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“Good.” His blue eyes flash in anger, in unhappiness.

God, the man is ruthless, and yet, I want more. Crave more. His complexities captivate me. This rugged rancher with demons that can’t, or won’t, be soothed. And here I am, drifting toward them all, ready for whatever lies beneath this haunted man.

Our breaths heat the space between us. Cole’s fists curl, uncurl over my thighs, the hem of my dress as if he’s holding himself back from tearing it off me completely.

“Another drink?” He sets his gaze on me.

I sigh my relief. “Yes.” I never want the night to end.

“C’mon.” He steps back, and my body instantly cools from his absence. Then he places his hat on his head, reaches out, and takes my hand. “I’ve got the perfect nightcap.”

23 Delilah

“Planning to put me to work, cowboy?” I ask Cole as he leads me into the tasting room.

He chuckles. “Not tonight. Tonight, I’m the bartender.”

I stand at the bar and watch as he grabs two heavy lowball glasses and sets them on the bar. From the shelf, he pulls an unopened bottle of five-hundred-dollar Weston Reserve.

My eyes widen. “That’s the top of the top, Cole.”

“For you, the best.”

My cheeks heat. Tonight, I feel like I’ve purged a small, dark piece of my soul. Maybe I have. Maybe Cole has too.

With the splash of the whiskey in my glass comes the flex of Cole’s muscled hand on my bare thigh.

I swallow down the liquid and moan. The whiskey coats my tongue. It’s not harsh like other whiskeys I’ve tried. It’s pure sin. Easy on the mouth. Just like the man in front of me.

A strangled groan escapes his throat. He’s trying to hold himself back, trying to act unaffected. He wants to touch me. The erection straining against the front of his jeans tells me so. “Goddamn, you look beautiful, Delilah.”

I slick my tongue over my lips, anticipating his kiss, his touch. “You like me, Cole?”

“I like you, darlin’.” His big hand grips my jaw, a calloused thumb feathering over my lips. “My whiskey on your lips, there ain’t nothing more gorgeous than that.”

“Then taste it, cowboy. Taste me.” I take another sip of whiskey. I press up on tiptoe to brush my wet lips across his jaw, then I spit it into his mouth.

The air around us incinerates.

Cole’s pupils dilate as he swallows the whiskey.

Then, he erupts.

With a roar, without restraint, his mouth crushes mine, ravenously. His hands cup my face as he kisses me deeply, down to my soul. My hands go to his hair, diving in and through the silky strands. My skin aches from his rough touch.

He licks the whiskey-drenched rim of my swollen mouth. “Goddamn, woman.”

Over the speakers floats Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love.”

Slowing the motion of our kiss, I pull back. “Let me dance for you.”

His throat works, his breath warm on my skin. “Delilah…”

“I want to.”

With that, I take his hand and lead him to a chair in the middle of the tasting room. Cradling his glass of whiskey, he sits, leans back, and exhales. Striding behind him, my fingers slide over a wide, tense shoulder and into his dark hair. My pussy throbs. I’ve wanted to do that since I got here.

“Just relax, Cole.”