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For years now, feeling burdened had become my normal, especially since becoming the CEO of our distillery two years ago after my father had an accident that left him in a wheelchair. The pressure to perform as CEO and working so many hours meant I didn’t date. Occasional one-night stands scratched an itch and made me forget the worries of the family business. But upon meeting this woman, I felt free, powerful and so light. I wanted to hold her in an embrace to stop myself floating away.
What the fuck is happening?
Her mobile phone chimed a loud alarm—a country and western song ringtone, of all things—making her jump.
“I can’t.” She grabbed the phone from her clutch.
A twinge of unreasonable suspicion took hold of me.
“Your boyfriend texting ye?” I growled, hands on my hips.
“That’s not your business.” She stabbed her mobile’s screen. “But no. I don’t have a boyfriend.”
I caught a few words on her screen: home by 9pm.
I took a chance. I was certain she felt the same way I did.
“I know ye want me. Stay.”
“Ah, ego much? I don’t have to justify why I’m not staying.”
“That’s not ego. Just stating a fact.”
“Well, here’s another fact.” She stabbed a finger into my ribs, and I liked her touching me again. I also liked how riled up she was. She had fight, spirit. “I have more important things to do tonight than argue with you over whisky and one-night stands.”
“One-night stands?” I asked, with mock innocence.
Her cheeks turned pink and I wondered where else she blushed. Her breasts? Christ, her pussy too?
She held my gaze, undaunted. My cock pressed up against my zipper now, painfully hard.
“Can a fond kiss change your mind?” I wrapped my fingers around hers, still pointed against me, brought them to my lips and kissed her knuckle, never breaking my gaze with hers.
At that moment my brother, Robert, appeared, clearing his throat to get my attention.
She blinked rapidly, her fingers slipping from my hand.
“I still don’t know if you’re a Gaston or the Beast.” She straightened, standing taller. “And I’m not settling for Gastons anymore. I must go.”
“Fare thee weel, Whisky Girl,” I whispered, my heart sinking.
With a shuddering breath, she turned on her gold heels and I watched her leave, her hips swaying.
“Fuck, I didn’t get her name.”
My brother knocked me out of my stupor by grabbing my shoulder.
“Get your eyes off the lassies for a second, Stuart. We’ve got a very big problem.”
“Let me guess.” I was resigned and sad, rather than angry. “The five-year-old single malt tastes like shite?”
I should have been raging, but all I could do was stare at the exit where I’d last seen her.
“Aye, it’s bloody awful, like ye said. We’re pulling it fae the tasting so we can figure out what happened. Oh, and the hotel rep just arrived, too.”
“Grand, just fucking grand.” I ran a hand through my hair and gave it a tug. Looked towards the door once more in the hope Whisky Girl had changed her mind and come back.
“We’ll get everything right before Burns Night. The Laird will think it’s great. I promise ye, Stu.”
