Honey Red by Liz Crowe

much every family event going forward. He put his head on the desk. It was not going to be easy keeping his distance. He pictured the seduction he had planned for Hannah, and shoved all memory of the highly erotic connection he’d shared with Alyssa’s brother out of his head. He’d gone from four years of virtual celibacy to being faced with two options, equally frustrating and desirable. And the whole thing had his head in a very odd place—one where he could picture them all together, which was ridiculous.
    Ian: Are they getting married or what?
    Nick: I don’t think so. Alyssa’s still not ready for that step, but I told her moving in with the guy is over halfway there.
    Ian: Well, see you tonight.
    It took a while for Nick to answer; by the time his phone dinged with the response, Ian had his head back inside the fermenter, trying to salvage some of the day before waving the surrender flag.
    Nick: I’ve missed you.
    Ian stared at those simple words and a chill ran down his spine. He sat, trying to decide if and how to respond. Nick had so much bitterness and anger in him. Ian would give anything for the man to let him in, let him help. But he’d refused, so they’d parted ways, both unhappy and unresolved. Ian wanted something more, but Nick would not have it and had made that very clear in the weeks following their hot hook up.
    Finally, Ian tapped out a simple answer: I did what you wanted. I left you alone.
    Nick: I know. Thanks.
    Ian: But I didn’t like it….
    Nick: I know that, too.
    Deciding there was no good way to answer that, Ian put the phone in his pocket and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly three. He tossed the rag he’d been using to wipe down the sensors inside the fermenter and walked into his office for the weekly brewer’s meeting. No doubt about it—a shit day gone to hell and now he had to be around Alyssa’s brother and pretend he felt nothing for him. Christ, he should have stayed in bed.

Chapter Twelve

     
    “I don’t care what anyone says, I am not letting that asshole call the shots. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Nick ran a hand down his face. He took a breath letting the now familiar scents of his home office give him some comfort. His shoulders and back ached when he stretched them out as he sat listening to his boss make excuses.
    He’d started working out in earnest again after nearly a one-year hiatus from the gym giving him a huge measure of relaxation that he’d forgotten even existed. “Listen,” he tried to temper his usual brusque manner. “These guys have a serious security breach. A ton of information has been compromised. Banking and credit card information. Big time serious shit, okay? He has to understand….Okay, fine.” He hung up, unable to tolerate the obtuse politics of this job. Jesus, the military was so much more straightforward. He was the paid expert. People listened to him. He never had to beg anyone to take him seriously.
    He pulled his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of nose, felt the dog bump up against his leg, making a concerned noise. He rubbed the animal’s ears absently, letting his short temper cool and hoping his neck would stop aching. Wishing for Ian to appear and take him in his arms but knowing that could never be, Nick closed his eyes letting his brain drift, the ever-present headache never far from the surface but muted, due to a new daily cocktail of meds. He wanted Ian Donovan back so badly it made his teeth ache and the memory of their one night kept washing over him like a warm, erotic wave.
    He’d woken with a start when Ian had kissed him, disoriented, sated but with a spinning brain. He got to his feet, felt around for his jeans. Ian had helped him, pulled the denim up his legs, lingering on his softening cock. “That was pretty amazing,” he’d said, helping Nick pull the T-shirt over his head.
    “Yeah,” he’d grunted, short, lame and utterly freaked out. He could not do this. He was