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  “Look,” he grunted, turning her head so she could see them, clearly outlined in the mirror-like surface of one window. She shoved her hips back and her legs farther apart. The perfection of his body inside hers was something she still marveled at and swore not to take for granted. “Reach down and touch that clit. Pretend it’s my tongue. Hell, pretend it’s somebody else’s tongue. And watch while I fuck you.”

  She touched the engorged nub of her sex and rubbed as he did just that, shoving her up against the table she was propped up on with her other hand. Watching them in the window and crying out as she came in a rush of emotion, loving the warm sensation of his release deep inside her. Tears threatened as they always did but for the first time in their months together, she let them flow, needing that release almost as much as the one he’d given her seconds before.

  Dustin collapsed over her back, holding her close, then slipped out of her and turned her around. “Don’t cry, my Helena. Please don’t ever cry.”

  She shook her head, helped him zip up and adjusted her skirt. “I cry all the damn time. Don’t flatter yourself.” But he tilted her chin up, made her look at him. “I love you,” she whispered. “The jury is out on how well we will actually work together, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”

  He smiled, brushed her lips with his calloused thumb. “Okay. Now, I’m going to ask you one more thing.”

  She sucked in a breath, realizing this was the moment. If he asked, she’d say yes. She knew it.

  “Move in with me.” He kissed her nose, her cheeks, her lips. “Let’s do a dry run with the marriage thing.”

  “Oh, um, well.” Her face flushed. Living with the guy had not entered her mind, at least not unless they were married. But the relief that washed through her told her all she needed. “Sure.” She smiled and shrugged. “But I don’t clean. Or cook.”

  “Hell, you think I don’t already know that? I wouldn’t eat anything you cooked anyway. I cook. We split the cleaning and what we don’t do the housekeeper does including the laundry because I am not doing that.”

  “God, you are such a spoiled brat.” But her chest had loosened and the moment seemed perfect. This was good. They would make it work. “But what about your…”

  “Nope.” He put a finger over her lips. “I don’t care what they think. I won’t stop being their son but I won’t subject you to them. Even if you do finally succumb to my obvious charms and marry me.”

  She sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her mind spun a million miles an hour already at the giant task of organizing the chaos that was the marketing effort for the brewery. He kissed her hair, held her close. “Relax, my Helena. It’s Friday. We’ll deal with work in a few days. For now, it’s time to go home. With me.”

  Chapter Ten

  Five Years Later—Denver, Colorado

  If Dustin had to shake one more hand, listen to one more drunk idiot tell him how awesome his beers were, or get one more slap on the back, he would likely be capable of homicide in front of the nearly five thousand people total that were crowded into the Denver Convention Center. The National Beer Festival was a necessary evil in his book. Expensive and evil. After shipping out beers in cold trucks, paying the exorbitant booth fees and for the necessary staff to fly out and stay in a half-decent hotel, crafting a unique and eye-catching display, and buying endless rounds and dinners after the festival doors shut each day, it blew the marketing budget every year. And this year he was one hundred percent not in the mood, which did not help matters.

  He needed to make eye contact with the one set of blues that would calm him. Helena worked her magic on the other side of their massive end-cap booth, laughing, drinking and schmoozing as only she could. As if sensing his need, she glanced up, met his eyes. But instead of winking and smiling as she normally would, she looked away, refocusing on her task, unwilling to give him what he so desperately wanted.

  He ground his teeth together and forced the image of her naked body out of his head. He hadn’t seen it in a while, at least three weeks, way longer than they’d ever gone. Hell, for the first few years they were lucky if they made it through the day without jumping into each other’s pants at least twice.

  Pressing fingers against his tired eyes, he turned, pasted a smile on his face and resumed the torture that constituted a national beer event. After another hour, however, convinced everyone in the building was too drunk to matter anymore, he declared himself done for the day. He recalled how she had glided over to him about twenty minutes earlier, brushed her lips against his and mumbled something about catching a drink with Rene and Kim, two female owners of west coast breweries. He’d gripped her arm.

