Page 17 of Filthy Twisted Devil

I try not to look too relieved by the prospect of the Lockes leaving my face un-punched. Eden must be thinking along the same lines because she releases her hands and gently urges her brothers toward the exit.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Luke!” she says, glancing back over her shoulder and mouthing, thank you.

Brinley shakes her head. “I better go with them. Eden will need the back up. But don't think for a minute that means you’re getting away without a sisterly interrogation. You were not supposed to be here.”

I nod. I expected as much, but I’m happy to have a temporary reprieve from being interrogated. I’ve dealt with enough of that today already.

As Brinley rushes out the door, the concierge clears his throat. “Is there anything else you need this evening, Mr. Windsor?” he asks. Presumably, he’s one of the people I’m cutting a check for after my elevator stunt.

“Yeah,” I say. Then I walk straight back to the bar.

7

EDEN

As I perch on the barstool, I pretend to read some article about an attempt to rescue endangered sea turtles on my phone. Really, though, I'm eavesdropping on Luke chatting with my brothers.

My brothers, who slept on the living room floor last night, wrapped in the sleeping bags they threw in the back of the Reed’s truck. Brinley offered them her bed while she went to Beau’s place, but they insisted that it would be rude to get her sheets dirty.

Please. It's obvious they stayed on the floor for one reason: to catch me if I tried to sneak off to meet up with my new fake boyfriend. They still haven't decided whether they trust Luke yet, so they're still busy with Mission: Protect Eden from Evil Men. They can suit themselves. If they're stupid enough to throw out their backs sleeping on the ground, I'm not going to save them from themselves. Based on how grumpy they looked trying to work the coffeemaker the next morning, they didn’t sleep great.

Still, they couldn't help perking up when we arrived at the Twisted Devil distillery with Brinley in tow. I was impressed myself. Luke greeted us at the door, his deep brown leather jacket playing off the warm wood of the tasting room inside. The bar feels like an old European pub where the professors meet near a centuries-old university, with sturdy wooden tables and stained glass mixed with the warehouse windows.

This might work, I thought. My brothers, Wade especially, are going to be impressed enough with Twisted Devil that they won’t have time to notice that Luke and I are more polite old friends than a hot new couple.

Until Luke greeted me by brushing his lips against my cheek. I practically jumped out of my skin at the soft touch, making Jasper frown at me in concern and Wade’s eyes narrow suspiciously.

I spent the rest of the tour overcompensating, gluing myself to Luke’s side and batting my eyes flirtatiously whenever he explained barrel rotation or malting grains. I looped my arm through Luke’s and pretended to be fascinated when Wade quizzed him about barley crops and fermenter brands. I even giggled at a terrible joke Luke made about hops, earning eye rolls from my brothers.

We’ve been here for two hours now, and I’m still convinced that at any minute, Reed’s going to declare, “You’re a shitty actress. You two were never dating.”

“You know, if you want anyone to think you're actually reading that, you should probably scroll down at some point,” Brinley says from her seat next to me.

I shush her. “I’m trying to hear them!”

“What's there to hear? Wade's just asking Luke about his staff turnover. Don’t worry—Luke’s saying it’s low.”

I roll my eyes. “Seriously. Wade acts like he’s still the foreman even when he’s off the ranch. I’m surprised Luke hasn’t lost his voice from answering the interrogation.”

In fact, Luke smiles as easily as ever, like the Lockes are old friends instead of suspicious busybodies looking for any sign of weakness. There’s no tension in his posture. Next to my brothers, other men tend to either slump their shoulders in defeat or puff out their chests in challenge. Luke looks shockingly at ease.

Maybe it’s the fact that they don’t tower over him. He’s as tall as Wade and Jasper, and Reed’s height doesn’t seem to cow him. He doesn’t have that guardedness that city people tend to have around real country folk. I have a feeling he’d be walking the same way at Locke Ranch as he does here in Toronto.

“Well?” I ask as they approach. “What did you think?”

Reed takes a swig of the glass he’s already holding. “It’s good. You don’t ship this shit to Sundre, do you?”

“Not yet. That’s a new cherry wood blend I’m working on with our master distiller. But once it’s bottled, I’ll ship you some,” Luke promises.

“I don’t mean the whiskey,” I clarify. “You've been drinking it for two hours, so I know you like it. What do you think of the whole place?”

Wade grunts. “It’s in good shape.”

Jasper’s mouth drops open, while Reed chokes on his whiskey. Wade isn’t exactly a guy known for giving positive feedback. From him, “in good shape” is practically a five-star, raving endorsement.

“Thanks,” Luke says. “I’m always happy to talk whiskey. Come back any time.”

“Is that you kicking us out?” Reed quips.