Mr. Whiskey

by Tessa Layne

  Mr. Whiskey

  Tessa Layne

  Contents

  The Bad Boys Have Arrived

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Tessa’s Newsletter

  Also by Tessa Layne

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2019 by Tessa Layne

  Paperback Edition ISBN-13: 978-1-948526-13-5

  EPUB Edition ISBN-13: 978-1-948526-12-8

  Cover Art by Melissa Gill Designs

  Published by Shady Layne Media

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, stored, or transmitted in any form or in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations included in critical articles and reviews. For information, please contact the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of copious amounts of wine, long walks, and the author’s overactive imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  I knew she was sin in stilettos the second I laid eyes on her…

  * * *

  But did that stop me? Hell, no.

  * * *

  Because I’m nothing, if not a risk taker. And Roxi Rickoli, with a snake tattoo climbing up her leg and hinting at unparalleled pleasure, tempts me like the devil himself.

  * * *

  And while I can’t get enough of the wild redhead who runs my bar, I know that fate is a cruel mistress. And when she comes calling, someone must pay…

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  Chapter One

  Some people call me a fixer. Others call me a dealmaker. Really, I’m just an asshole with a fuckton of money. And tonight I aim to throw Grover Clevelands around like they’re candy, not discontinued notes.

  My phone buzzes as I pull into the long square drive of the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, and drop my keys in the valet’s hand. You’re late. We’re waiting in Kirkwood Hall.

  “Is that a…” The young man’s eyes go round as he stares at my convertible Lotus.

  “It is, and no you can’t take it for a spin.” My cell phone buzzes again. Are you coming?

  The only reason I let Muffy Templeton talk me into releasing my inaugural cask reserve at tonight’s Picasso wing fundraiser for the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art is because her mother was bosom friends with my great-grandmother. That, and her husband Robert has no problem losing part of his fortune every week at The Whiskey Den.

  I smell Muffy before I see her, drenched in her signature lilac scented perfume and dripping in diamonds. “Darling. You must hurry. The guests will be arriving in less than thirty minutes.”

  I kiss her wrinkled cheek, biting back a sharp retort. Instead, I wink at her. “You worry too much. I promised I’d be here.”

  She pats my cheek like I’m her son. “It’s a good thing you’re so handsome, Danny Pendergast.”

  She’s not wrong. My looks and my charm have taken me much farther than the Pendergast name, not that it means much anymore. My great-grandfather might have been the stuff of legends, but his legacy lives on only in the mystique of a bygone era.

  Muffy takes my elbow, leading me into Kirkwood Hall, which has been transformed into something out of the twenties, complete with a bandstand in the corner with an old-fashioned microphone. “I found someone to help you for the first hour. Once the whiskey’s out, I hope you’ll stay and mingle.”

  I nod, hoping the ‘help’ isn’t her fumble-fingered grandson like it was the last time I let myself get talked into helping Muffy with one of her garden parties. Or worse, the granddaughter she’s been trying to set me up with for the past two years. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed more than my fair share of debs — eager young women bored with college frat-boys and looking for a real man. One who deals in orgasms and no-strings-attached fucks. And there will be plenty of pussy here tonight, but I’ve got bigger fish to fry this evening. Muffy has pulled out all the stops for this fundraiser, and fully half of tonight’s attendees hail from every major city in the country. High stakes poker, even for a cause, is irresistible to those caught in its web. I should know, it’s what brought my great-grandfather to his knees.

  Tom Pendergast might have spent his last days under a cloud of shame, but the fact he did hard time only adds to his legendary mystique. All you have to do is stroll through the Crossroads and count the distilleries and bars with his name on them. Me? I choose to honor my great-grandfather in a more… apropos manner. Helping damsels in distress, not asking too many questions about where the cash for my exorbitant membership fees come from. Building relationships with influencers in both the underworld and the business world, because it’s funny, how often the two seem to be one and the same. But as long as my money keeps rolling, I don’t give a shit. And tonight, the Whiskey Den will be hopping. I’ve made sure the word has quietly gone out to a few key members that a private, high-stakes game will take place after midnight. So as much as I’d like a tryst in a darkened corner away from the security cameras, I need to bring my A-game.

