Reese and Her Latin Lover: Rosalind Brewery Series, #2

By Palmer Jones

She'd take a good, cold beer over a hot guy most days of the week. Even better if it's a beer she brewed.

 

Reese Murphy, brewmaster at Rosalind Brewery in Asheville, enjoys quick, easy flings and hoppy IPAs. Men come in second behind running the brewery with her best friends. She didn't ditch her decade-long career in chemistry to let anything, or anyone, distract her from perfecting her next award-winning beer.

 

Until Eli.

 

With his black-rimmed glasses and intriguing tattoos, their new accountant is the complete opposite of what she expects. Full of dark, brooding looks and sarcastic humor, even Eli's boring tax jargon sounds sexy. He's exactly the type of distraction she doesn't need, and exactly the type of man she wants.

 

Living a solitary life suits accountant, Eli Montes. After his failing eyesight led to a broken engagement, Eli swore off deep, long-term commitments to women.

 

And dating the owner of Rosalind Brewery, his newest client, doesn't fit into the "just casual" category.

 

But his first meeting with the gorgeous Reese throws Eli off-center.  She's different. The former chemist is sexy, exciting, and insanely smart. Still, no matter how perfect she seems, it won't change his determination to stay away and stay single. It's for her own good.

 

Reese and Her Latin Lover, Book Two in the Rosalind Brewery Series, is a full-length romance novel full of laughter, sexy-bits with a foxy accountant, and a satisfying happily ever after.

 

(Previously published as Reese.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sweet Blooms Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Aug 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393127536

Palmer Jones

Palmer Jones writes fun and flirty, romantic fiction. Born and raised in the South, she loves to travel but will always call Georgia her home. With a degree in accounting, she spends part of her day immersed in numbers. The rest of the time is spent with her friends, family, and hiding away in the worlds she creates through her stories.

Book preview

1

No use crying over spilled beer.

That was a damned lie.

Reese Murphy wanted to cry over the beer running down the drain. Cold, fantastic, hoppy beer. Wasted. But she’d cry after she dealt with her cousin.

Bradley! Reese screamed and twisted the valve off at the brite tank. She worked her way down the five half barrels, cutting the flow. Where the hell are you? She turned in a circle, surveying the brewing equipment, ready to lay into him as soon as he showed his bearded self.

Frankie rushed into the room. Why are you yelling? What’s going on? She stopped at the edge of the wet concrete, her blue eyes widening in an understandable panic. Did another pipe burst? No. No. No. We don’t have time for this.

Nothing that catastrophic. Bradley left the damn kegs hooked up to the brite tank. Reese wiped the beer from her hands on the side of her jeans. Can you grab the hose? Because Bradley wasn’t around to help. Assisting her in the back of the brewery was the only reason she’d hired her cousin in the first place.

She tapped the pressure gauge on the side of the tank. Dang. He had it cranked up, too. No wonder it overflowed.

Her phone vibrated with an alarm. Horrible timing. Time to harvest the yeast from the fermenter, but instead of doing that, she had the pleasure of cleaning up Bradley’s mistake. What was the point of hiring help if the help had the attention span of a gnat?

I don’t think we have time to do this, Reese. You know the accountant will be here soon. A few steps beyond the mess, Frankie turned on the hose. We may have to clean up the floor after he leaves.

Obviously, I remembered. Reese held out her hands. You said to dress up for the guy.

Frankie lifted her eyebrows. Yes. I can see the huge effort you made. And based on the wet spots on the back of your pants, you’ll have that yummy, yeasty beer smell when we meet with him.

Ha! I smell like beer anyway. Reese patted the large silver tank as she passed it before stopping in front of the fermenter and twisting open the valve. Harvesting the yeast would let her reuse it for the next beer she’d start tomorrow. The second batch of her latest creation.

Rosalind Brewery deserved an anniversary beer for hitting the one-year mark. The best year of her life. Opening a brewery with her two best friends, Frankie and Ava, and ditching their jobs as chemists was a massive risk that’d paid off.

