong.” Garrett marshaled all his strength not to stand up and put his fist through the wall. He sat, not trusting his voice, letting her continue. She took another breath and gripped his hands. He stayed still, not breaking their eye contact.

“His name,” she gulped. Garrett fidgeted, unsure if he could take much more but realized she had just started. She stared him down. “No, I need to say it. You have to know this about me, Garrett. I mean, so…” He put one of her palms to his lips, trying to convey support without words. “Thad. He was…he used to work in the brewery, about three years ago.” Her voice gained strength as Garrett felt all of his leave him in a huge
whoosh
. “We went out twice. I liked him well enough, but he was too cocky, really full of himself. I used to tease him about it.” She clenched her eyes shut.

Garrett couldn’t stand it another minute. He yanked his hands out from under hers, stood, and paced the room.

Lori stopped. “I can’t talk if you’re going to do that.” She kept her voice low, calm. He could tell it took effort.

“Sorry.” He pulled a chair in front of her and sat, took her hands again. Her ice-cold skin made him want to wrap her in his arms while simultaneously murdering the bastard who’d hurt her. “Go on.”

“I told him I wasn’t really interested in him anymore after a third date, but he kept texting, catching me on Facebook, being all nice. I told myself I’d go one more time, and be firm about it. I never in a million years thought….” Her voice broke.

“Lori, I sincerely hope this guy is nowhere around here because, if he is, I will find him and kill him, right now.” He heard his own voice, tight with a fury the likes of which he’d never experienced.

 She shook her head, as if to dispel an image, sending curly tendrils of dark brown hair tumbling around her face. “I have to tell you all of it. Otherwise, I can’t, I mean…shit.” She looked down. Garrett reached over and tucked a lock behind her ear, ran his thumb over the crease in her forehead she got when she worried about something. She went on. “So, we, ah, went to a concert. He kept drinking. I got annoyed, but we were with friends, so I stayed calm. I drove his car back to my house. He kept grabbing at me, but I wasn’t the slightest bit worried, I mean, this is the twenty-first century, right? Men don’t just take what they want from a woman. At least, that’s what I thought…,” she trailed off. “Anyway, he said he needed a drink of water before he left, needed to call a cab. So, I let him come inside.”

Garrett flinched. “In here? In your house?” She frowned at him. “I’m not blaming you, Lori. I’m just…I can’t even explain how furious I am at….” He had to stop and look down to get control of himself.

She gave him a weak smile and exhaled, kept talking despite his deep desire for her to stop. “I got his water. He looked at it, then knocked it out of my hand. Before I could say a word he, um, he backhanded me so hard I saw stars.” He watched her touch her napkin to her lips. Saw her hands visibly shaking. But he felt frozen, trapped, unable to speak or move or help her. “I’ve never been hit by another person in my life. I thought it was some kind of joke. I actually started laughing. Probably not the best thing to do.” She unfolded and refolded the napkin, shifted in her seat. “He did it again, then shoved me into the living room. I tripped over the hearth, hit my head on the bookshelf.” She pointed over towards the other side of the room, which no longer held a bookshelf. She had it the area set up as a yoga meditation space, with a skylight and big window. The whole room was filled with light, even at night; not a dark corner in sight.