Hollywood on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery 2)

Her thighs tingled at the memory of that kiss last night and the feel of his hard length underneath her thumb. Without meaning to, her gaze dropped to his zipper and she licked her lips.

“Morning, Sean!” Hailey called out cheerfully as she passed Natalie’s open office door. “Nat, did Sean give you…” She looked down at the papers crumpled in Sean’s white–knuckled fist. Her head snapped up and she looked at Natalie. Her eyes rounded before she glanced back at Sean. “Uh…yeah…so…bye.”

The office manager sped down the hallway, her heels clacking a hasty retreat on the linoleum floor.

An embarrassed awkwardness bloomed on Natalie’s cheeks. That in itself was pretty damn weird. But every other reaction she had around the steamy–hot brewmaster was completely out of whack. Why not how she’d react to him after he’d gotten to second base?

He cleared his throat and held up a thin stack of papers. “I found the quality control reports for the past six months.”

That brought her right back to the problem at hand. The reports were the least of their worries right now. There was trouble at the Sweet Salvation Brewery. It started with C, and that stood for Carl. “He’s not in jail.”

“Who?”

“Carl.” Just saying the former brewmaster’s name out loud brought her full circle back to annoyed confusion. “He’s not in jail.”

Something a few degrees short of flame–thrower–level anger darkened Sean’s face, and he stepped inside her small office, shutting the door behind him. “Rewind.”

She pointed at her computer. “Come see for yourself.”

He strolled to her side and bent over her left shoulder to read the e–mail displayed on her screen. Natalie realized her mistake as soon as he stood next to her, close enough that she could get high off his so–bad–for–you–they’re–too–good–to–pass–up pheromones. The words on the screen turned blurry as she fought to concentrate on basic tasks—like not drooling on her keyboard.

“So our man Carl isn’t in the pokey.” Sean scooted closer, moving her mouse to scroll down on her screen.

The move put them nearly cheek–to–cheek and set off a series of fizzy pops in her stomach. “His wife posted bail seven days ago.”

“Now he’s on the lam.” His words sent a loose tendril of hair airborne and it tickled the sensitive skin beneath her earlobe.

Her first instinct was to tuck it back into the simple fishtail braid curling over one shoulder, but she couldn’t do it. Not with him this close. The chance of reaching out to finish what they’d started last night had gone from possible to probable the second he’d knocked on her door, and if she made a move it would skyrocket to highly likely.

Inhaling a shaky breath, Natalie ignored the displaced hair. “He missed his first court appearance this morning.”

Sean ground his teeth together as his eyes narrowed. “And the idiots at the sheriff’s office are just now getting around to notifying us that he made bail in the first place?”

“Pretty much.” She shrugged.

Things obviously hadn’t changed that much in Salvation, despite Miranda being engaged to the town’s unofficial prince charming. Most of the people here still considered the Sweet family Salvation’s equivalent of the weird neighbor who vacuumed naked with the shades open. Short of using the little flashy thing in the Men in Black movies to wipe everyone’s memories of all the crazy things her family had done—including the fact her great–grandmother had celebrated her ninetieth birthday by getting busted for running moonshine—there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to change folks’ minds about her family.

Sean muttered some choice words under his breath and jerked upright. “I’m going down there.”

“Wait.” Without thinking, she slapped her hand on his, trapping him by her side.

The physical contact sucked the oxygen out of the room. Damn, she was really regretting not finishing what they started last night. All she should have been thinking about was stopping that asshole Carl from fucking with her brewery, but naughty thoughts about how to get into Sean’s pants—and what she’d do once she got there—kept worming their way in.

Not wanting to, but needing to as much as she needed to keep air in her lungs, she slid her hand away from his. “Storming the sheriff’s office won’t make a bit of difference.” Her voice barely registered a quake. Thank God for small favors. “The deputies have had enough dealings with my family over the years to justifiably hold a grudge. Going in guns blazing won’t be the thing to change their minds.”

Sean grabbed her chair by the armrests and spun her around and leaned in close enough that she could pick out the individual hairs on his beard. Concern and something else simmered behind his warm brown eyes. “But he’s got to be the one messing things up at the brewery.”

“Exactly.” She placed one fingertip to his chest and gave him the slightest of pushes. He stepped back, giving her room to breathe. The protective–alpha–dog thing had taken her simmering lust and kicked it up a few thousand degrees. Fighting to maintain an outward appearance of complete control, she inhaled a cleansing breath and focused on the plan instead of the man. “We just have to catch Carl in the act.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re not going to believe a Sweet otherwise.”

“How?” He shot her a skeptical look.

Damn, the man needed to learn to trust her. She sat up straighter in her chair, confidence in her solution as strong and sure as Paul Bunyan on steroids. “An old–fashioned stakeout.”