Page 44 of Tennessee Trouble

“Trust me?” she asks, still smiling impishly.

“Of course.”

She descends down the stairs slowly, carefully placing each foot on the old, metal steps. The spiral staircase creeks from the weight of both of us, but thankfully feels pretty sturdy as we make our way into the darkness. We finally hit the floor and Lindee reaches for a light switch, the soft glow of the single bulb illuminating the room.

And the beauty within it.

My breath catches, lungs constricting as I take it in. “Is…is that…” I stutter, my brain trying to catch up with what I think I’m seeing. What I really hope I’m seeing. “Is that what I think it is?”

“It is. Or, well, part of it. The very original twelve-gallon still. Just outside this door, and a handful of yards down the way, is a dip in the hills, and that is where there was a whole big setup that Gil and Fergus created. It had some much bigger ones that they ran during Prohibition, and right after, once they officially started the company. But that baby is what’s left.”

Holy shit…

I squat down in front of the old jug, examining the copper piping, feeling like a kid on Christmas. No, this feels different than Christmas morning. It’s like the first time I saw a naked girl, but better. It might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Luna, this is incredible.” Her nickname pops out again, but I still don’t correct myself. “She still work?”

“Made my first batch of Wink & Shine with her.” Lindee perks up, looking prouder than a peacock. Frankly, she deserves it. “Felt like if I was going to base something off the original recipe, I should start where they started.”

I rise back up to my full height, as I turn to face her. Reaching out, I place my hands on her hips, drawing her into me. Our bodies are about as close as they can be, and she’s still too far away.

“Thank you for taking me on the super-secret tour,” I whisper, lowering my forehead to hers. Lindee’s breath hitches, and my fingers tighten against her reflexively, trying to hold on to her as long as I can. “You’re right. I never could have dreamed of this.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I more than like it. In fact, it might just be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” I pause, quickly second-guessing my statement. Because it doesn’t rank number one on that list. “No, I take that back. Second sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Only second?” she questions playfully, moving her hips against mine. The friction is more than enough to make my dick spring to life, and if she’s not careful, he’s going to take over this conversation. “What could possibly outrank this?”

“You.”

13

BRANDT

Lindee’s gasp bounces off the walls like racquetball, making it almost sound like an echo. I’m not sure why she’s surprised by my answer; we’ve been dancing around our attraction all day. Flirting with the line, if you will.

Because despite what she said earlier, this is absolutely a date.

If for no other reason than two people just hanging out don’t do this.

Taking advantage of her open mouth, I press my lips to hers, capturing her second gasp. Fingers dig into my biceps as she leans into me, her tongue swiping against mine, upping the ante in an instant. Lust surges through me, sending my need for her straight to eleven.

I want her. All of her. Now.

I tighten my grip on her hips, making sure I have her securely in my grasp, and spin us around, pinning her against the wall. Lindee groans, repeating that same hip movement from earlier, my dick now harder than steel. She can tell too, as she continues to gyrate in search of more.

More that I’m absolutely willing to give her.

Leaning in, I place a hand next to her head, supporting my weight, and tilt my body, changing the angle as I kiss along her jaw toward her ear. I jut my hips forward, working on giving her what she wants.

“Brandt…” she moans. I nip at her ear, earning another low moan, making me want to do it again.

“That’s my good girl.” My free hand slides around her waist, toying with the band of her jeans. “But something tells me you want more.”

The deep and exaggerated groan she gives me in response spikes my heart rate. It’s more than enough to keep me going, revving my own engine to the point of almost overheating. But it’s not enough.

I want—no, need—to hear her say the words.