Page 86 of Whiskey Proposal

“Why did you do that?”

Weariness sets in. We had a leak in the plumbing of a mash tun and burned a whole batch of next year’s holiday whiskey. In the middle of cleaning that up, the executive assistant at the Denver site called me instead of Myles because he’s meeting with one of our distributors. She has to quit. Her husband got a promotion, and she’s moving next week. “Cruz invited everyone, and I know your brother better.”

“You didn’t tell him that I told you I wasn’t going.”

“No, I didn’t.” When she crushes her teeth together, I sigh. “He was invited anyway. I didn’t think you’d ask him.”

“But you didn’t tell hi⁠—”

“That you don’t want to hang around me?” My temper teeters on a ledge. My mind is filled with plans to hire a new assistant, the time to train them, and how much I’ll be gone for it. Myles can’t be away from his family that much, and Cruz is already going to be there at the end of the month. That means I have less time to grow whatever the hell still exists between me and Emerson. “That you don’t want to date me? That a nice evening together with my brother and his wife is too much?”

“A little honesty would be nice, yes.”

There’s a snap between my ears. “When haven’t I been honest?” I’ve got to calm down. Losing my temper won’t make any progress. “I’ve had a shitty day, and I just want to eat some good burgers with my brother and have whatever dessert his wife made. But I come home and you get mad because my brother and I are making your brother and niece feel welcome as our neighbors? Goddamn, Em. I don’t make it about you one time⁠—”

She rears back like I slapped her, and her right eye twitches. Two steps forward and a thousand back. Only we’ve been going backward since Bourbon Canyon.

“Fuck.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. I don’t get headaches, but one’s setting in. “I’m sorry.”

She turns her back to me and presses her hands into the counter.

Apologies fall flat with her. She gets hung up on the excuses. Maybe I can give her a taste of all the things I haven’t been saying. Maybe it’s time to scare her a little. “Everything I do revolves around you, and I’m not sorry about that. And yeah, inviting Brooks anyway was a little underhanded, but I don’t regret it. Because you made that potato salad, and tonight I’ll get to eat it and think about you in my kitchen when I’m not home. Which reminds me, I have to go to Denver for the next week. Our executive assistant quit to move to Singapore.”

Her stance changes to hugging herself sometime during my diatribe.

I want to cross to her and pull her into my arms, but she’d probably push me away.

“I need a shower. It was a fucking mess at work.” I continue through the house to my bedroom. The smell of fresh grain surrounds me like a cloud. Life could be worse than stinking like hot cereal, but I don’t want to be cloaked in it all night.

I enter my room and the gravity of the kitchen blowout sinks in. Goddammit, I’m supposed to be winning her over instead of pushing her away. Biting her head off because she feels tricked into something she didn’t want to do isn’t going to make progress. I blow out a breath, yank my shirt off, and toe out of my boots. When I enter the bathroom, I shuck my jeans and kick my socks off.

I turn the knob and all the showerheads kick on. When the spray warms, I step in the middle. Water beats at me from all sides. I let my head hang and close my eyes.

I’ll be leaving for Denver tomorrow and going back next week. My time with Emerson is counting down, and now I’m going to be gone more. There’s not enough time to get her to trust me enough to hand her heart over on a velvet pillow with a rooster stitched on it.

A whisper of sound makes it through the rain of my shower. I open my eyes and choke. Emerson’s shimmying out of her shorts. Then she draws the ponytail holder out of her hair. By the time she shakes it loose, I’m fully hard.

I straighten and watch the siren approach. “Em?”

She opens the glass door and steps in. I back up to give her room. Is she really here or did the mash mess my head up?

Water dampens her hair and drips down her face. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” The water pounds to the beat of my blood hammering through my dick.

“Yeah, I do.” She wraps her arms around my neck. Droplets collect on her eyelashes, and my erection rests against her belly. I hold my hips still to keep from dry humping her. “I’m wrapped up in myself.”

“Because no one’s been wrapped up in you.”

“You think you are?”

“I don’t think.” I dip my head to keep from splattering her with water. “I know.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Em, can you see where my blood supply is around you? It’s not in my fucking head.”

“How can you be so sure?” she repeats, feathering her fingertips over the crown. Her touch is pure voltage and it sizzles over my skin.