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"Scots do everything better than anyone else on earth does. Didn't anyone tell you that?" I tap her nose with one finger. "We are the best at everything, gràidh." I lean forward to gaze directly into her eyes. "And I do mean everything."
"Uh-huh. Arrogance isn't sexy."
"Of course it is---when it's done the Scottish way."
Rebecca flips her portfolio open and pulls out her pen. "Tell me what these wooden barrels are for."
"They are not simply wooden barrels." I spread my arms to encompass the entire contents of the building. "These are casks that hold the precious amber liquid until it's ready to be bottled. Once the whisky is distilled, it comes here to the dunnage warehouse where it will sleep until it has reached its premium age."
She's been scribbling furiously on her pad of paper, so focused on the task that she can't tear her focus away from the pages.
"Are you ready to digest more information?" I ask. "Or should I sit down and wait until you're done in an hour or so?"
The lass lifts her head to squint at me. The slant of her lips tells me she isn't annoyed. Rebecca is teasing me. "I need every sliver of information---about the whisky and about you."
She points her pen at me.
Cannae help chuckling. "I am not the focus of this operation. The whisky is."
"But Fiona told me you're a man of mystery. Even though she dated you for a while, she still doesn't understand you." Rebecca moves even closer to me, so close in fact that I can smell her natural scent wafting around me. "I need to do a deep dive on this facility---and you, Mr. Buchanan."
"Ahmno as intriguing as you think. Best focus on the whisky."
"Nope. Can't do that." She moves closer still, and her tits brush against my chest. "I will be interrogating you, Thane. Get ready for it."
Interrogate me? She has no idea what sort of man I am. No one gets information out of me unless I allow them to do it. But I can't deny I might enjoy letting her try. It could be quite...erotic.
I doubt that's what she has in mind, though.
Maybe I can change her mind.
Chapter Eight
Rebecca
I follow Thane down the strip of concrete that runs the length of the dunnage warehouse. I had already known that making whisky requires oak barrels, but I have a feeling Thane doesn't stick to the usual methods of doing anything, so I'm not at all surprised that he has a "secret" method. He promised to tell me all about the process, from start to finish, and I believe he will stick to that vow.
We pass by row after row of casks that look the same. I assume they're all made from the same type of oak. They must also hold the same flavor of whisky, or whatever they call the variations. As far as I know, Thane only makes one kind, the version he labels with that unpronounceable Gaelic phrase. It means "sensual secret," but I have no idea what goes into the distilling process.
I stop and wait a couple of seconds for Thane to realize I'm not walking right beside him.
He spins around and scrunches his brows. "What are ye doing, lass?"
"Tell me about these barrels. What's in them, how they're constructed, how the flavors of the wood affect the whisky."
He sighs. "I did promise to explain. All right. Let's walk over here to this cask." He lays an arm across the round top of the barrel. "This is Collaidh Sgeul-Rùin, our first generation of whisky. This vintage has been aged for eight years. Would ye like to taste it?"
"Yes, I would love to."
He crooks a finger at me. "Then come over here."
I approach the cask but halt on the opposite side from where Thane stands. He tells me to wait, then jogs off down the concrete aisle. I twist my head around to watch him, but I can't figure out what he's doing. He disappears down the first row of casks, reappearing a moment later---now carrying something in his hand.
Thane stops beside me and holds up what looks like a spigot. He uses a pocket knife to pull a round piece out of the cask's top, inserting the spigot into the hole. Then he rolls the barrel gently until the spigot is on the bottom. Finally, he pulls a shot glass out of his pocket and pours a measure of whisky for me.
"Here you are," he says as he hands me the glass. "Your first taste of the most sensual and unusual whisky in the world."
I accept the glass and take a delicate sip. Since I'm not a whisky drinker, I have no idea what to expect. My first sip is tantalizing, but I can't decipher the elements of the flavor. Sweet, for sure, though it's not overwhelming. I lick my lips before I take another sip and let it sit on my tongue for a moment.
