Trouble on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery 3)

“Why?”

She opened one cabinet—plates—and then another. Jackpot. “For the beer.” She grabbed two tall glasses, spun on her heel and strolled back to the island, where she unscrewed the growler top and poured.

“I don’t like beer.” His gaze was zeroed in on the glass of Sweet Salvation Brewery’s latest amber ale as he leaned against the counter, arms folded over his bare chest.

Up until now, she’d done a pretty good job of keeping her focus on Mateo’s face, which was distracting enough, and not the miles of sinewy muscle crisscrossing his torso. But once her line of vision dipped down, there was no coming back up. It was like drowning in hotness.

Tattoos of four military helmets formed a band around one thick biceps, one of several tattoos that decorated his broad chest so thick with muscle he could give the male fitness models she knew a run for their money. The elastic waistband of his shorts hung low on his waist, giving her a full view of his six-pack abs. If only he’d tug them down just a little bit lower, she could see almost all of the muscles forming a V at his hips—or at least that’s what she imagined. If she actually saw them, she’d probably pass out. Hell, she was feeling a little woozy as it was.

Pull it together, Olive Breath. You’ve seen plenty of men totally naked.

Problem was, none of them made her stomach flutter like Mateo.

Focus!

Sucking in a deep breath, she tore her gaze away from him and to the recycling bin next to her at the end of the island.

“You don’t like beer?” She nudged his open-top bin with her toe and the telltale rattle of glass bottles sounded. “Really?”

He cleared his throat. “I make exceptions every once in a while.”

She held out a glass to him. “So make one now.”

Their fingers grazed as he took the glass from her and electricity shot up her arm and gave everything from the neck down the fizzy, unsettled feeling of an itch that needed to be scratched. She wasn’t sure when but sometime between walking in the front door and pouring the beer, she’d lost control of the situation and she needed to get it back.

He took a long, slow sip of beer, the whole time watching her over the top of his glass with the steady glare of a born skeptic. “What is it you’re after?”

When she’d pulled up in her car? His help. Now? Getting a peek—and more—at what was underneath his basketball shorts.

“A few minutes of relaxation to sip good beer.” She dipped one finger into the foam at the top of her beer, gathered just enough of it then sucked it off the tip.

His heated gaze went straight to her mouth and his jaw tightened. For someone so intent on denying the attraction, it was definitely there—no doubt about it. The air thickened around them and desire pooled in her belly. With deliberate slowness, she licked the last drops off the center of her bottom lip.

He set his glass down on the counter with a clank that echoed in the quiet kitchen.

A few years ago they’d be fucking by now—against the refrigerator, bent over the island, flat on the floor with her riding him hard and fast. Denial had never been their thing. Now it felt as though it was all they had in common anymore.

“And then a few more to drown my shitty day in Ruby Sue’s pecan pie.” She leaned forward to grab one of the forks he’d placed on the oversized island. Inhaling a deep breath, she sank a fork into the pie, lifted the bite and held it out to him. “Want some?”

He gulped, lust as plain on his face as the scars he used as an excuse to keep people at a distance—but he didn’t move to take the bite she’d offered. “You’re not playing fair.”

The accusation, true as it may be, delivered in his rough bass sent a shiver down her spine. “Who said I was playing?” Shrugging, she turned the fork and ate the bite of pie herself.

Fuck. It really was good. Not exactly what she was hungry for right now, but it was beginning to look like a sugar rush was the only kind of satisfaction she was going to get. What a shame.

“Why don’t you just spit out what it is you’re after and save us the charade,” he demanded. “We both know I’m not anyone’s idea of good company.”

“And whose fault is that?” She tossed the fork down and it skittered across the island. “As someone who has spent her life being shunned by the people of Salvation, let me tell you that being a hated outcast isn’t as fun you seem to think. Get rid of that giant chip on your shoulder and you might realize that.”

Something dark flashed across his face and her breath stalled in her lungs. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, he smirked and gave her the slow up and down. It was the kind of look he’d given her a million times after spotting her at a hotel bar or in elevator when she was coming to meet him. Dangerous. All-knowing. Totally trouble. Without giving her time to reorient herself to the new order of things, he stalked around the island, stopping beside her.

He didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. She was lost to the heat and the need and the hunger sweeping through her.

“If I’m hiding some heart of gold under this beastly exterior, then what are you hiding, Olivia?” He traced his fingertip down the length of her neck, following the erratic beat of her jugular vein.

His touch was too hot, too good, too much. She thought she’d known the rules of this game, but she was wrong.

Mentally reeling, she grabbed ahold of the one thing that had nothing to do with how her body was reacting to his—the truth. “I know the mayor is trying to ruin any chance we have of holding a successful fundraiser for the veterans’ center. I want to know what I have to do to get the town to see what an idiot he is.” Her heart hammered against her ribs and her thighs trembled. “I need you.”