Читать книгу Real Men Will - Victoria Dahl - Страница 12

BETH CAUGHT THE METAL flash of a car pulling up, but by the time she looked out the door, the car had driven past and she couldn’t see it. Kelly wasn’t supposed to be in until eleven, and they didn’t open for another twenty minutes.

She grimaced at the prospect of having to send an early customer away. The last time she’d done that, the guy had begged and pleaded, claiming to have some emergency that required massage oil right away.

That hadn’t convinced her to unlock the door and let him in.

And here was another man. Why was it always men who—?

“Oh, no,” she breathed, instinctively taking a step back. This wasn’t just a man with an early-morning erotic need. It was him. He—Eric, she reminded herself—looked like a man on a mission. Mouth set in a stern frown. Eyes narrowed against the sunlight. He took a deep breath and knocked on the glass, then shoved his hands into his pockets and waited.

Beth held her breath. She was only twenty feet away, but apparently he couldn’t see her through the slightly tinted glass. Thank God, because she had absolutely no interest in being seen.

He frowned a little harder and his head dropped, almost as if he could hear her thoughts. His nearly black hair glinted as the wind shifted it, and Beth looked away. She hated that she still found him so attractive.

His next knock startled her, and Beth jumped. The movement drew his eye, and suddenly he was looking right at her. Her heart stammered, and when he raised his hand in greeting, she shook her head.

Eric didn’t move.

“Damn it,” she whispered. She turned and faced away from him, eyeing her office as if it was sanctuary. But it wasn’t a very effective hiding place. She would have to unlock the front door in twenty minutes when the store opened, and Eric didn’t look like he was going anywhere.

She glanced down at her clothes, happy she hadn’t pulled on leggings and a sweatshirt this morning, as she’d been tempted to do. Instead she was wearing dark jeans and black patent heels. At least she could look good while she glared at him.

She took one deep breath before she turned around and strode toward the door. Eric didn’t smile or gloat. He simply watched her solemnly.

The lock slid quietly free, when she’d been hoping it would crack like a whip. “What do you want?” she asked through the small space she’d opened.

“I hoped we could talk.”

“No.”

“Please,” he pressed. “I know there’s no excuse, but I’d still like to explain. To apologize. Anything.”

He looked tired. And miserable. And still obnoxiously handsome in his cargo pants and black polo shirt. His gray-blue eyes held hers, as if he wanted her to see his sincerity.

And damn it, she could see it.

“Fine,” Beth snapped. “You can come in. But only for a minute. I’m working.” She opened the door wide to let him through and, as he passed, the faint scent of his soap hit her hard. Her knees actually went weak, as if she were leaving his bed again, her body limp with satisfaction.

She touched the door handle to ground herself in the present, then clicked the lock shut again.

She found him standing just a few feet inside, looking over the store as if it were a strange land he’d never visited. True enough, she supposed. The other brother was the one who’d come to the store with a girl.

For a moment, she just waited for him to turn around again, but as she shifted, crossing her arms and then uncrossing them, she realized she felt too vulnerable. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. Didn’t know if she should look casual or tense or aggressive. So Beth walked past him and moved around the glass countertop to her normal station next to the cash register. It felt better to have two feet of counter between them.

Eric seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the back-to-school display. Admittedly, it was a little different from most. The mannequin was dressed in a white button-down shirt and a short black skirt, and she held a ruler in one hand as she peered above the tops of her black glasses. But the other hand held a whip, and her platform shoes were adorned with five-inch metal heels. Beth especially liked the shiny red apple that was perched on top of the sex-ed books at her feet. It was cute and wicked at the same time, but Eric looked only stunned.

Beth cleared her throat.

“Sorry,” he said, swinging around to her. “I mean, I’m sorry about everything. And how you found out.”

She kept as little emotion in her eyes as possible, unwilling to be vulnerable for him again.

Eric took a step forward and set his hands opposite hers on the counter. For a moment he seemed distracted by the piercing jewelry beneath the glass, or maybe it was the metal cock rings, but then he shook his head. “I can’t really explain why I didn’t tell you my real name. It doesn’t make any sense. It was wrong, and I knew it at the time.”

“But you didn’t care.”

“It didn’t feel real. I don’t mean you, of course,” he said quickly. “You felt… Yeah.”

Her lips started to tilt up, so she pressed them together.

Eric cleared his throat. “But it was all a fantasy, wasn’t it? I’m not the kind of guy who meets a beautiful woman and invites her to a hotel room. It felt like I was someone else.”

“Your brother?”

He winced. “No. Just not myself.”