All done over here. Frankie held out the hose. God, I hate the way the yeast smells. And the part you don’t use always looks like a pile of wet sand. It still bothers me that you let it dump on the floor like that.

That’s why we have concrete floors and drains. Reese closed the valve. Here. Let me rinse this down so I don’t step in it and ruin my nice shoes before we meet with your fancy accountant.

I’ve given up with you. Frankie tucked her long blonde hair behind her ears. You haven’t worn real shoes since we opened.

Define real. Besides, these purple rubber boots are brand new and comfy. Reese turned the hose on and jerked the stream of water in Frankie’s direction, causing her to jump away. Better step back before I get you wet.

You would do it, too.

I would if we had more time. Reese sprayed the concrete. Where’s your accountant from? And does this accountant have a name, or do people just call them ‘accountants,’ and they lose their identity when they start preparing taxes? Like their profession sucks their individualism away as it drains their souls. A little dramatic, but after the one accounting course she accidentally signed up for in college, Reese never wanted to touch the stuff again. Give her an Analytical Chemistry class any day.

Frankie scrunched up her nose but finally laughed. "I don’t know where you come up with that crap. His name is Eli Montes, and I meant it, Reese. Be nice and professional. Social. I think you’ve lost some of your filter working back here in the warehouse all day. Eli is great. He saved our ass when I couldn’t figure out our taxes earlier this year. After going to school for years to get my degrees, you’d think I could figure out a few technical forms."

Dr. Frankie, you may act like a know-it-all, but you, in fact, do not know it all. But I promise to stay as dry and clean as I can to meet with the stuffy CPA. Wouldn’t want some desk junkie to see what real work looks like. Reese aimed the water spray at the beer yeast, pushing it toward the drain. Most of the time, when she dropped the cone of the fermenter, she caught the excess waste or trub. Unlike the yeast, she wouldn’t reuse this part. But, today, with this little bit on the ground, she wouldn’t fool with it.

I’m going to straighten up my office before our meeting. Try not to have any more disasters before he gets here.

Reese waved her away. Go. Be professional enough for both of us.

As soon as the concrete was clean, Bradley’s signature whistling drifted to her over the hum of the spray. The closer it came, the tighter her grip became on the hose. Because she promised her aunt to help Bradley, Reese couldn’t fire his butt. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t find another way to pay him back.

His footsteps stopped a few feet behind her. Reese—

She turned, the water on full blast, and hit him square in the chest.

Shit.

That wasn’t Bradley.

Bradley was to the guy’s left and managed to jump out of the way.

Reese moved the hose and released the lever on the sprayer. Oh, hell, I’m so sorry!

The recipient of the water bath was a total stranger. Tall and a little lean. He wore a dress shirt but looked relaxed with his tie loose around his collar and the shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows.

And now he was wet. He held a laptop case out wide, away from the water.

Bradley crossed his arms. Wow, Reese. That’s one way to introduce yourself to the new accountant.

Accountant! It was a hell of an introduction, that’s for sure.

I’m really, really sorry.

Eli looked down. The water had plastered his white shirt to his body and turned it nearly see-through, revealing the white tank top he wore underneath. And something else. A dark swirl of lines and shapes covered his right arm, up to his shoulder, ending at the edge of his collar. A tattoo?

Their accountant had a tattoo.

She dragged her gaze back to his face.

And glasses. God, she was a sucker for that geeky vibe. Dark hair, black glasses, and dark eyes. Enough scruffy hair on his cheeks to know it was more than a five o’clock shadow but not enough to be called a beard.

Heat swirled low in her stomach as the swift punch of lust hit.

Reese! Frankie rushed into the room, stopping just beyond the edge of the puddle on the floor before ruining her cute boots. What the hell have you done?

Reese tried to say something, but a squeak escaped. What could she say? Her seventh-grade level revenge on her cousin had backfired, and now she couldn’t tear her eyes away from her victim.

