Paradise Hops by Liz Crowe

if to snatch a blown kiss, then pressed it to his crotch, sending zings of pleasure all the way through her. She stood, downing the beer they’d been sharing. His brow furrowed. “Hey, maybe I wanted some of that.”
    She shot him a look then finished it off, relishing the rich, hoppy essence of something she’d made with her own hands. He crossed his arms, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he spoke. “I’ve created a monster haven’t I?”
    She wandered over to the vat, pulled another pint from it and plunked it down in front of him. “A monster with manners.” The large warm hand over hers transformed the mild tingles she always got when around him into high flames.
    “You’ve been amazing, Lori. Really.” Her face flushed. She tried unsuccessfully to banish the images of the hop vine, the memory of his skin under her fingertips to the far corner of her brain.
    “Well, I had a great teacher.” The sudden urge to get as far from him as possible burned hot. She stayed put but slipped her hand out from under his. “An amazing teacher.” She sat, rested her chin in her hands. “I want to apply. To the institute, I mean. But, my dad will kill me, then tell me ‘no’.” It felt great to finally admit it to someone. She’d been researching it for weeks, downloading study guides and tossing the idea in and out of the realm of fantasy versus reality.
    Eli grinned. “Good.” He grabbed another pepperoni covered slice, folded in half and ate it in three bites. “I’ll help you,” he claimed around chewing.
    She stood, checked her phone looking for an excuse to get out of his presence.
    “How’s the suit?” Eli plunked his boot-clad feet up on the rough wooden surface that passed for a table.
    She glared at him pissed at the change of subject. “None of your business.”
    “Fair.” He sucked back the beer she’d poured him. “So, how’s the suit?”
    She rolled her eyes. “Great. Thanks. Why do you ask?”
    “Just wondered. You guys seemed like a boring married couple already. How will he feel when you decamp to Munich for the better part of two years?”
    Lori stared at him. She’d not even considered it. Having lived her entire life on her own, but for a brief period back at her father’s house after the attack, she’d gotten used to making decisions for herself. And something in her had resisted telling Garrett—that perverse need to circumvent his tidy planning, she guessed. The smirk on the head brewer’s face sent a bright shaft of anger through her. She simultaneously felt an urge to defend Garrett. God, you are pathetic Lori.
    “That really is none of your business.” He shrugged, finished the beer and stared at her. Something about his look made her relax. “I don’t know. I haven’t exactly told him yet.”
    Eli snorted, ran a hand through his long hair. “Well, you might should, eh Brockton? I mean, the guy you’re practically married to deserves to know your plans pretty much include moving overseas.”
    She put her head down on her arms, overwhelmed by the whole thing and her part in making it worse. Why hadn’t she told him? A warm hand touched her neck, bringing an odd sense of comfort and contentment. She kept her head down as Eli kneaded her sore shoulders, making her groan with relief. “Ready yet, Lori?” The lips so close to her ear made her gasp. She leaned into him, yearning for an actual connection. The music hit its amazing, perfect, simple climax, and then receded, leaving her breathless.
    His hand slipped to her waist, her hips, setting her skin on fire everywhere he touched. He had not so much as laid a hand on her for weeks. Not after their odd encounter in his office. Why the hell was he doing this now?
    She closed her eyes, moved her arm, enabling him, needing more. When he reached up and cupped her breast, it brought instant moisture to her panties. The other hand threaded in her hair, clutched hard, as his lips moved along the back of her