Warning: love on the rocks.
Sexy bourbon billionaire Hunter Knox hired me to turn around the failing family business, but I wound up losing him the company he loves. Now I have to make it right - which won't be easy when he's off the grid at a cabin in the woods, drinking himself into a sexy rugged stupor.
But if there's one thing I know, it's that Hunter is worth a shot. Or two. He better line them up, because after tonight, I'm never drinking again.
“Mmmmm.” Hints of caramel, a touch of cinnamon, and was that…nutmeg? I licked my lips. “Tastes like autumn.”
“Next,” Hunter said softly. There was a clink as he set down the bottle, and another as he picked the second one up. Then that cool glass was against my warm mouth again, and I shivered as I felt his breath ghost against the back of my neck. I could practically feel the heart radiating off his body behind me. A drop of condensation slipped down the neck of the bottle, rolling down the fevered skin of my neck.
Oh, right, the beer. I took a gulp, hoping the cool liquid would calm my disordered thoughts. No such luck—but it was delicious, strongly hoppy this time, notes of lime and orange and vanilla, with a peppery finish. “Damn, that’s good. It’s like spring!”
“I’m glad you like it,” Hunter murmured. His arm encircled my waist—no, he was just reaching for another bottle, no, that was his other hand, this one was definitely resting on my waist, lightly, just above my hipbone.
I didn’t dare open my eyes, for fear I would find I was only dreaming.
“Another?” Hunter invited.
“Yes please.” My voice was a whisper, hoarse with desire I hoped he couldn’t hear.
And there it came, his gentle hands guiding it to my mouth, the smooth glass with its beads of moisture kissing my skin, and that that ambrosia sliding slowly down my throat: brown sugar and anise and a hint of…chocolate.
“Ooooooh,” I moaned in appreciation. I licked my lips.
And heard a sharp intake of breath from Hunter. “You like that?” he whispered.
“So much,” I replied, feeling the heat in my body gather itself tight and low.
Even with my eyes closed I was vividly aware of how close he was standing to me; I could smell him, hear each breath he took. His hand on my waist seemed to grip a fraction tighter, wrinkling the fabric of my dress—the hand holding the bottle seemed to tremble slightly, I could feel his breath ruffling my hair as he bent closer, those warm lips only inches from—
My eyes burst open and I almost leapt away from him. We didn’t have time for sexual tension! That was what had gotten us into trouble in the first place. My mind fluttered rapidly over possible topics of redirection.
It was difficult. It mostly wanted to think of Hunter shirtless.
Maybe pantsless too.