Real Men Will

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE LEFT THE LIGHTS OF THE store turned off when she got in at eight. The shop didn’t open for another two hours, and she liked the starkness of the pale sunlight that shone through the front windows. It comforted her. She felt alone, and she needed that for a little while.

She’d tried her best not to think about Eric Donovan last night, but she’d woken at 6:00 a.m., an hour before her alarm, and she hadn’t been able to keep her hurt feelings at bay anymore.

Logically, she could tell herself that it didn’t make a difference. It was a name. Nothing more. And he was a man she’d had a brief physical connection with. She didn’t love him. She didn’t know anything about him. Even less than she’d thought, apparently.

But she felt so stupid, and she thought she’d left all that behind. Feeling stupid about sex and her body. Feeling used. She’d built a whole life designed to put her above that. And even if she hadn’t been totally successful, she sure as hell hadn’t let a man bring her shame. Not until now.

“I have nothing to be ashamed about,” she muttered, slicing open a box with a vicious slash. But she immediately regretted her anger. She couldn’t sell damaged erotic toys, and she held her breath as she opened the cardboard to inspect the damage. Thankfully, she hadn’t even sliced through the plastic packaging. She needed to calm down. She needed to let it go. He was the one who had to live with what he’d done.

So Beth made herself turn on the lights in the back room and focus on what she was doing. After all, she should be paying close attention to the toys. She might be spending a lot of time with vibrators in the near future. It was either that or arrange a date with super-smooth Davis.

Maybe that would be okay. Cairo seemed to think it was…luscious.

Beth bit back a shudder and grabbed the first packages out of the box. Personally, she wasn’t interested in a toy with a vibrating appendage shaped like a wolf’s head, but werewolves were popular right now. Whatever her personal likes were, Beth didn’t judge what got other people off. The dildos with chillable inserts were especially in demand as well, and if people wanted to fantasize about cold vampire sex, that was fine with her. “You go, girl,” she murmured as she hung the wolf toys up.

Once the box was empty, she polished the glass cases—nobody wanted to look at intimate toys through fingerprints—and straightened the displays.

By nine o’clock, she felt better. Solid and nearly okay. And then her cell phone rang. She knew without a doubt that it must be Eric Donovan. He had to get in touch, didn’t he? He had to apologize again and maybe grovel. So it had to be him.

But it wasn’t.

“Hi, Mom,” she said, trying to keep the weariness from her voice.

“Hey, sweetie. Where are you?”

“I’m at the store.”

“Oh,” her mother said, that tiny word conveying so much.

“Mom,” she said, sighing. “I wish you’d come see it sometime. It’s not what you think it is.”

“Oh, Beth, I couldn’t. I don’t want to see all those…things.”

“All those things are in the back room. The front room is all pretty lingerie and fun gifts. It’s a place for women, not some sleazy video den.”

“But you sell…” Her mom took a deep breath, and Beth heard the muffling sound of a hand cupped over the phone. “Dildos.”

“Yes, we do.” Beth glanced up at the twelve-inch-long black glass beauty they kept behind the counter. “But that’s okay, you know. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, if your father ever found out I’d gone into a place like that…”

Right. And if he ever found out that Beth ran a place like that… “I still think you should tell him.”

“No, ma’am,” her mom gasped. “He’d never forgive either of us.”

“I’m not sure what he’d blame you for.” Granted, he was conservative. Old Argentina conservative, not to mention Roman Catholic conservative. He still complained that women no longer covered their hair in church.

“He’d blame me for all of it!”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Well,” she muttered, “I hope he’s happy thinking I’m managing a women’s under-garment shop.”

“Oh, he is! He’s very proud of you.”

She had no idea what to say to that. Sometimes her mom was a little off. Or a lot. “Is anything going on? Are you both feeling good?”

“We’re wonderful, sweetie. We’re ready for some cool weather, though. It’s been so hot here.”

“Turn your air conditioner up, Mom.”

“You know your father hates it when I use it in September.”

“Tell him you’re a delicate Anglo and you can’t handle the heat. And September or not, it’s still hot as hell.”

Her mom giggled, even as she chided Beth for her language. Poor Mom. She’d probably drop dead if she heard her baby talking cock rings and anal plugs with customers. Or maybe she wouldn’t even understand what was being discussed.

“I love you, Mom.” Beth hung up with the same mix of frustration and comfort she always did. Her parents had provided her with love and a safe home and plenty of emotional support. But they couldn’t support the choices she’d made. They just couldn’t. There were lines they couldn’t cross, and she’d found that out the hard way.

