Book Excerpt: Liz Crowe - The Rookie

"The Rookie" is the first of The Brewing Passion series from Breathless Press. Brewing Passion is the saga of the Winter Street Brewing Company, its owners--Trent Franklin, Erin Brady and Owen Maxwell--and their complicated lives. The series includes XXXMas Ale, and Jockey Box, the most recent release which introduces Erin, the heroine at the heart of The Tap Room, a Choose Your Romance interactive novella due out October 2011.

"Specific Gravity," a Trent and Lisa story, has also just been sent to editing and will be released along with The Tap Room this fall.

Craft Micro brewing is a hot and trending industry, fast growing and finding many new female fans. As the owner and resident Beer Wench for her own micro brewery, Liz Crowe can translate the specific situations and unique circumstances within its dynamic every day environment into steamy tales of real life people doing real life jobs (and having real hot encounters).

www.brewingpassion.com

www.a2beerwench.com

www.breathlessblog.com



EXCERPT:
Pasting on her best smile, she whipped around to face her assigned rookie, hand held out to introduce herself. Her body froze as his massive palm enveloped hers. The roughness of his touch sent a jolt up her arm, down her spine and straight to her core. An image of those long, strong fingers stroking her flesh made her flush--partly with embarrassment, but mainly, with desire.

Her gaze trailed upwards from their clasped hands. Awareness tingled her skin. He was like something from a Hollywood central casting office, if the call had been for "tall, dark, and smoking hot." Near six-foot-five, his amazing broad shoulders tapered to a slim waist, his tousled dark-brown hair emphasized his rough complexion, and his smile was bright and sincere. Her brain fuzzed over like the foamy head of a well-poured lager.

Good God. I am supposed to spend all day with this guy?

She pressed her lips together and jerked her hand away. At a loss for words she continued to stare. His own gaze appraised her from head to toe, his head tilted slightly to one side.

Her first inclination was to ask if he wore tinted contacts. No man should be allowed to have eyes that blue. Like dark sapphires. She took a step back to access him fully. She widened her eyes as they traversed the grey wool expanse of his wide shoulders, down the front of his chest, taking in the dark blue tie, past his trim waist and to his shiny, expensive shoes.

She bit her lip. No sales rep she'd ever dealt with radiated a determined power and strength like this guy--unusual for a rookie. She looked back up at his rugged face, and had a sudden, irrational urge to run her hands through his thick hair, but swallowed once and tried to collect her thoughts. Here she stood like a nitwit, when she was supposed to be the professional. What was wrong with her?

"Oh, yeah, hi, um..." Her mind drew a bland and she couldn't remember his name. Panic flared, but she was still very aware of the tingle in her hand from his touch. The look on his face was something resembling, "are you done looking yet?" which annoyed her.

"It's Trent, from WBC." He smiled, and her heart leapt into her throat.

She found herself grinning back like an idiot before she turned away to set her shaking coffee cup down on the counter beside them. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to pull herself together, then turned to face him again. He must think she'd never worked with men or something.

Great.

It was hard enough convincing her own co-workers she knew as much if not more, about beer than they did. Now this fucking GQ model had her tongue-tied like some pimply teenager. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin, prepared to ignore his extreme hotness and move on with their day.

"I'm really excited to ride with you today." He beamed his gorgeous smile, and her knees threatened to buckle. "Thanks for humoring me. I know it can't be your favorite thing."

He took a step towards her and stuck his hands in his pockets. The gesture was endearing and somehow aggressive all at once.

She took a reflexive step backwards, but not before she caught an orange-pine whiff of his cologne. How in the hell did he find a man-scent that smelled like hops?

Lisa frowned. Somehow, she'd backed herself against the counter that served as their kitchen. He was close enough that anyone walking by would think they were having a pretty damn intimate conversation.

A familiar adrenaline rush of anger swept over her. She didn't like being cornered.

"No, it's fine," she babbled. "I mean, it will be fine."