Page 10 of Bad Love

Still…A thousand replies to that, each more blatantly sexual than the last, parade through my head. But for some reason, I reject them all. “It’s my first timetoo.”

I reach over her for a bottle of water in the car door, which brings us into contact. Her scent surprises me. It's fresh but with an edgeunderneath.

"What's that perfume?" I ask because I can't helpit.

"It's not perfume. It's body wash. I order it online.” Her low admission makes me wonder if she feels guilty for orderingit.

It's sexy, and I resist the urge to shake my head to get rid of her smell as the car pulls to a smoothhalt.

She repacks her bag, and when she looks up, she’s all business. "I need to do some research. Give me a few days to review the—ah,Rocket.”

“Rocket II,” I correct solemnly. “With Romannumerals.”

“Of course,” she replies, straight-faced as she holds up two fingers. “Send me sales info. Rolling twelve-month. Anyseasonality."

"I'll see what I can do." I hold out a hand, and with the slightest hesitation, she takesit.

Hell, that little spot between her thumb and forefinger is smooth. I wonder if she’s that soft everywhere as tingling runs up my arm and has my abs clenching under my shirt. “I look forward to selling fake cocks with you,Kendall.”

“Likewise, Mr.Hunter.”

“Just Hunter,” I remindher.

“Just Hunter.” Kendall says my name as if she's weighing it every time it crosses her fulllips.

I open the door and shiftout.

I should walk away. As a show of good faith andprofessionalism.

But I can’tresist…

"And Kendall?" I turn and lean my elbows against the window, bringing our faces a few inchesapart.

“Yes.”

"Sorry you’re having trouble getting fucked.” Her mouth falls open, and I wonder how her dark lashes would feel against my abs. “A gentleman never leaves a womanhanging."

That pretty shade creeps up her cheeks, and I enjoy the wave of satisfaction that washes over me before I turn my back on thecar.

"Are you calling yourself a gentleman, Mr. Hunter?" Her voice, full and confident, stops me in mytracks.

Kendall’s not weighing my name anymore. She's done judging and has determined I’mevil.

I shove on my sunglasses, deciding I like the way my name sounds on her lips. "Not inbed."

* * *

I've seenthree of the man-made Wonders. Stonehenge. The Great Pyramid of Giza. TheColiseum.

As far as I'm concerned, breweries should be theeighth.

It’s not because my grandmother founded Hunter’s Cross brewery five decades ago, when she was widowed with three young kids. Or because I grew up around this business, playing between the machinery, coloring in labels, and asking a million questions of any staff who’d indulgeme.

It’s because the light shining off tanks of brewing beer is an exquisite thing. There's magic in creating, making something that never existed before. Though they're stainless steel, I see what's happening inside those tanks. The yeast undergoing its chemicalprocesses.

The clipboard hanging off the side of one tank says this one'll be ready in two days. It's one of our newest brews, and in addition to the yeast, there are a couple hundred pounds of blackberry in it. It'll go into oak casks we bought from a vineyard in California for a few weeks, thenbottles.

I make my way past the tanks and equipment to the offices in the back. A man with dark, curly hair straightens and shoots me a grin as Ipass.

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