Mr. Whiskey

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Roxi returns pushing a cart of ice. “Who was that?” She nods Harrison’s direction.

“Harrison Steele.”

“Of Steele Conglomerate?” she confirms with a raised brow.

I nod. “We rowed together at Stanford.” I don’t know why I volunteer that bit of information, except that I want to flex a bit. I don’t row anymore, although not for lack of Steele and the rest of his buddies trying to recruit me. I rowed for connections, not for love of the sport. Steele and his buddies are fanatics.

“What are you doing tending bar tonight, then? Isn’t he a co-sponsor?”

Not only is she observant, it’s obvious she’s done her homework. Or Muffy’s prepped her. “Harrison asked if I would provide the booze tonight.” I sweep my hand toward the flasks. “Which I have.”

She narrows her eyes. “But whiskey makers don’t usually bartend?”

I pause, two answers warring in my head. The truth? I’ve always been more comfortable behind the scenes. Life experience won’t let me not work. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth the way Harrison or Stockton, or the Case brothers were. I had to scrap and fight for everything. And even though now I have everything I could want and more, part of me still feels like it will all go away tomorrow. Like I don’t deserve it. But that s**t feels way too vulnerable to confess to a stranger, no matter how luscious her curves or how winsome her smile. So I go with the bullshit answer instead. I flash her a smile. “Not unless there’s a captivating woman to keep them company.”

Her smile broadens. “You think I’m captivating? That makes it sound like you’re interested in more than my tits.”

I drop my head and laugh. All the way to my toes. There’s nothing soft or demure about Roxi, and I f*****g love it. She’s intelligent too, I can see it in her eyes, in her saucy wit, and that’s sexier to me than her curves or the snake crawling up her leg. “Oh I’m definitely interested in your tits.” The words hang between us, sparking with electricity. Her gaze heats as my words register. I step into her space. She’s practically eye level with me in her stilettos, and I like that too — that I wouldn’t have to bend to kiss her, or stoop to f**k her against a wall. My voice turns to gravel. “But I like your mouth more.” I can see her absorbing my comment, considering the implication. My heart thunders against my sternum. This feels like a dangerous, sexy game, with stakes higher than the game I’m hosting later tonight, and I’m all in.

“I could totally go for some of you right now,” she says in a rush, not looking away. I can feel the heat coming off her in hot waves, the heady floral scent of her filling what little space there is between us. “All of you,” she amends.

“You looking for a little naughty time?” I’m shocked we’re having this conversation in the middle of the biggest gala of the year. And two-hundred-percent aroused. If we were alone, I’d have her bent over the table in nothing flat, a hand between her thighs. The fact that we can only stare at each other and speak dirty, filthy things quiet enough we’re not overheard, is erotic as f**k.

She arches a brow. “I’m looking for a whole lotta naughty.”

“Tell me what you want,” I say tightly. My c**k is like iron, straining so hard against my zipper I swear it’s going to have dents. The ache in my balls is painful to the point of distraction, but I can’t stop escalating with her. It’s too… enticing. My skin feels tight against my bones, hot and itchy. And the only thing that will slake the fire is her touch.

Her voice, when she speaks, sounds strangled, breathless. Turned on. “Kiss my neck. Trace my spine. Bite me. Tug my hair. Hold me down. Use your tongue to make me moan.”

Holy mother of divine f**k.

“I’ll start by tracing that snake tattoo up your leg to where it ends.” And I have a very good idea of where it ends. “Would you like that?”

Her pupils are so large her eyes look black. She makes a whimpering noise in the back of her throat and nods imperceptibly.

“And then, when I’ve reached the mouth of the snake, I’ll be damned sure to take my fill of your hot, wet cunt.” Her breath is coming in ragged gasps, as if she’s halfway to o****m, s*x-drunk on my words alone. It eggs me on. “And only when I’ve made you come on my tongue, moaning my name, at least twice — will I turn you around and take you from behind while I pinch your tight n*****s and make you come on my cock.” My blood pounds in my ears, hot and heavy with arousal. “That naughty enough for you, Roxi?”

