Chapter 9

Unfortunately for Roxie, Mr. Franz isn't remotely hot. He's round and stocky, with a gut so plump, I wonder if he receives beer transfusions on the weekends. Style is lacking too, and I envision Roxie burning his wardrobe in a pit. He’s wearing a collared dress shirt three sizes too small with turtle doves on it, and the buttons pucker around his stomach region. The crowning jewel? The thick gold chain, which hangs around his neck, coin medallion and all. So yeah, not hot.

I dare a sip of the beer he’s ordered us while giving him another once-over. Ten to one odds, he wears nothing but a speedo at the beach.

“What do you think, Miss Tucker?” Mr. Franz watches me keenly after I lower my stein. “Is this one good?”

“Very.” I plaster on my most accommodating smile. I’m sure it is good … if you can call the flavor of wheat and piss good, because to me, that's how all beer tastes. Except for the stouts. Those taste like burned wheat and piss, so take your pick.

“This is very similar to mine own.” He nods, his German accent obvious with his use of mine own, and not my own, and there’s a proud twinkle in his eye. “But not quite. Mine has more hops and is aged longer, but that is a secret.” The thin skin around his eyes crinkle as he winks.

“Then I hope to try it.” I shift my stein around and relax into my seat. Despite the lacking fashion and poor beverage choices, our guest has proven to be a wonderful company tonight. Not at all unpleasant, like I anticipated. I feel like we're making good progress.

However, I'm thankful to return to the back seat when Brexton takes command of the floor.

“How long do you age your beer?” He sits across from Franz, his elbow propped up, thumb and index finger cradling his chin. Maybe it's the slouched posture, but he looks younger right now. He’s also stone-cold sober and has drank less than any of us. “I've heard thirty years isn't uncommon for some breweries.”

“Ah-ha.” Mr. Franz raises his finger in the air. “Another secret. At least for you.”

Brexton chuckles. His chest rises and falls, the corners of his eyes creasing together. And that tone … wow. The dark sound leaving the back of his throat causes heat to blossom in my stomach.

He's hot. I’ve been stealing glances all night, keeping everything low-key and discreet. But after sitting here at a table with him for two hours, the last of my resilience starts to crumble. His demeanor feels easy and fully human tonight with good humor and light laughs. Rarities. I’ve hardly heard a laugh since I started working for him. All of that makes me stare. Long and hard.

I allow my eyes to trail that gorgeous face. Starting with midnight hair and matching eyebrows. My pulse taps hard against my throat when I catch a streak of blue, partially hidden by dark lashes. When I find myself lingering on his smooth lips, an ache grows in my core. Those lips are a wet dream—the bottom one, full and suckable, the top one beckoning me to run my tongue over it, with its perfect cupid’s bow. Every feature is complimented by a sexy five o’ clock shadow that’s beginning to appear on a wide jaw.

My mouth dries up from looking at the forbidden fruit a moment too long. I decide to stop ogling my boss in public before I'm caught drooling. It's unprofessional and will probably reduce our chances of earning Mr. Franz's business.

I'm taking another small sip of beer when Mr. Franz's cell phone rings.

“My daughter,” he says. “Excuse me while I take it.”

“Take all the time you need,” Brexton says.

Our guest leaves, and it's the two of us alone at our table. Lustful expectancy pounds hard through my blood, while my morals scream chastity. A torrid duel. Sad to say, pureness of heart doesn't win once Brexton starts conversation.

“You don’t like beer.” He nods to the stein. “You’ve hardly touched the drinks.”

I shake my head and grimace. “I think it tastes awful. I'd rather have wine.”

“Hmm.”

“And you? You’ve only had a few sips.”

“I don't drink.” He turns his head from me briefly, checking on Mr. Franz, who stands in the foyer. “It dulls the senses.” When he looks at me again, the indifferent professionalism is gone. His eyes spark, then dip down to my mouth. Feverish need ripples between my thighs, and I think my panties are already damp. “I never want an experience dulled, especially when a beautiful woman is sitting next to me. One who's been consuming my thoughts.”

Well, if that hasn’t been working both ways...

Sleep has slipped away from me all week. The times I’ve managed to snag some, it’s his face and body flooding my dreams.

Lonnie hasn’t made an appearance in days, thanks to Brexton.

He’s so incredibly appealing; my every emotion is drowning in attraction for him—something I don’t want. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. There’s no winning for me.

I shake the thought away and carry on the conversation.

“Consuming is a strong word,” I counter, the heatwave spanning through my body at odds with my cold voice.

“Strong but true.” Dim light gleams off pristine coal hair, causing a halo at the crown of his head, and there’s the most delectable glint in his eyes. I should look away, but I can’t.

Also, he’s no angel; not one of righteousness, anyway.

He's molded out of temptation, and it's confirmed when one side of his mouth pulls up to the familiar smirk that’s been pulling me in like a magnet since I met him.

The porcelain stein melts like ice against my flushed hand. Running my finger up and down the cold handle, genuine curiosity takes hold.

A why.

Why me? What can a person like me hold for someone like Brexton? It’s a wonder I aim to uncover.

After setting aside my stein, I prop my elbows on the table. “Can I ask why you’re interested in someone like me?”

His brow skirts up. “Why not you? Why not someone who strikes me as different?” He cradles his chin with his index finger. “It doesn't need to be a complicated reason. I simply like you, Olivia, and unless I’m mistaken, I believe that’s how most attraction starts. It’s there, plain and simple. Doesn’t it work that way for you?”

“Not anymore.” A strange ache pulses behind my ribs as I shift my gaze away.

There really was a time, a simple one, when I dated the one man my eyes liked to rest on. Was. How quickly things change, and the events have left me with a bubbling residue of emotional frustration and failure. I can’t fully conjoin with the people I care deeply about and share my whole life with them.

The risks are too treacherous. Saving people isn’t in my arsenal—ones who get close are as helpless as I am. Distance is better. Better than the fear transparency evokes. Living abundantly and staying safe no longer go hand in hand for me.

“Anymore?” he echoes, his eyes narrowing with a quizzical observation. “What changed?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. I can see it all over your face.”

“Figments of your imagination,” I say, flippantly waving my hand, hoping to not sound defensive.

“Lies, and if something changed, that means your expectations of life have altered, so you’ll want something to avoid a repeat.”

“You think so?” I pull my head back in surprise. “You seriously think I’ll want anything from you?”

“Of course, you will,” he counters. “Now we only have to figure out what that is.”

“What that is,” I echo in a hollow tone. The only thing I want is safety for the rest of my life—something no man has been able to give me. Still… “You think I’ll want something besides sex?”

He nods.

“Presumptuous.” I scoff, pushing the stein farther away. “Who says I want anything?”

“You do.” Those lips I caught myself admiring moments ago send my stomach into a mad flutter as they curl up. “We all have something we crave. It’s in our nature, Olivia.”

He’s not lying, but he also has no idea how deeply complicated my needs and wants are, and I kind of envy him for that. He’s able to live with a belief that our appetites can be as simple as a craving for food or a good session in bed.

I’d kill for an existence that simplistic.

Tags: Garnet Christie Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net