Hollywood on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery 2)

“Artist of alcohol?” The corner of his mouth curled and he shook his head. It should have made him look smug. Instead it just emphasized his scruffy hotness. “I like that.”

“Of course you do.” Natalie patted her cheeks dry and wiped her nose. She knew from past experience that she was not a pretty crier. Blotchy face. Puffy eyes. Sniffly nose. It was a little late to be delicate now. She laid the tissue box on his desk.

He swept it into the drawer, holding down part of the mess inside so he could shove it closed. “You’re still wrong.”

“About what?” Exasperation sent her leaping up with enough force to knock the flimsy plastic chair to the ground. Ignoring the clattering, she paced the length of his desk, whacking her clipboard against her opposite palm. “The fact that the ordering system is woefully out of date? That the records department is a frightening black hole of misfiled bills and past–due invoices? That the scheduling for the brew process is haphazard? Or, perhaps I’m wrong about the whole fly–by–the–seat–of–your–pants attitude you have about everything here. But instead of listening to my ideas, you’re submarining me at every opportunity.”

He crossed his arms, making his biceps bulge. “I don’t like change.”

“Too bad. Change happens.”

“Like you embrace it.” Sarcasm reverberated in his deep bass.

“Of course I do, what do you call this?” She raised her clipboard like a shield.

“Change you control, not the kind some crazy new boss forces on you.”

Natalie’s eyes almost bugged out of her head and her chest heaved. “That is the dumbest things I have ever heard.” Heat blazed in her cheeks.

Sean’s blue eyes darkened and his eyelids drooped. “You burn hot.”

Low and intense, his voice discombobulated her and had her clutching her clipboard to her chest.

“Hot?” She patted the sides of her French braid, tucking the loose strands behind her ears and straightened her glasses. “No. I am in firm control of my emotions.”

At least she used to be. Then she met the insufferable Sean O’Dell, quite possibly the most annoying man on the planet. She should have known he was trouble when they they were introduced and he’d acknowledged her with a caveman grunt. But she’d been too distracted by his warm, mahogany–colored eyes, broad shoulders, and ruggedly handsome face half hidden behind a beard. His stinginess when it came to talking drove her nuts, and not just because he wasn’t answering her questions, but because the gravel–edged timbre of his deep voice sent a delicious shiver down her spine every time he spoke. Knowing him, he probably spoke so infrequently to keep her off balance. He was as pleasant as ants at a picnic.

“Why don’t you talk about this…stuff—” he pointed to her clipboard “—with your sister?”

Natalie almost looked around for a hidden video camera, because this had to be a prank. Unfortunately, there was no camera. She clutched her clipboard to her midsection so she wouldn’t wring his neck. Sean wasn’t dumb, but his purposeful thickheadedness was about to make her snap.

“Two very good reasons,” she said, keeping her tone level, if laced with ire. “Number one, because Miranda got here nine days before I did and knows just as little about the history of this place as I do. Number two, because she’s tied up with wedding plans.”

He shrugged those broad shoulders, pulling his Sweet Salvation Brewery T–shirt tight across his muscular chest. “The changes will wait for her.”

“The changes have been waiting for months. I’m done waiting.” Her clipboard’s edges bit into her palms. God, what was it about this man that made her crazy enough to want to wing her favorite accessory at him?

“Looks like we’re at a standoff then, Sugar.” He picked up the brochure from his desk and circled around to her side. One callused finger tipped the clipboard away from her chest, never touching her skin but close enough that his heat licked her. The air hummed around them. Hunger. Want. Need. All three zapped between them, and as strong as an electrical current on steroids. “Of course, if you were to scratch my back, I’d guarantee your needs were satisfied too.”

Needs. Oh yes. She had them. Too damn many at the moment.

He slipped the brochure onto her clipboard. Fire ate its way up from her toes. The man had a death wish. It was the only thing she could come up with to explain why he kept purposefully pissing her off. “That’s blackmail.”

Sean chuckled, a sound that should never give her naked, naughty fun thoughts, but in his case did. “That’s harsh, Sugar. It’s negotiating, and if we do it right, we all walk away happy.”

She wasn’t falling for his brand of happy, no matter how tempting the messenger. “Forget it.”

Instead of pushing him away, her words only brought him closer. His scent wrapped around her, teasing her senses and melting her resistance until the only thing grounding her to the real world was the clipboard in her hands.

He leaned in, his lips so close to hers that his words brushed against her skin. “You’ll change your mind.”

One inch. That’s all it would take to close the distance between them. How very badly she wanted to eliminate the space was the only thing that kept her from doing it. So instead of jumping into the unknown abyss, she placed her palm over his fast–beating heart and stepped back. “What makes you so confident?”

He lifted her hand from his chest and kissed the center of her palm. Quick. Soft. Maddeningly effective. “Experience.”

A knock sounded and she whipped her tingling palm from his grasp.

“What?” she and Sean barked at the same time.