Page 5 of Delayed
“I was told by some agents that people fromMichigan are referred to as Michiganders.” She shrugged a shoulderas if not committed to the accuracy of her statement.
“I continue to learn something new everyday.” He laughed. “Do I not look like a Floridian, too?” He waved ahand down the length of him.
She followed his hand with her gaze,scrutinizing him. Then she pushed her regard to his face and theireyes clashed for a moment. The pull between them sizzled like anelectrical current. He was more than happy to get shocked.
“No. You most definitely don’t look like aFloridian.” She grinned.
“Is it the pasty pale skin that gives meaway?” He frowned. Even after several years of living in Orlando,he couldn’t escape his British and Irish roots.
“Well … you are … white.” Her cheekspinkened. She dropped her gaze to her glass again, her eyelashesfluttering over her cheeks. This woman exhibited both ends of thespectrum. Angel and devil. The image of her garter and tightscontrasted nicely against her rosy cheeks and sweet smile.
He slid his arm around her shoulder andsqueezed. She tensed before relaxing into him and he enjoyed theweight of her against him. Her softness pressing into hishardness.
“To answer your question, I’ve beentraveling the last two weeks checking on the handful of Ohio andMichigan bars and restaurants that have put one or more of ourbeers on tap.” He pointed to his Dog Tired Brewing Companyt-shirt.
“So you work for Dog Tired?” She smiled athim, her voice filled with unexpected enthusiasm.
“I’m not your average employee, but Iprobably work more than all our employees combined, including mytwo partners.” He chuckled. No statement had ever been truer. BradyHinkelson, Taylor Vince, and he had hit the indie brew scene big byparticipating in several national beer competitions and festivals.They’d taken their college hobby of brewing beer and built amulti-million-dollar business. Rex had taken the role of head ofdistribution, which had him on the road rather constantly.
“Get out of here! You’re an owner?” Herbrows drew down, and her eyes narrowed. He was glad to see shequestioned the things a stranger told her. Something about her hadhis protective nature rise.
He nodded and laughed delighted by thecommon ground they’d found. “I’m not getting out of here withoutyou.” He winked.
“I absolutely love their winter stout.” Shesmiled. “Your winter stout.”
He grinned and hoped they’d have more thanhis beers in common before they boarded the plane.
Chapter Three
Looking up at him, Anna’s heart raced. “Ijust can’t believe you own Dog Tired Brewery.” The slight touch ofhis hand on her back ignited her whole body.
He retrieved his phone from his back pocketand tapped it several times, then handed it to her.
The Dog Tired Brewery website lit thescreen.
“Hit the ‘About Us’ button, Anna.”
She did. A picture of him and two otherrather good looking men popped up. They leaned against a red brickwall with the neon Dog Tired Brewery sign hanging above theirheads. The shot looked like an album cover. Each guy stared in adifferent direction—none making eye contact with the camera.
Rex stood in the center about two or soinches taller than the others. Where he was disheveled with spikeddirty blonde hair and a t-shirt and jeans, the dark-haired manlooked prim and polished with short, cropped hair and a dark bluesuit that contrasted nicely against the brick wall. The other man,also a dirty blonde with unruly hair, had a smaller build than Rexbut the sinewy muscles of his forearm visible from his rolled upsleeves solidified he was fit. His wire rim glasses gave him aHarry Potter look.
“Who are the other two?” The word “hunks”almost slipped out, but she bit her lip instead.
“My business partners.” He pointed to thedark-haired guy. “That’s Brady Hinckelson. He’s our numbers andbusiness guru. Handles the books, the contracts, thelegalities.”
She studied his clean-shaven face and babyblue eyes. “He wears the part well.”
“Should I be jealous?” Rex teased.
“Only if you introduce me.” She winked.
“Note to self—lock Brady in the storagecloset.”
She laughed. A thrilling sensation curled inher belly at the idea he’d even contemplated introducing her to hispartners. “And who’s that?” She pointed to the Harry Potterone.
“Ah—the brains behind our operation. He’sthe chemist, literally. That’s Taylor Vince. He’s the one workingthe magic of converting the malt into the right fermentablesugars.”
“That seems complex. He reminds me of HarryPotter.”