But they still loved her, and that was a hell of a lot more than some of her friends had. So Beth chose to feel a little stronger as she walked into the front room and turned on all the lights.

The room blinked to life and she looked over it with pride. Fuck Eric Donovan. He was lucky she’d remembered his fake name, much less bothered to find out his real one.

She wasn’t going to let him make her back into the girl she’d once been. No chance in hell.

ERIC HAD BRIEFLY CONSIDERED calling in sick today. After all, he felt sick. He hadn’t gotten one damn hour of sleep the night before.

He’d known better than to lie, but he’d still done it, and look what he’d done to Beth. And to his newly forged relationship with Jamie.

In the spirit of punishing himself, Eric had dragged himself from bed and hauled his ass into work. Jamie had been there to greet Eric with a glare as soon as he’d walked in. Luckily, they’d spent the first half hour in separate areas of the brewery, so Jamie’s anger hadn’t yet burned a hole in Eric’s skull.

But once Eric had the mechanic settled in, he had no excuse to lurk in the bottling room and oversee the work. When he stepped back into the tank room, Wallace grabbed his elbow in one meaty paw.

“The new stout,” he said, as if that explained his tight grip on Eric’s arm.

“Yeah?”

“It’s ready.”

Oh, that was why Wallace’s eyes glinted with worry. The last batch hadn’t worked out, and Wallace had been frustrated, to say the least. Eric had thought he’d been thinking about Faron again, but maybe he was already fully recovered.

“Come on,” Wallace growled. “You and Jamie can taste it at the same time.”

Eric opened his mouth to say no, but even he couldn’t justify that kind of immature answer. He couldn’t bring himself to say yes, either, so he just waited for Wallace to grab the glass of stout, and followed him into the kitchen.

Jamie was already there, an uncharacteristic frown on his face when he glanced up from examining the pizza oven. He jerked his chin up. “Hey, Wallace.”

“It’s time,” Wallace said ominously.

“Time for what?” Jamie asked.

“The chocolate stout.”

Jamie stood and wiped his hands on the rag he’d thrown over his shoulder. “The Devil’s Cock?”

Eric shook his head. “We haven’t decided on that name yet.”

Jamie ignored him completely and nodded toward the glass in Wallace’s hand. “Let’s do it.”

Wallace gathered up three small sample glasses and poured. The dark brown brew looked solid and crisp, the head a nice cream color.

“This is the new cocoa, right? The Mexican?”

Wallace grunted as they each took a glass. “Yeah. And the chipotle peppers.” There was a reason they were considering the name Devil’s Cock. This stout was the darkest of dark, accented with chocolate and a kick of heat. It smelled black and wicked.

“Sláinte,” Eric said, and they all tipped the glasses to their lips. Richness filled his mouth, flowing with the bitter hint of dark chocolate, sweetened by the malt. At the very end, smoky pepper touched his tongue.

“Christ, that’s smooth,” Jamie said.

Wallace didn’t smile. “Yeah?”

Eric nodded. “This is it. A one-hundred-percent improvement over the last batch. It’s gorgeous.”

Wallace’s eyes tilted a bit, as if he’d finally dared a small smile. Eric couldn’t be sure past the beard.

The brewmaster took another drink and wiped the foam off his facial hair. “I was thinking end of November,” he said.

“It’ll be perfect for winter,” Jamie agreed.

Eric nodded, but he wasn’t sure. “Any chance we could do a limited rollout by mid-October? It could be a nice Halloween beer.”

“No,” Jamie said before Wallace could answer. “We’ve got the Harvest Ale, not to mention the work on rolling out the restaurant. And we haven’t even decided on a name for this one, much less started a logo. It’d never get approved by the liquor board in time.”

Wallace’s eyes darted from Jamie to Eric as if he were waiting for an argument. His anticipation wasn’t unfounded. Eric felt his neck tighten to rock. Jamie’s words sounded like thrown fists, they were so hard.

Eric wanted to throw a few hard words back. He was the one who made these decisions, not Jamie. But Jamie was shouldering his way into the decision-making process now. A good thing, Eric assured himself. “Fine. Late November.”

“And the name?” Jamie pressed.

“We’ll talk about it.”

His brother scowled. “It’s a good name. Wallace, you like it, right? It was your idea.”

Wallace shrugged one massive shoulder. “You two work it out.”

“Good work, Wallace,” Eric said as Wallace turned to retreat back to his tank room. It was his personal cave, and even though it belonged to the Donovans he growled like an ogre at anyone who entered without his permission.