  “Damn it, Helena, you can’t do this.”

  “Do what? Have drinks with them?” She glared at his hand then looked around, not meeting his eyes. Dustin tried not to shake her like a rag doll. She could be the most fucking frustrating woman on the planet. And he loved her so much it made his teeth ache. Defeated, he let go, met her flat stare with one of his own.

  “Fine, pretend you don’t know what I mean. Have fun.” He turned away, his chest so tight he could barely breathe. Her scent invaded his nose, let him know she still stood at his shoulder. But he had nothing to say, nothing that would do any good anyway.

  Even if she wanted to speak, she wouldn’t, and he knew it. One other thing he’d learned about his roommate and lover of five years was that she could be the most emotionally unavailable human being he’d ever encountered. She’d opened up to him, after many months of coaxing. After many admittedly pleasant hours spent breaking down her high emotional barriers.

  And after five years of waiting, he knew it was time. But she still would not marry him. He’d not asked nor even suggested it until this week when he combined a private jet trip to Denver with what he was convinced would be the ultimate successful proposal. It had been, in a word, disastrous.

  Admittedly they were both stressed over this year’s event for a lot of reasons. The application they had made for Mid-Size Brewery of the Year had taken a lot out of them both. The past three weeks had been a blur of arguments, ugly words, and nights spent on the couch. They’d fought for the better part of the last month, over everything from toothpaste on the sink to the huge radio buy she wanted to make for the brewery’s fall ad campaign. For some reason she’d shut down, cold. And he could do nothing about it. Except make an obviously ill-timed bid for marriage. And endure what sounded to him like a final “no and don’t ask again” kind of answer. He just didn’t get it.

  He watched her walk away. Then grabbed a sample glass, filling it to the rim with the nearest pitcher of beer on his table. After slamming the rich chocolate stout, he poured another, then another, until his shoulders and jaw unclenched and he relaxed just enough to avoid putting his fist through a wall. He stood back and let volunteers and staff run their mouths as the last of the festival attendees filed past.

  “Prufrock?”

  He frowned, trying to place the accent, then smiled when Erik’s tall form glided into view. He strode around the back of the elaborate display their marketing team had designed and pulled his friend into a fierce hug. Dustin’s throat tightened, but he willed himself calm. Not the place or the time to have a breakdown. “Erik, I didn’t think I’d see you here. Last I heard you were still in Munich.”

  The tall, handsome German shrugged, running a palm over his lightly bearded face. “Got a new job. With Jefferson.” He named one of the most famous craft breweries in the nation, if not the world.

  Dustin whistled. “Sexy. Good thing you never took me up on my offer to come to Michigan. I had no idea you were that expensive.”

  Erik smiled and relief poured through Dustin. Finally, someone he could talk to.

  “Listen, let’s get the fuck out of here. I’m exhausted and need a real drink.”

  “Perfect. Where’s…?” Erik looked around. He had never met Helena.

  “With Kim and Rene someplace.” Dustin waved, not
willing to get into it. Not until he had a seat, a double scotch and a quiet moment. He smiled, nodded to a few fellow brewery owners and escaped the building, the cool Denver air caressing his face.

  Erik Aldrich had been seeking his old friend and one-time lover, Dustin Prufrock, since he’d hit the festival floor that day. His recent appointment as brewmaster at Jefferson had been somewhat of a surprise and he wasn’t sure he even wanted the damn job. The founder and owner of said brewery had a rep as a class-A prick. He’d come after Erik with laser-focused determination to get the well-known Munich-based brewing instructor attached to his operation. It was strange, really. But Erik had relented, having nothing to keep him tied to his home country anymore.