She wanted to hate him. She did hate him. But she also knew what he meant. She wasn’t the type of woman who slept with a man just a few hours after meeting him. Not that she’d admit that to Eric.

“You look more like an Eric,” she said.

“Do I?”

Beth shrugged. “You can go now,” she said icily, determined not to give in to the twinge of understanding she felt for him.

Silence hung heavy for a moment, and then he nodded. “All right. But I wasn’t playing a game. I don’t want you to feel I made a fool out of you.”

She froze. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t,” he said quickly.

“Oh, I know you didn’t. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

His eyes widened in alarm. “Of course! I didn’t mean to imply—”

“You made a fool out of yourself, Eric Donovan,” she said past a tight jaw. “I’m fine. I’m great.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I know you are.” His head bowed, but when Beth took a step back, he looked up again. The lines around his eyes looked deeper. “Thanks for letting me in. I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”

“I am.”

“Good.” He left then, unlocking the door and offering a grim wave as he slipped out. Beth just stood there as he left and told herself she was glad she’d never see him again. He was a liar and a cheat, and he didn’t deserve her attention.

Unfortunately, she knew from experience that he might still get it.

TALKING TO HER HADN’T helped.

Oh, maybe his conscience was very slightly appeased, but now Beth was in his head, stuck there like a spirit exacting its revenge.

Returning to the brewery didn’t help, either. Tessa gave him a thumbs-up and a big smile, which made him feel like a wayward kid. And Jamie ignored him completely, which made Eric want to shove him and start a fight, just so they’d be interacting.

Eric had always been the mature one. Hell, when their parents were killed, he was only twenty-four, but he’d taken on the responsibility of his teenage siblings and the brewery, and he’d done it well. There’d been no partying, no vacations and very little dating in the thirteen years since then.

He’d worked. And he’d parented. And he’d set a good example. He’d done what he needed to do, despite the fact that he’d felt inadequate and scared to death the whole damn time.

But something had gone wrong in the past couple of years. Very wrong. His skin felt as if it had started shrinking, squeezing everything too tight inside his body. And his skull felt too small as well; he wore that tension like a helmet, making it hard to think. He felt…panicked. Which made no sense.

Despite the deal with the Kendall Group falling through, not to mention the trouble that had come after, things were going great. Profits had risen six percent for each of the past four years. A nice, steady growth. Jamie had finally grown up and was taking on new responsibilities. Tessa was happier than ever. And they were all finally getting along. Everything was good. And Eric felt…lost.

He’d lost his hold, somehow. He’d lost control. The plans to expand the brewery into a restaurant were not part of Eric’s plans, but he couldn’t say no. They were partners, after all, he and Jamie and Tessa. Equal. And yet Eric wasn’t equal. Not in his mind. And maybe not in theirs, either. Because he wasn’t a Donovan. Not really. It felt like the worst sort of injustice that their dad had left him an equal part of the Donovan business, a cruel joke that Eric was the one to lead the brewery for so long.

Because, despite all the wonderful things he’d done for Eric, despite the role he’d filled, Michael Donovan hadn’t been Eric’s real father.

Eric could still remember his real dad, though only in broken bits and pieces. He’d come around on the weekends for the first few years after Eric was born. Then only on holidays. Then not at all.

Eric had his father’s hair and his eyes. He had his genes. And not a drop of Donovan blood to justify his ownership of this place or the unconditional love that Michael Donovan had shown him.

Thinking about it made Eric’s skull feel even tighter, so he rolled his neck and closed his eyes. Even his office felt too small. But he didn’t want to spend time near Jamie, so Eric decided to catch up on the bottling schedule. It’d be a bitch working the line by himself, but it would be worth it if it wore him out. At least he’d get some sleep.

Eight hours later, when Eric headed home, he was definitely exhausted, but his mind was still working as frantically as ever.

“Dinner tomorrow!” Tessa yelled just as he escaped, and Eric winced. Sunday dinner with the family was not in his comfort zone this week. But if he didn’t show, he’d look ashamed or cowed. Shit.

When he got to his condo—a simple two-bedroom that was nearly ascetic, even to his own eye—Eric made a sandwich, grabbed a beer and turned on a boxing match. Boxing was the perfect sport, in his opinion. There were rules and structure, but it was the most basic of all competitions. The most primal. Beat the other guy, literally. All other sports seemed to want to dance around that issue. “Yeah, you can physically destroy your opponent, but you have to be holding a ball while you do it.” That smacked of dishonesty to Eric, but maybe he was only feeling sensitive to the issue.