Just as Wallace disappeared, the back door opened and their sister, Tessa, walked in on a shaft of morning sunlight. She was like a Disney character, bringing happiness and smiles with her. Eric used to joke about seeing bluebirds darting around her head. But after the past few months, he no longer looked for bluebirds. Little Tessa was all grown up now, and she had a man living in her house to prove it.

“What’s going on?” she asked, strolling over.

“It’s the new chocolate stout.” He dipped his head toward the glass.

Tessa poured herself a sample and tried it. “Oh, so much better! It’s perfect. I love the kick at the end.”

“We’re going to roll it out in November. I’ll need you to start the logo process. I’ll deal with the liquor board.”

“Did we decide on the name?”

Jamie smirked. “Everyone still loves Devil’s Cock, but Eric’s scared.”

“I’m not scared. I just don’t want to offend anyone.”

Tessa tilted her head. “I think it’s fine. You know, names and logos are getting more and more edgy. And the logo will be a rooster, right? With devil horns?”

Eric crossed his arms and shifted.

“Jesus Christ,” Jamie barked. “You were on board with it a few months ago.”

“I only said I’d consider it.”

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Jamie said, leaning toward him as if he meant to share a secret. “Why don’t you try manning up?”

Eric dropped his hands, balling them into fists. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

They were right back where they’d been for years, and Eric stepped into the old groove with ease, his decade of anger at Jamie snapping quickly back into place. “Look, little brother. I know your idea of planning is to throw anything and everything out there and hope something sticks, but that’s not the way a professional goes through life. I’m responsible for the reputation of this brewery and—”

“Oh, you’re kidding me, right? Because that is pure, hilarious irony coming from you. If you think—”

“Hey!” Tessa shouted, and Eric realized they’d both been yelling. “What is going on here? I think I missed something.”

Eric’s anger fell away like spilled water. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. Jamie, on the other hand, looked morbidly delighted.

He smiled. “Why don’t you ask Eric?”

Eric shook his head. He didn’t want to tell Tessa. She was his baby sister. He’d been her hero, once upon a time. “It’s just a fight.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I heard something about a woman coming in and starting an argument with Eric, but I assumed…” Her gaze slid to Jamie. “Everything’s okay with you and Olivia, right?”

“Olivia and I are great, but thanks for the vote of confidence. Ask Mr. Perfect here what that was about. Oh, and watch out for falling pedestals, Tessa.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means the higher you are, the harder you fall. Especially if you’ve been pretending to be an angel.”

“All right.” Eric sighed. “That’s enough.”

“Not by far. But I’ll let you explain to our sister. I’ve got to get to work.”

Jamie disappeared into the barroom, and the doors swung silently in his wake, but Eric winced as if a door had slammed. His brain scrambled for a way to explain it all away, but he couldn’t think. He was so damn tired. And guilty.

Tessa folded her arms. “You’re having girl trouble? Is this April Fools’ Day?”

“I wish it were.”

“Come on. Give me the dirt.” She was smiling as if it was a joke, because she couldn’t imagine that Eric would ever do something scandal-worthy. He was the responsible one. The steady one. The one who never had time for fun, and didn’t miss it for a second.

“It’s no big deal,” he lied. “Just an argument with a woman.”

“Oh, is that all?” She leaned forward. “Seriously, Eric. What woman?”

“Someone I saw a few months ago. It was just one date. Nothing serious.”

“Then why did she come in here to yell at you last night?”

Oh, that. He held his breath for a few moments, hoping that an earthquake would hit or a tornado siren would begin to sound. Anything to distract his sister from the question. But no natural disasters struck. And Tessa would find out, whether he told her or not. “What did you hear?”

“Come on,” she groaned. “Out with it.”

Eric took a deep breath, but it didn’t make him feel any better. “The woman I went out with thought I was Jamie,” he said quickly.

Tessa didn’t react with horror. She didn’t gasp and press a hand to her forehead. She just snorted. “That’s ridiculous. You two don’t look anything alike.”

“Right. But she saw Jamie’s nameplate at the business expo last spring, and she thought I was Jamie. That’s all.”

“Oh. Well, that’s weird. Why would you… Whatever. As long as you didn’t sleep with her.” That was when her amusement finally fell away. “You didn’t, did you?”

Eric wished they were in his office so he could sit down. His legs didn’t feel quite right. He paced to the glass wall that separated them from the tank room and watched Wallace as he polished one of the tanks.

“Eric? I was just joking.”

