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He chuckled, a deep, lazy sound. “Such a mistrusting little thing. If I were looking to poison you, I would utilizeothermeans.”
“That’s comforting,” I replied sarcastically. “Why did you speed up the flame at the Cleansing?”
Onyx eyes flicked to mine. “I didn’t want her to suffer.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Did you know her?” I asked as I took a careful sip. The liquid was heavier than whiskey, and it was filled with notes of vanilla, caramel, and something else, something that reminded me of the cottage—charred oak. I took another, my draw much deeper this time.
“No.” He poured himself another.
“What’s this stuff called?” I asked as I peered at the warm amber liquid. It was a far cry from the horse piss they served back at The Broken Mare.
“Bourbon.” His deep, sensual tone made the word sound enchanting—like it was magic.
“I’ve never heard of it before,” I stated flatly, drinking some more.
“Very few have.”
“It reminds me of whiskey, but smoother.” I glanced his way. “How did you come across it?”
“By accident,” he started. “I make whiskey in my downtime. Sometimes I try out different ingredients, and one of the barrels I experimented with I forgot about for afewyears and this ended up being the result.” He gave me a devilish smirk. “Now, it’s my drink of choice.”
“Why do you call it bourbon?”
“It’s a secret.” He winked.
I rolled my eyes. “It’snotbad,” I goaded—the alcohol plying me, loosening me up.
“I thought you weren’t in the mood tonight,” he teased, noting the shift in my mood as if it were written clearly on my forehead. Where some women might be charmed by this, I saw it for what it was. His species of male was a rare breed, the kind that used attentiveness, along with their arsenal of wickedly handsome good looks and dark, masculine charm, to gain an overnight pass. I doubted he was the kind that stuck around in the morning. Not that I planned on finding out.
“I’m not,” I said flatly, any small morsel of fun drifting from my thoughts.
“Well then—” He reached for the bottle of bourbon. “—let me top you off.” He raised the clear bottle to my glass and began to pour, his gaze lingering too long on mine before he pulled away and leaned against the cupboard beside me.
Those dark, incredible eyes unearthed my reserved state.
“Trying to ply me with alcohol?” I asked, daring a glance at him.
“Always,” he said with a wicked grin as he clinked his glass against mine. He shot it back, the rose tattoo on the side of his neck making its debut. The detailing was impeccable, lifelike, and so unlike the simple tattoos I had seen before. I was tempted to touch it.
I tipped my cup back instead, the burn feeling good as the bourbon raced down my throat.
Warmth brushed over me, coating me in an armor of confidence.
I pushed off against the cupboard and moved so that I was facing him. Slowly, I lifted my gaze, putting on my best sultry, bedroom eyes. He kept his large hands against the countertop, his posture relaxed, that large torso of his inviting me in. I brought my mouth close to his, stopping an inch away.
Just when he was about to take the bait, I stepped back and sashayed myungrateful, fine, little assall the way to the staircase. I called over my shoulder, “Good night, Von.”
Me – 1. Bastard – 0.
Like I said, I knew his type.
As I crawled into bed, it occurred to me that bourbon might just be my new drink of choice. Not that I could say the same for Von. Tall, dark, brooding males had never been my thing. I rolled my eyes at the obvious lie.
As if my thoughts had conjured him, the door opened and Von strolled in. He glanced at the pillow on the floor with amusement, knowing full well it hadn’t walked there on its own. He tugged off his shirt, revealing his neatly stacked abs and plethora of tattoos. The bandage on his arm was gone—the wound now completely healed. That was odd. He unbuckled his belt and slowly tugged the leather strap free. All the while, his dark, onyx eyes were set on me. The muscles in his forearm flexed as he tossed it on the floor. Before I could protest and tell him to leave, he shucked off his pants.
