Chapter 8
Belle
Six Years Ago
We’ve been talking for hours, pausing only to wave goodnight to the few staff I’ve been able to retain.
When did the sun set? I’d expected the tour of the distillery to last an hour at most, but Ash’s thirst for knowledge is voracious.
I thought he’d tire of my non-stop droning, but every time I pause for breath, he’s ready to probe me for more information.
I can tell by his supplementary questions that he’s absorbed every detail of our process, from the selection of grains to the charring of the oak barrels.
“The aging process isn’t just about months ticked off on a calendar,” I tell him as we walk between the rows of casks in the barrel room attached to the old red barn.
“Changes in temperature can alter the flavor profiles, reflecting not only the fluctuations from season to season, but year to year. And Dad always said the whiskey was affected by our moods too.” I rap a knuckle against a barrel and the thud echoes down the row.
“I hope he’s wrong because this batch has been absorbing all the wrong kind of energy. ”
“I’d still drink it,” Ash says softly in my ear.
I hadn’t noticed how close he was, so close that his warm breath tickles my ear. I close my eyes and almost give in to the urge to lean back against him.
“You’re going to have to be patient, Mr. Griffin. These ones aren’t ready for sampling yet,” I say, moving to a safer distance.
I’d been calling Ash by his first name, but his full title serves as a reminder that he’s a potential business partner. I shouldn’t confuse my need for an investor with the kind of base needs I’ve been too preoccupied to give any thought to of late. Until now.
“There are plenty of other batches you can try,” I say, moving to our sampling table. “You could taste them here. Or take them away?”
I’m trying not to be pushy. Or build up my hopes. Ash could be a time waster like Barrett, but in this instance, I’m more than happy to give Ash my time. I’m hoping he doesn’t accept my offer to take the bottles and run.
“I’d prefer to stay, if you’ll have me.”
His words are suggestive, but I’m not someone who’s going to swoon at his charm. “Sure, no problem. I’ll have you,” I say, throwing the comment back at him. The attempt to prove I’m not intimidated fails when the heated gaze he gives me makes my eye twitch.
Ash slips off his suit jacket and as he rolls up his sleeves, I get a glimpse of the tattoos he’s been hiding under his suit.
I suck in a deep breath of air laced with oak, spice and the ghost of evaporated spirit.
The scent is a familiar one and doesn’t usually make me this heady but, combined with Ash’s attention, it’s dizzying. Damn. Is he making me swoon?
He watches closely as I set up four shots for each of us, along with a spittoon.
“Ready?” I ask, sliding a shot towards him. “This is our classic recipe. Corn, rye, with just the right amount of malted barley.”
When I bring my glass to my nose and inhale, Ash does the same.
“This batch was from two years ago,” I continue, “after a pretty hard winter. It has a smooth flavor that really brings out the grain.” I take the whiskey into my mouth and hold it there, savoring the taste before spitting it out. “The smokiness of the oak is there, but it’s not overpowering.”
Ash fights a smile. I know exactly what he’s going to say.
“So, you’re the kind of girl who prefers to spit rather than swallow.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “I bet you think you’re the first man to come up with that line,” I say, shaking my head in disappointment.
I don’t tell him that he’s the first person who’s made me blush over it.
I wait until Ash has tipped back his shot before I add, “And I have been known to swallow when the mood takes me.”
Ash fights a laugh and I slide the spittoon towards him so he can spit the whiskey out before he chokes on it. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “So that’s the game we’re playing.”
I’m nervous when I move onto the second sample. I’m expecting Ash to make some comment as soon as I lift the glass to my lips, but he doesn’t say a word as I take a sip. But he does move closer.
“That’s cheating,” he says looking at the whiskey I’ve left. “I want to see you finish it.”
“Why do I get the feeling I shouldn’t trust you?”
He gives a start as if he’s offended, then positions himself right in front of me.
Taking control of my hand, he brings the whiskey back to my lips.
My eyes never leave his as I tip back my head and finish the shot.
I hold the liquor on my tongue, and when Ash strokes his finger down my throat, I swallow.
“Good girl,” he whispers.
The heat of the whiskey hits my stomach, and a fire erupts much lower in my belly. I like his touch. I like it a lot. His eyes are hooded, leaving no doubt that his thoughts are as sinful as mine.
“Your turn to taste,” I say, although I’m not sure how I’m meant to match that maneuver.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he answers, but instead of picking up his glass, he leans closer.
