Specific Gravity
Brewing Passion, Book 5

By: Liz Crowe | Other books by Liz Crowe
Categories: Mainstream Romance, Chick Lit/Hen Lit, Contemporary, Romantic Suspense
Word Count: 8,108
Heat Level: STEAMY
Published By: Breathless Press

 

Trent and Lisa have a sizzling-hot physical relationship. Ever since they first met, it's been a nonstop, hands-on fest. Perfect for him, he thinks, coming off a rancorous divorce. But lately, it feels like something more—and it terrifies him.

Lisa knows Trent is the man she wants but is too independent and stubborn to make him believe it. He has to figure it out on his own. Their shared love of craft beer and specific expertise in the business do make them a good match, and the sex? It's off the charts.

"Specific gravity" is a crucial moment in the beer-brewing process—a turning point upon which successful outcomes depend. Lisa hopes Trent will go to the next level with her and isn't about to force him, but the moment of truth has arrived. Can he admit his true feelings before it's too late?







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Specific Gravity
Specific Gravity

Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Reader, Mobipocket, EPUB, Palm DOC/iSolo, Rocket, Mobipocket

Price: $1.99



Cover Art by Victoria Miller

 

 

Excerpt

Lisa leaned on the bar. He winced as his body reacted to her proximity. Her long blonde hair was loose, wavy, like he liked it. Her skirt was short, high-heeled boots a soft-looking tan leather. Her blue eyes held him speechless and frozen in place. So help him, he could take her right now. But the connection, deeper than physical, he'd been experiencing terrified him. He **simply could not go this fast. It was…a mistake. Or the most amazing woman he could ever hope for. He suppressed a groan of frustration at himself.

"So." She grabbed his drink and helped herself to it before she said, "You must know me well enough by now to realize I won't let you simply walk away without some kind of decent explanation." She slammed his nearly empty glass onto the bar, loud enough to draw glances. "I'm not the kind of girl you can ignore, Trent Franklin. And I don't mean that in a high-maintenance way, either, so don't start making excuses."

He signaled for the bartender to bring him another. He had no answer for her, at least not one that made any sense. What could he say? "I love you already so I gotta get the fuck away from you?" Or how about "You are perfect for me so I'm out of here?" Or maybe "I can't sleep at night from thinking about your body next to mine and am pondering happily-ever-after **with you, so I'm ignoring you. Go away?" Holy shit, it sounds idiotic to my own ears. His heart pounded as he took a sip of his fresh drink.

"You know, I think it's too much too soon," he said, not looking at her. He could feel her incredulous gaze burning holes in his skull. He closed his eyes to keep from contradicting himself by kissing her—the one thing he wanted to do right now more than anything. "A break, like we said, right?" He turned to her then, thinking himself under control.

She gave him an inscrutable look, slowly reached for his drink, and poured it over his head. "Break this, you colossal asshole," she declared. "You cannot talk to me like you did two weeks ago in my bed and then turn into this...this...fucking Peter-Pan-syndrome-lame-ass jerk!" She put the empty glass down on the bar, gave him a peck on a cheek that was now dripping with vodka and tonic water, and breezed past him on her way out the door. "Don't call me," she threw over her shoulder. Trent watched her go. Made no moves to clean up the alcohol rolling down his face and onto his shirt.

Owen appeared at his elbow, perched on a barstool, and indicated he should do the same. The bartender silently handed Trent a dry towel. He wiped himself off, knowing he deserved everything she said.