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Moments in which she couldn’t deny how much she cared for him. That she was falling in love with him. And maybe he was falling in love with her, too.
Savannah braced herself against a cabinet as Blake brought her closer to the edge. His hand moved over her slick flesh as he thrust inside her. Taking them both higher.
Her legs trembled and her whimpers grew louder. Blake clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling her cries as he whispered in her ear, telling her all of the deliciously dirty things he wanted to do to her once he got her back to his place.
The sounds of people laughing and talking outside the door didn’t deter either of them from their singular goal: to bring each other pleasure.
Savannah was floating higher. Dizzy with her desire for him. Finally, pleasure exploded in her core. She shuddered, weak and trembling, muttering his name against his rough palm still pressed to her lips.
Soon afterward, Blake stiffened, cursing and moaning. He held her in his arms, their chests heaving and their breath ragged. Both of them seemed reluctant to be separated from the other’s warmth.
He’d made her feel incredible. Yet she was quickly overcome by a wave of sadness. Tears burned the backs of her eyelids.
Would this be the last time he’d hold her, make love to her?
“I’ll leave first,” he said after they’d made themselves presentable. “Wait a few minutes before you come out.”
Blake reached for the doorknob. He paused and turned back to her. “Are you sure you don’t need to tell me anything?”
She shook her head, her heart breaking. “Nothing at all.”
It was a lie from which they would never recover.
Eyebrows drawn together and lips pursed, he turned and slipped out of the door, leaving her alone with the bitter tears that spilled down her cheeks.
* * *
When she got back to the party, Savannah hid in the shadows near the back of the room, trying to regain her composure and make sense of the change in Blake’s mood. Her skin prickled and her breasts still throbbed from her encounter with Blake.
“This is quite the affair you’ve orchestrated, young lady.”
Savannah nearly dropped her clipboard and cell phone. “Mr. Abbott.”
Joseph Abbott stood beside Savannah as she surveyed the crowd, the smell of bourbon heavy on his breath. “My granddaughter tells me that even the decision to renovate this old barn was your idea.”
Savannah’s fists clenched so tightly she wouldn’t have been surprised if blood dripped from her palms. Her throat seized, rendering her mute. She swallowed hard, forced herself to smile in the face of the devil who’d been the catalyst for every devastating thing that had happened in their lives.
“Yes, sir. It was. I’m thrilled you’re pleased.” Once the muscles of her larynx relaxed enough for her to speak, she oozed warmth. Like honey. Sticky and sweet. Because she was more apt to catch a fly with honey than vinegar. “I must admit, I’m obsessed with the story of how you started King’s Finest all those years ago with nothing more than your father’s bourbon recipe and his moonshine stills.”
There was a flash of something across the old man’s face. Sorrow? Regret? Whatever it was, for an instant, he looked every bit of his seventy-plus years.
“It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. Nothing worthwhile ever is. I had the support of my family. Of people who helped me make this happen.”
Savannah turned to the man. Her heart racing. “Like who?”
His gaze didn’t meet hers. There was a far-off look in his eyes. One that would’ve made her feel sorry for the old man, if he hadn’t destroyed her family’s lives.
He didn’t answer her, and for a moment they both stood in silence.
“My father died in a car accident when I was young. I wanted to revive his moonshine business, but I didn’t know much about it. I partnered with someone who could teach me the ropes.”
Savannah’s stomach churned. Her fingers and toes tingled. Time seemed to slow.
She was finally going to get her proof from the mouth of Joseph Abbott himself. Savannah turned on the recording app on her phone.
“There’s no mention of a partner in the company story on the website.” Or anywhere else she’d looked.
“We dissolved the partnership before I incorporated King’s Finest.”
That explained why Savannah hadn’t been able to find proof that her grandfather was a partner in the distillery.
But if Joseph Abbott had used her grandfather’s recipe, wouldn’t that still give him claim to part of the company’s profits?
“Who was your partner, Mr. Abbott?”
The seconds of silence between them seemed to stretch for an eternity.
