“And yours, will it have a higher alcohol content?”
“Not mine. Ours. Sweet Salvation Brewery’s.” The brewery’s name came out in a rush. “And why not? It’s a good differentiator—like an imperial ale’s ten percent or more versus an IPA’s five to seven percent.”
“And the dry stout, is that what you’re making?
“No.”
She stared at his profile, but he’d lost himself in the notebook. “Are you gonna make me go find the great big book of beers back in my office so I can go through them all to make another guess on what kind of stout?”
He looked up, crossing his arms in front of his strong chest, his feet shoulder–width apart as if he were expecting a blow. “I’m making a hybrid of a dry stout and a Russian imperial stout.”
For most people, that wouldn’t be a revelation. But Sean wasn’t most people. For some reason she couldn’t quite grasp, he’d cracked open the door and was letting her in.
Natalie sank down onto the stool. “Go on.”
He let out a deep breath and took off his baseball hat before running his fingers through his thick hair. “The Russian is rich and complex, with fruity esters and roasted grains, hops, and a coffee– or chocolate–flavored malt.”
“Remember I’m still new. Fruity esters?”
He grabbed one of the books off the shelf and put it on the table between them. Opening it, he turned to the glossary. “Fruity esters. They’re the compounds that give many fruits their characteristic flavors. We get them in beer by choosing the correct yeast for the recipe. In a Russian imperial stout, the fruity esters take on a dark–fruit character. Think raisins, plums, or prunes.”
“So you want something that’s sweet and sour.”
He nodded, his gaze again dropping to her mouth. “Exactly.”
The way he looked at her when she was fully dressed made her knees buckle. If he gave her that look while they were both naked, she might just climax on the spot. This man was far too dangerous. “What about cherry?”
“That might work.” He stroked his beard, then grabbed a pencil and scrawled the word in the notebook. “I need to try that.”
Hesitating only for a moment, Natalie decided to take advantage of Sean’s unusually talkative mood. “So I love that we’re finally talking brewery business, but why are you telling me this now?”
His pencil stilled. “I wanted to get you out of your controlled comfort zone and show you the brewery from another perspective.” He laid it down on the table. “Plus, the more I talk, the less likely I am to do something stupid.”
“Talking a lot.” Natalie nudged him with her elbow. “That must feel strange.”
He smiled. “It does.”
Maybe she moved. Maybe Sean pulled her up from the stool. She couldn’t be sure, but suddenly they were hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. A small touch—minor really—but her breath caught as her entire body went on hyper alert. The clean–soap smell of him. The way his breath hitched then sped up. The underlying strength that called out to her, even when she tried to block it.
Sean pivoted to face her, the lust rampaging through her reflected in his own brown eyes, and the world stopped moving.
A heated flush rose up in tandem with the loud thump–thump of her heart vibrating through her body and she turned her face away so he wouldn’t see. Every part of her tingled with anticipation of what would happen next. Not could. Would. She may be mentally denying what was going on between them, but her body sure as hell wasn’t.
Still, the battle warred inside her head. She gripped the table and kept her gaze forward, knowing if she even snuck a sideways glance she’d fall—hard and completely. “What kind of stupid things are you trying to avoid?”
Ever so lightly, he grasped her chin and turned her to face him. “This.”
His lips captured hers.
Soft and hard. Exhilarating and relaxing. Demanding and requesting. The kiss at his house had been an appetizer. This was the main course. She melted under this touch, her mouth opening for him. Not surrendering but returning his passion, matching his tongue stroke for stroke. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, pulling it taut then slowly loosening his hold.
Turning his attention to her neck, the dueling sensations of his soft lips and the scratch of his beard drove her nearly out of her mind. “And kissing me is stupid?”
He chuckled against her skin, the sensation tickling that magic spot where her neck met her shoulder. “Only if you’re worried about my sanity, because I can’t stop thinking about you as it is.”
Pushing her fingers through his thick hair, she arched her head back to give him better access to her throat. “I know the feeling.” Thoughts of him had haunted her since she’d returned to Salvation.
“Do you?” He teasingly nipped her collarbone before kissing it.