She nailed the number cruncher with the hose, Bradley announced.

What was that tattoo of...

Thanks for unhooking those kegs. Totally forgot about them.

Right.

Bradley.

The man she wanted to throttle.

"Do you know how much beer you wasted leaving those unattended? That’s money, Bradley. The type that pays your paycheck. And I literally just sent it down the drain."

He held his hands up. "Alright. I get it. But I got caught up reading. The new Lumberjack Man magazine came in the mail today. They had a fascinating article on using a natural deodorant to smell more like a man. Women can’t tell if you’re a potential mate if your natural odor is masked by chemicals." He fisted his hand and made a muscle with his bicep. Bradley was strong, but it was hard to tell underneath his awful flannel shirts. Even in the summer months, he wore flannel. They, unfortunately, made them short-sleeved as well.

Reese massaged her temples. I want you to promise me two things. She opened her eyes, the impact of the accountant hitting her again. Damn, the man was hot.

She huffed, frustrated. That was not the point.

What are your two things? Bradley asked, making her turn away from Eli again.

First, you will never walk away from the kegs while you’re filling them again.

And your second thing?

You will never, ever go without regular deodorant. I will send your ass back to Aunt Clara’s house if you do that. That article lied. No woman will be attracted to you if you smell like a hot horse stable that’s never been mucked.

Eli’s lips twitched.

Frankie stepped onto the wet concrete now that the puddle had subsided. Let me get you a dry shirt, Eli.

I’ll take one. Thanks. His dark eyes held Reese’s. Am I safe to turn my back on the water hose?

Frankie chuckled. The water hose, yes. But Reese? That’s always a gamble.

Good to know, he murmured with a slight accent she couldn’t place.

Reese bit her lip and turned away. She needed to get it together. I’ll meet you in your office. Give me two minutes.

As Frankie and Eli left, Bradley nudged Reese in the ribcage. Got a thing for the tax doctor?

Reese flicked the water hose up, squeezing the lever and nailing him under the chin with a quick spray.

Bradley sputtered.

Don’t leave the kegs unattended.

He threw an arm around Reese’s shoulders. You know you love me.

Yes. She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. But I will call your mother.

He cackled and stepped away. Got it. Now go meet with Mr. Montes. Bradley wiggled his eyebrows. I saw you checking him out after that impromptu wet T-shirt contest.

Shut up before you’re entered next. She cleaned up the connections from draining the yeast and set the yeast brink in the cooler.

As a last thought, she poured a glass of beer from the tank. Cold and crisp, a little of her tension drained away as she walked down the hallway from the back of the brewery to Frankie’s office.

Eli stood beside Frankie’s desk, hands casually in his slacks, his attention fastening on Reese. Its impact shot a buzz across her skin that didn’t come from the high gravity beer.

He’d pushed up the sleeves on the Rosalind Brewery long-sleeved shirt Frankie gave him, revealing the bottom edge of his tattoo. A cluster of black lines ended at his elbow.

You’re a lifesaver, Frankie said, continuing whatever conversation they had before Reese interrupted.

Not quite. His lips quirked to the side, revealing a small dimple.

Great. A tattooed, geeked-out, dimpled, sexy-as-hell man. That won’t be hard to resist at all.

Frankie informed me that you’re the other owner.

Yes. Reese wiped her hand that was damp from the beer glass on her jeans before shaking his hand. Reese. Again, I’m really sorry.

His handshake was polite and professional, and it shouldn’t have made her want to hold on a second longer than necessary.

It’s fine. Must be a nice job to play with a water hose and drink all day?

I’m afraid I work most of the day. So a three o’clock beer is a luxury. She held up her glass, considering the hazy amber liquid. New brew. Have you been here before? Tried anything? Beer. She could talk about that, even with a man who distracted her.

Were his glasses necessary or just for show?

Take a seat, Eli, Frankie said, motioning to the two chairs across from the desk. No reason to keep standing.

