Page 43 of Filthy Twisted Devil

I groan. “It’s messy. I don’t know if I like him, or if I’m just attracted to him. But I think about him too much, and I like it when he touches me.”

“You like when he texts you.” Pippa points at my phone. “You like staring at him across the room at parties. You like when he touches you when he thinks nobody’s watching. Except I’m watching, because I’m a creep.”

“Thanks for that,” I say dryly. “It doesn’t matter if I like him. We made rules. There are boundaries I can’t cross with him, and it’s not just Luke. Brinley knows, and she made me promise that if things get real, I end it. She told me straight out that she wouldn’t accept us dating. Luke and I can’t happen.”

She pats my arm. “It’s not easy to shut your feelings down. Trust me, I know. Dating my stepbrother wasn’t my first choice. It just happened, and it was undeniable.”

That’s exactly how it feels. When Luke texts me, or casually touches me, the way I feel is undeniable. Beating myself up or pretending otherwise can’t stop it, no matter how much I wish it would. I take a big, sad bite of my egg roll.

“You can’t tell Brinley any of this, by the way,” I tell her after I swallow. “As far as she knows, Luke and I are in a mutually beneficial relationship, nothing more.”

“Of course I won’t tell her,” Pippa promises. “That’s your business.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Let me ask you one thing. If you’re totally honest with yourself, do you want to make the relationship real?”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter what I want. Even if Brinley approved, even if my feelings are more than just sexual frustration, Luke doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“Are you sure about that? Because from the outside, the chemistry looks pretty damn real.”

“Trust me. I’m not being self-deprecating here. Luke isn’t looking for a real girlfriend, and if he were, it wouldn’t be me.” No matter how many late-night hangouts we have or how much he texts me, I’m still a virgin from the sticks. Luke is a sex god from the city building a massive business. We just don’t go together. Luke knows that, and I can't forget it.

“Well,” Pippa says gently, “if you can’t dial it back, or if you decide you don’t want to, you’re going to have to tell Brinley eventually.”

I sigh. “I know. And I will…eventually.”

“Well, don’t wait too long.” Pippa hands me an egg roll. “Brinley did, and she’s still sorting through the aftermath.”

“At least she got a boyfriend out of it,” I mutter.

If this thing with me and Luke goes wrong, I end up with nothing.

17

LUKE

Sitting at the tasting room bar, I watch Leonard’s face carefully as he sips the first large batch version of the cherrywood whiskey blend. He purses his lips as he considers.

“It tastes good,” he says finally.

“What do you mean, good?” I ask. “Good as in not great, or good as in good?”

“I meant what I said. It's good.”

“What would make it better? How do we bump it up from a good to a fantastic? What went wrong between the small batch in this one? What⁠—”

“Well, damn, what do you want me to do? Compose an ode to it?” He shakes his head. “It's good. The large batch is just as good as the small batch. I don't think we need to make any changes.”

“Are you sure? Because I could add in more of the corn blend⁠—”

“Enough,” Leonard says firmly. “This is a very good whiskey. Probably the best you've ever made. You can be proud of that.”

I duck my head, suddenly incapable of looking him in the eye. That's the highest praise Leonard has ever given me, and I’m embarrassed of how goddamn much that means to me. There’s no one else whose taste in whiskey I respect more.

“Thanks,” I mutter. “I just hope the market agrees with you.”

The door behind us creaks, and I turn to see Beau walking through the entrance.