The whiskey in his eyes is just as intoxicating as the liquor running through my veins, and when his gaze drops to my mouth, I let out the tiniest whimper. His pupils dilate and the amber in his eyes turns to fire.
“The only thing I want to taste is on those pretty lips,” he says simply. “I’m going to kiss you now, Belle.” His hand slides up my neck to cup my jaw. He skates his thumb over my mouth. “I hope you don’t have a problem with that.”
My tongue darts out and as I gently lick the pad of his thumb, the distance between our bodies disappears. Something hard and unmistakable presses against my stomach.
“I don’t have a problem–”
Ash’s mouth crashes against mine and I drop the empty shot glass I’d been holding. It hits the timber floor, but I don’t think it smashes. I’m not sure because blood pounds loudly against my ears as I rake my fingers through Ash’s hair. His tongue breaks the seam of my mouth and I welcome him in.
As our kiss deepens, Ash grabs my waist and lifts me onto the table. His hands press against my inner thighs and as he parts my legs, he moves into the space he’s made. He pulls me to the edge of the table until we fit together. And we fit perfectly.
I press against the hard steel of his erection, and pleasure coils inside me, twisting tighter and tighter until my body vibrates with need. The longer we kiss, the more desperate I am to find a release. I hum into his mouth.
“You taste better than any whiskey,” he says, drawing his tongue slowly over my swollen lips. His kisses continue along my jaw and down my neck. He licks across my clavicle and I groan again.
My legs wrap tightly around him, my feet locking against his back. “But you haven’t tried all the samples yet,” I tell him breathlessly.
Ash straightens up, a devilish grin on his face. “You make a good point,” he says, reaching for the second of his shot glasses.
His eyes stay on me as he breathes in the vapors. And then he frowns. “I detect a dark smokiness, but I’m afraid this one is missing those softer notes. There’s clearly room for improvement.”
I know he’s playing with me so I ignore the slight. “Oh, really? And what improvement would you suggest.”
His grin broadens. “I’m so glad you asked.”
Ash slides his hand around my neck to the nape. Roping his hand around my ponytail, he tugs firmly so my head tips back. I feel the edge of the glass press against my throat, then the cold trickle of whiskey down my neck to my chest.
I let out a gasp as the liquid turns into a river that finds its way between the valley of my breasts and beneath the neckline of my dress.
There’s a clatter as Ash drops the glass on the table, and then his mouth is on me.
He sucks and licks the whiskey from my neck.
There’s heat as the alcohol evaporates off my skin, and the fire Ash has started spreads through my body, igniting all my senses.
Ash lets go of my ponytail and begins unbuttoning my dress, eager to follow the trail of whiskey.
I lean back, resting on my elbows as he undoes the last button and my dress drops to my sides, weighed down by all the crap I keep in my pockets.
His lips skate over the curve of my breasts, but then he straightens up and devours me with his eyes.
“You’re so damn beautiful, Belle. I don’t think my eyes can take it.”
His fingers trace the outline of my whiskey-soaked lace bra before his hand moves lower. His palm slides over my panties to cup me, and I grind my clit against his hand, desperate for the friction.
I tug my lower lip between my teeth as I watch him watching me. “Do I get to see what’s under that shirt?” I ask, because it’s all I’ve been thinking about for the last few hours. “Or will my eyes not be able to take it?”
He strokes his fingers over the soaked fabric of my panties. “Oh, I think you’ll take everything I give you, Belle.”
My hips lift up to meet his touch as he rubs his thumb against my clit. We’re both getting too distracted by the heat building between my legs. I clench my thighs together. “I’m still waiting,” I remind him.
Ash unbuttons his shirt halfway then grabs the back of his collar and pulls it over his head.
He has two full sleeves of tattoos that accentuate the rippling muscles of his broad arms and shoulders.
His abdomen is perfectly sculpted with an impressive six-pack, but it’s the griffin inked across his chest that takes my breath away.
The creature is a fusion of eagle and lion, with its wings spread wide, and its back paws tensed, ready to pounce. Its beak is caught in a battle cry.
The sight of this man’s body is beyond anything I could have imagined. “Nope, definitely too much,” I groan.
Ash hands me a shot glass. “No such thing as too much. Let’s both be brave.”
We clink glasses, but I’m the only one who knocks back the shot.