Eli set his hand on the back of the chair and watched Reese, waiting on something. She scanned Frankie’s office, trying to figure out why they both looked at her.

Sit, Reese, Frankie whispered with a little bit of amusement.

Oh. He’d been waiting on her to sit first. Right.

He took the chair beside her. An inch of tattoo crawled up the side of his neck. Was it one big picture or several small ones? Was it rude to ask this soon after meeting him?

I’ve heard of Rosalind Brewery, even before Frankie contacted me, but no, I haven’t been here before. You’ve had some great articles written in the paper. Is the third owner here? I wanted a chance to meet all of you.

That’s Ava. Reese sipped her beer. She’s at home with her baby. Her little girl is eight weeks old today. And just as gorgeous as Ava. Most babies had blue/gray eyes, but they matched Ava’s.

I’ll meet her another time. He directed his conversation to Frankie. I know you explained over the phone about your business needs, but I’d like to get a feel for what you do. The flow. The different costs you may incur. He cut his eyes at Reese. I already realize you’ll have a fairly high water bill. It’ll help to know what I’m looking at while inputting the books. He leaned forward, setting his elbows on the desk. The movement shifted his shirt along his forearm.

The dark ink grabbed her attention again. What was it? A bird’s wing? A feather?

Reese? Frankie called her name.

She blinked. Yes?

Eli’s dark eyes held an edge of humor. And maybe a little interest? Was there a rule against making a play for their accountant? Frankie probably had a rule against it. She had rules for everything.

Reese brought the beer to her lips. What?

Frankie rolled her eyes and shook her head. I asked you to take Eli on a brewery tour.

More time to figure out that tattoo. And the man. Can you stick around until four? I have a tour that I’m giving then.

Sure. I cleared off my schedule to come out here.

Hey, guys— Bradley jerked to a stop in the doorway. Whoa. Sorry. Didn’t know you were still meeting.

Eli unfolded from the chair and crossed the room.

And Reese simply stared. Work always kept her too busy to think about dating. Men weren’t worth the distraction. Before opening the brewery, her dating life consisted of dive bar hook-ups with zero potential for commitment. Most of those men barely had the potential for a hook-up.

Bradley held out his hand. I never had a chance to introduce myself. I’m Bradley Murphy. He motioned to Reese. You know, like Reese Murphy.

Eli snapped his head around, surprise and shock registering in his dark eyes. Seriously?

Frankie snickered as the implication dawned in Reese’s mind.

Whoa. Oh. No. Reese stood, laughing off the confusion with more nervousness than humor. "This is my cousin, Bradley. He helps around here. What did you need, cousin?"

Did you want me to clean the tank once I finished kegging?

Yes. I’m brewing again tomorrow. Grab Zane to help if you need it. I think he was changing out the flowers in the front of the building since Jake is home with Ava.

He saluted her. Okay, boss.

Eli tipped his head to the side, watching Bradley disappear down the hall. Did he braid his beard with a yellow ribbon?

Yeah. Reese lifted a shoulder, suddenly aware of how close Eli stood as her shoulder brushed his bicep. He says it’s an expression of his creativity.

He might have inspired me to grow mine out. Eli rubbed a hand over his cheek.

Reese tsked and shook her head. I think Bradley has ownership over the braided beard trend. The customers love it. He’s somewhat of a celebrity for our regulars at this point. She smiled, bringing her beer to her lips. Not sure you could compete.

He shifted, facing her, and sliding a hand into his pocket. Probably not.

Frankie cleared her throat. Please don’t try. One person in the company using his facial hair to express himself is enough. We still need to go over the contract.

Right. He turned away from Reese and walked back to his chair. Pausing, he lifted his eyebrows, the silent question feeling more like a command for her to sit before him.

Reese rubbed the back of her neck, wishing her body didn’t respond with another round of goosebumps. "I think this is where the conversation about contracts and numbers gets boring, so I’m going to cut out. I’ll see