  He’d wanted to talk over the opportunity with Dustin, get his perspective on the weird scenario of working for one of the most difficult prima donnas in the craft brewing world. But Erik knew his friend had a crazy-busy life as owner of a fast-growing brewery in Michigan. With a family who did nothing but loudly disapprove of his choices, no matter what they were, the poor guy probably only got a few hours of sleep each night. And Erik knew his own failings when it came to asking for help or opening himself up for advice. So he’d avoided it, and let the opportunities to reach out to his old friend and former lover pass. But now here they were, walking side by side down the busy Denver streets toward a favorite restaurant of his.

  He glanced over at Dustin’s strong, Romanesque profile. He’d sworn off anything resembling an alternative lifestyle, instead chasing pussy all over Europe with an enthusiasm born of boredom. But now, he realized how much he’d missed his friend, on many levels. “What’s up? Brewery okay?”

  Dustin looked up at the sky and sighed as they waited for the light to change. “Yeah, great actually. Helena has given the whole thing a marketing kick in the ass it needed. She’s worked miracles.”

  They stayed silent until seated at a booth in the back of the busy restaurant and each held a double scotch on the rocks. Erik stared hard at his friend. There was something seriously wrong but he knew Dustin would spill it. The man wore his heart on his sleeve ninety-nine percent of the time. The quiet between them seemed easy, the way it was between men. After Dustin looked up to order another round, he turned to Erik, surprising him with an intensity that Erik had never seen.

  “She can’t…she won’t…we…oh fuck.” He downed the second scotch and slammed the glass down on the pockmarked wooden table so hard people nearby glanced at them. Erik touched the hand Dustin had clenched around the glass.

  “Relax. I’ve never seen you like this unless it was over a batch of ruined wort.”

  Dustin barked out a harsh laugh. Erik winced and sat back, frowning. The other man stared at him. “We’ve lived together for five years. Worked together every day. My parents make no bones about hating her, and since I broke the engagement with Valerie my mother has taken every opportunity to nag me about taking over for my dad instead of my ‘little beer project with that girl’.” He ran a hand down his face.

  Erik leaned forward. “What’s the problem? You’ve never let your mother bug you much before. Why care now?”

  “Helena won’t marry me.”

  Erik frowned. “So? Why screw up a great relationship over a legal document?”

  Dustin slumped back in his seat. Erik was startled to see that intense look in his eyes again, bordering on desperation. He put a hand on his friend’s arm, making Dustin jump a little, redden and glance away.

  “I don’t know. I mean, I’m settling for this living together thing. But until we actually get married I have to keep enduring my parents’ bullshit—my mom’s blatant criticism and Dad’s passive-aggressive version of the same.”

  “So.” Erik signaled the waitress as he spoke, not taking his eyes from Dustin’s. Something was stirring him. Something he thought he’d buried deep under layers of self-justification and meaningless sex with an embarrassing amount of women. “You want to marry her so your parents will leave you alone. Wow. Romantic much?”

  Dustin glared at him.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not the most romantic guy on the planet either. You were the first one to call me emotionally constipated if I’m not mistaken. That hurt.” He put a hand to his heart, relieved when his friend’s frown turned to a bemused smile. “But maybe she senses you are pushing matrimony for the wrong reasons. Maybe,” he raised an eyebrow, “she’s got her back up over it now.”

  “Yeah.” Dustin ran his fingers through his hair. “One of the many things I love about her—and you will too once you meet her—is her single-minded, headstrong stubbornness. Tinged with a smartass, hot-as-shit attitude. But when it’s turned against you…”

  As the other man let his thought trail away, Erik looked over Dustin’s shoulder and laid eyes on the most amazingly beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Tall, elegant, womanly and curvy, not hard and brittle like so many women these days. Clad in dark jeans and a light sweater, Ray-Bans pushed up over her hair, deep blue eyes darting around, obviously seeking someone, she oozed sexy. Erik had a hard time not staring openly at her. She spoke with a few people, her gorgeous face breaking into a grin and revealing twin dimples that he suddenly ached to taste. He shook his head and refocused on his friend.