Once it became clear that both boxers in this match were hitting for points instead of a knockout, Eric turned off the TV, grabbed another beer and headed for the shower.

Ten minutes later, he was in bed and clicking on the TV in the bedroom, his body still as tense as ever.

This was his life. Work. His family. And this white-walled condo. Yet his family had grown up. Both Tessa and Jamie had significant others now. They both had homes they’d taken the time to make their own. And they’d grown into the brewery, too. Eric’s role in their lives was shrinking, and how the hell was he supposed to make up the loss?

He’d need to find a hobby. An interest. Or maybe he could take over one hundred percent of the trade show duties and spend more time on the road.

The thought wasn’t satisfying, but it felt logical. He’d run it by Jamie at dinner tomorrow. Jamie would probably be happy to avoid time away from his new girlfriend, at any rate. Up until now, the man had never made a commitment to anyone, but he seemed damned enthusiastic about his relationship with Olivia.

Maybe that was what Eric needed. A woman.

Unfortunately, Beth was the only woman who popped into his head, and she was unavailable in so many ways, starting with the fact that she hated his guts. But, God, she’d been beautiful today. More beautiful than she had been when Eric had first met her, or maybe it was just that he knew the exact shape of her breasts and shade of her nipples. Maybe it was that his fingers could still remember the way her curves had yielded to his touch.

She was gorgeous in that way ’40s pinup girls were. Soft and curved and luscious. The embodiment of sex, even though her smile always kept its distance.

Not that there’d been any smiling today. But the anger in her eyes had mimicked the fierceness of her need in that hotel room. She’d wanted it as much as he had. They’d both been desperate. She’d knelt before him and curved her hands over the top of the headboard, her knuckles white as he’d started to ease into her tight body.

Eric closed his eyes against the flickering light of the television and shoved down the sheets. He closed a hand over his thickening cock and imagined it was Beth’s hand wrapping around him. Instead of being pissed when he showed up at her store today, she was happy to see him, eager to pick up where they’d left off.

He stroked, feeling his shaft swell against his own hand, and imagined reaching for her jeans and tugging them down. Then he’d bend her over that countertop and strip down her panties. Would she let him have her like that? In the daylight, in her own store, with only a locked door between them and the rest of the world?

Her belly would be pressed to the cold glass of the counter, her ass naked and plump under his hands. And her sex would be just as wet and tight as he remembered. He’d slide in slow and careful, and she’d sigh with pleasure. Her arms would stretch out, flexing against the invasion. And then she’d beg him to fuck her harder. She’d call him by his real name and it would be perfect.

Eric stroked himself faster, his fingers growing slick with pre-come. In his fantasy, Beth cried out, her back arching. “Fuck me, Eric,” she moaned, and he felt that surge of power that came with knowing he could make a woman like her come. She’d shaken in his arms and sobbed, and it had felt like a damned miracle to make a woman like her shatter.

Even in his imagination it was a carnal miracle, and Eric took himself with a brutal grip as he remembered her sex squeezing him.

“Come,” Beth ordered inside his mind, and so he came, the heat splashing across his stomach instead of filling her up, but it still felt better than anything he’d done since that long-ago night in that anonymous hotel room.

Eric let his head fall back into the pillow and he finally felt tired. Thank God.

BETH HAD A CLASS TO TEACH on Monday, so she surveyed the store for research items when her shift was over. On Saturday night, the place was busy with couples looking for fun and groups of women who giggled over dildos before surreptitiously placing them in shopping bags. Beth had made the switch from baskets to bags to save people the self-consciousness of browsing while toting around a thirty-two-ounce bottle of lube. Some people got a little funny about that.

When she didn’t see anything particularly inspiring in the toy room, Beth went to her office to dig through the boxes there. They seemed to get a new set of factory samples every other day, and she could definitely find some inspiration in those innocuous-looking cardboard boxes.

Sure enough, she found a new model she’d never seen before and shoved the plastic box into her purse with a glance over her shoulder to see who was watching, just as if she was one of those shy customers. This self-consciousness was the bane of her existence. She could help an eighty-year-old couple pick out a set of his-and-her vibrators without blinking an eye, but she couldn’t discuss her own sex life without stammering and blushing. Luckily, Cairo wasn’t so reticent, and she was always happy to help with the classes.

Speaking of which. “Don’t forget Monday night,” she said as she waved goodbye to Cairo.

“G-spot!” Cairo called. “Got it!” Her gorgeous smile didn’t even twitch. Had she been born with that confidence? More importantly, was there a way Beth could steal it from her and make it her own?