He cleared his throat and made himself turn to face her. “I didn’t correct her at first, and then it seemed too weird to bring it up. I didn’t know what to say.”

“You slept with her and never told her your real name?”

“I wasn’t planning on seeing her at all! And then we…then we agreed that it would be a no-strings-attached thing. That we’d never see each other again, so I told myself it didn’t matter.”

Now she pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh, no.”

“Yeah.”

“She found out.”

“Yeah.”

Her green eyes widened in dismay. “Oh, Eric. That’s just…terrible.”

“I know. I tried to apologize, to explain. But she was pretty pissed.”

“Pissed?” Tessa echoed. “She probably feels awful!”

“I wish I could go back and change it, but I can’t. At the time, it didn’t seem to matter much.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why didn’t you tell her your name? You must’ve had a reason!”

Yeah, he’d had a reason, but he wasn’t going to tell Tessa about it. The first moment he’d seen Beth Cantrell, he’d wanted her. And that was before he’d realized who she was. The manager of a sex store. The curvy, gorgeous, sophisticated manager of an erotic boutique. She’d been way outside the boundary of his world. And then…she hadn’t been.

She’d liked him. She’d been interested. Part of that interest had been Jamie’s reputation as a man who was willing to play the game. And Eric had thought… Hell, Eric had thought he deserved to have the kind of fun his irresponsible brother had every day of the week.

He’d figured his brother’s reputation was so wicked that one brief encounter wouldn’t matter to anyone. But Jamie now claimed that the majority of his reputation was exaggeration, that he had hardly dated at all in the past few years.

Eric rubbed a hand over the tension in his neck. “I don’t know. Every second I waited seemed to make it more significant. Suddenly, instead of a mix-up, it was a cover-up.”

Tessa put her hands on her hips and glared. “Then you shouldn’t have slept with her.”

“Right.” But that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Beth Cantrell was a fantasy. His fantasy, anyway.

“By the way, since when do you have one-night stands?”

His face flashed to a blush. “I…”

“Is that why you never seem to date? Because you just pick up strangers all the time?”

“No! Good God, Tessa. You should go…wash your mouth out or something. No, I don’t sleep with strangers all the time. Which should explain why I screwed it up.”

“You need to go talk to her.”

“I already apologized.”

“I know, but she must feel like an idiot, Eric. Because of you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s not a good idea. We were never supposed to see each other again.”

“Well, that sounds a little over the top. Is she the daughter of your sworn enemy or something?”

Eric managed a smile. “It’s not like that. She’s nice.” Actually, he had no idea if Beth was nice. She’d seemed nice during the few times he’d spoken to her. But what they’d done together hadn’t been nice. It had been wicked.

And really, really nice. His shoulders slumped. “So I should talk to her?”

Tessa shrugged. “All I know is, I’d be feeling pretty freaked out if it were me. She probably thinks you’re a serial killer now.”

“So I should hunt her down and surprise her, huh?”

“You know what I mean. Just make her understand it had nothing to do with her. That it wasn’t a game.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

She shoved him toward the door. “Do it.”

“Tessa—”

“Do it! Or I’ll think you’re a terrible person.” She walked away and left him with those awful words. He didn’t have a choice now, did he? Tessa was a girl; if she thought Eric needed to apologize again, then he probably needed to apologize again.

But surely Beth didn’t want to see him. Hell, she hadn’t wanted to see him again even when everything had been good.

Maybe he could just call. He opened the contacts file on his phone, but it was hopeless. He’d purposefully deleted her name and number. It had been distracting to see her there, one little name that seemed to glow brighter than the others. That name had tempted him, and some nights he’d found himself staring at it, trying to convince himself that one more meeting wouldn’t hurt anything. Boy, had he been wrong about that.

He glanced up at the clock. Nine-thirty. What time did an erotic boutique open? He could drop by, see if she was there. Beth ran the place, and if she was anything like Eric, that meant she got there early and stayed late.

Shifting, he looked around, hoping some responsibility would drop out of the sky and demand his attention. But his responsibilities were dwindling by the day. Jamie had taken over some and Tessa had assumed others. They didn’t need him the way they once had.

He knew where the White Orchid was. In fact, he probably could’ve driven there with his eyes closed, despite never having set foot in the place. It wasn’t that he’d purposefully driven by, but the store was only half a mile from the brewery, and it pulsed like a beacon in his mind. It reminded him. Of Beth and the fact that she was always so near.

Tessa was right. He needed to make amends, and then maybe Beth Cantrell would get out of his head for good.

CHAPTER FIVE

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.