  “Oh hell, Aldrich, I hate it when you’re right.” Dustin leaned over the table and Erik had the odd, almost déjà vu sensation of being caught in a significant moment. One of those split seconds between the “before” and the “after” that you never forget.

  He swallowed hard. They sat in silence another few seconds as Erik allowed himself another surreptitious perusal of the goddess now seated at the bar. She had one long leg propped on the rail, her long blonde hair tumbled nearly halfway down her back. He took a breath and resisted the urge to lick his lips. His cock, which had had a lovely workout just last night with one of the groupies Brad Jefferson kept around, leapt to painful attention. He let his eyes wander down the woman’s frame, imagining how the beautiful curves would feel under his practiced hands.

  “Yo, dude. Did you hear me?”

  The woman turned as if sensing his laser focus. Her deep blue gaze widened at his stare.

  “Um, huh? Sorry. I was…” He tore his eyes from her, shrugged and grinned into his nearly empty glass. “Let’s eat before we get too drunk to sit here.”

  “All right. Helena should to be here by now. We aren’t exactly talking beyond the basics. I tried to pull a pretty fucking romantic move on the way here. Private plane, food, wine, the ring…again. All I managed to do was make her furious. Jesus.” Dustin’s eyes darkened at the memory. “She’s shut down on me since we got here. Pretty classic Aldrich, actually. You two would be quite the pair.” He stood and looked around, then motioned for someone at the bar. To Erik’s utter surprise and slight horror, the amazing woman he’d been ogling appeared at his friend’s elbow.

  “Helena.” Dustin stood, put his arm around her waist. “This is my good friend, Erik.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Helena looked at Dustin, frustration coursing through her, deafening her with its buzz. Their years together had been one long ride of work, stress, amazing sex, fun, vacations, tossing money worries out the window. And still she held back. The guy was nothing if not totally honest with her—open, loving and supportive. He calmed her in ways she never thought she could be. Could coax a laugh out of her in the most stressful of situations. And nearly had her trained to orgasm with a glance from his deep green eyes.

  But the continual small voice of reason kept her up at night. Watching him sleep, running a hand across his hair, down his back, choking back tears, she’d remind herself that this was very likely still some sort of perverse rich-boy nose-thumb at his parents. And until he acknowledged that, she would not wear his ring, nor would she add “Prufrock” to her name. His parents hated her ever-loving guts. The very few times she’d been forced to be around them had proven that.

  Aggravation and stress made her so single-min
ded that for the last year, she’d alienated him and she knew it. They’d stopped really talking. And she remained too paralyzed to breach the gap she’d created between them. If she would open her stupid mouth and just tell the man how she felt it would likely go a long way. But something held her back. And she had no name for it other than fear. Fear of losing him. But in her zeal to stay somewhat removed from him to avoid getting hurt, she felt herself hurtling headlong into that very thing. But living in the bubble of his parents’ near constant disapproval had not fazed him one bit, but it made her a five-foot-eight-inch walking, talking, twitching nerve ending.

  “Honey,” Rene had berated her earlier over martinis. “That man is head over heels for you still. Don’t ruin it by being so bloody stubborn.”

  “No shit.” Kim had tossed back the dregs of her last drink. “Screw his parents. He doesn’t care what they think. A guy like that will only take ‘no’ for an answer so many times before he gives up.”

  “I know, I know.” She took a breath and blew it out. “You’re right. I do love him and I’ve been such a raging bitch lately. I don’t deserve him.”

  “Yeah, well, none of our men really deserve us.” Rene signaled for the check.

  “You guys are on the verge of something huge with your brewery, hon.” Kim nodded and patted her shoulder. “Don’t ruin it by borrowing trouble that isn’t there. You aren’t marrying his parents. You’re marrying him. Or would be, if you’d get over yourself long enough to see reason.”

  She had a sudden and immediate need to be back in Dustin’s arms. To reunite, to apologize and make amends. She owed him big-time. The desire for his embrace and his lips nearly choked her. “I should go. Dustin is…” The two women exchanged a knowing look.