Her tongue slicks her bottom lip, and god, I want to bite her. “It’s a start,” she says with a smirk.

I’m ready to throw her over my shoulder and go all caveman on her, whiskey flasks and cocktails be damned. But I won’t embarrass Steele like that. Or Muffy, who interrupts our stare-down with a snap of her fingers. “Places, darlings. Places. The guests are starting to arrive.”

I smile tightly, grateful for the reminder that the last thing I need is an entanglement of any kind. No matter how tempting the lady.

The hour creeps by.

My face hurts from smiling at nameless faces. Beside me, Roxi is the picture of charm, her voice clear and confident as she talks and teases with the guests, offering them tastes from the barrel as they tuck flasks into purses and coat pockets. It’s hot, the way she works the crowd like a pro, and it only makes me want to know more about her. “Where did Muffy find you?” I mutter more to myself during a lull.

My answer is full, lusty laughter. Apparently her hearing is razor sharp, too. “I’ve never met her before tonight,” she says, shooting me an amused glance.

I turn and face her. “You’re kidding.”

She shakes her head, mouth pulling into a saucy grin.

Huh. “And Muffy just recruited you?”

Her smile turns rueful. “I think she might have caught me looking a bit forlorn.” She c***s her head, assessing me — as if she’s debating how much of herself to reveal. “My date stood me up.”

“What the f**k for?” I growl, determined to capitalize on the asshole’s loss.

“I can be… a little much,” she says with a soft laugh and a shake of her head.

“Then he wasn’t man enough for you.”

Pink blooms across her cheeks, and it brings a scattering of freckles into sharp relief. I wonder about the freckles hidden from view. “Hmmm. Devastatingly handsome and sweet. That’s a dangerous combination Mr. Whiskey.” She walks her fingers up my lapel. And just like that — the arousal I’ve valiantly held at bay comes flooding back.

“I’m not sweet,” I protest.

This time, her laugh is low and sultry. And it goes straight to my balls. “I bet…” She runs her palm across my chest. “That underneath that tough guy exterior, you’re nothing but a big, squishy teddy bear.”

“Nope,” I scoff, flexing under her touch. “Bad to the bone.”

Her eyes flare with a hungry light. “Prove it,” she challenges. “Make good on your promise to make me moan.”

Jesus.

My c**k leaps to attention. This isn’t the first time a woman’s come on to me, but it is the first time I’m so turned on I feel drunk. The volume has tripled in Kirkwood Hall, and with it comes the smell of money and power. I’ll be pocketing a portion of that later this evening, but in the meantime, why not take a walk on the wild side? The band has started to play, and if I’m going to disappear, now’s the time. But… condoms. f*****g hell. “I didn’t pack condoms.”

“I have them.”

Of course she does. “Do you want to take a picture of me and text it to someone?”

Her mouth twitches. “I can handle you.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“For starters, there are security cameras everywhere. For seconds, I can handle myself. And for thirds —” laughter flickers through her eyes, “You’re a big teddy bear and I’d bet the house that you wouldn’t hurt me unless I begged you to.”

A laugh rumbles deep in my belly. She’s not wrong — at least about the hurting. I’m no f*****g teddy bear. “You’re crazy.” And sexy as f**k. My hands itch to learn her curves, the little divots and mounds. Where she’s soft and where her skin molds to her bones.

“Entirely possible,” she agrees, pursing her lips. “Aren’t we all a little crazy?”

She has a point.

“And isn’t it about exploring whether or not our particular brand of crazy lines up?” she presses, drawing her fingers along the inside of my tuxedo jacket.

Energy ripples down my spine. I’ve never heard it expressed in those terms, but yeah. I’ve never met a woman whose appetite matched my own, who accepted the darkness inside of me without trying to reform me. I stare into her eyes, and for a second that stretches into eternity, I feel like I’m at the edge of a chasm. Like whatever I choose in my next breath will define me. There will be no going back from this moment.

We speak at the same time. “I know a room.”