  But one look at my help’s backside has me regretting the choice to leave the condoms by the bedside table. I don’t know what to appreciate first, the arc of her spine that flares into wide hips, or the long red hair that cascades to the middle of her back in thick waves. It takes a second to register she’s carrying two boxes of booze-filled flasks, Muffy’s idea to send my whiskey home with every guest tonight. I curse, and hurry to take the boxes. “Here. Let me.”

  I step around her and slip my arms underneath hers. The electricity when we touch is instant. Fire races under my skin, heating my blood.

  Her gaze meets mine with a hint of amusement. “I’ve got it, thanks.”

  She’s not beautiful in the cover-model sense, but she’s arresting, and utterly unforgettable. High cheekbones highlight sparkling amber eyes. Her mouth is full and wide — the kind of mouth that men fantasize about wrapped around their cock — and it pulls into a smile I can’t help but return. I gently take the boxes, regretting only that we’re no longer touching. “I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I let you carry those.” I set first one, then the other on a pair of high-tops and begin pulling flasks.

  She joins, me, removing flasks from the second box. “I appreciate your chivalry and all, but—”

  “Lemme guess, you’ve got it?” I turn to face her, but the remaining words die in my mouth when I catch sight of the snake tattoo crawling up and around her right leg, bared thanks to the insanely high slit in her black glittery dress. My mouth goes dry as I take in the rest of her front side. She’s tall, nearly my height in her stilettos, which makes her five-ten, maybe five-eleven in bare feet. Her tits are like sirens, full and lush under the fabric stretched tight across them. My neck heats as I force my eyes to hers, because holy fuck, this woman could make a living as a goddamned pinup girl.

  “I was going to say, I don’t need rescuing,” she tosses back, still amused, and extends her hand. “Roxi.”

  I take hers, perversely pleased at the g
rip that’s as strong as my own. This is no damsel in distress, and it’s sexy as fuck. “Danny. I brought the booze.”

  Her smile grows, and she makes no move to loosen her hand. “Ahh. Mr. Whiskey.”

  “Sure. You can call me that.” Every cliché come-on runs through my head. I clear my throat. “Why don’t you set up the flasks, I’ll grab the rest of the boxes.”

  “Already done.” She points to the other tables near the entrance. “These are just the extras.”

  “I hope you’ll let me buy you a drink later, for your troubles.”

  “No trouble at all, and maybe.”

  “You have to let me thank you some way,” I offer, not wanting this to be the end of our interaction.

  Her eyes smolder as we lock gazes again. In less time than it takes to inhale, I’m hard. Balls tight and aching with need. “I’m sure I can think of something,” she answers with a slow grin before turning and gliding away, hips swaying like a snake charmer.

  A hand lands on my shoulder. “You might want to put your tongue back in your mouth, pal,” says the laughing voice of Harrison Steele low enough that no one else can hear. “I could see the sparks flying between you two from across the room.”

  I turn to shake his hand. Harrison is one of my oldest friends, and was one of my earliest investors. “I thought you had a date?” My implication is clear — hands off. And it’s best to be clear with Harrison, because he considers pussy chasing a sport. And if it was, he’d have won all the Olympic medals. It’s hard to blame him, he’s got those irresistible All-American good looks — dark hair, blue eyes, and at least according to my bar manager Lisa, a cock that’s legendary. Women eat him up like they do pints of Ben & Jerry’s. Me? I’m more of an acquired taste — whiskey neat, with a healthy dose of cynicism.

  He scowls. “Ditched me.”

  “No fucking way. Kansas City’s most eligible bachelor is flying solo at the gala of the year?”

  “Not solo.” He winks. “You’re going to be my wingman.”

  “Oh no.” I shake my head, grimacing at the memory of the one time I was Harrison’s wingman in college. The night did not end well. “I told you I’m never doing that again.”

  “Aww, c’mon.” Harrison claps my shoulder. “How was I supposed to know that Samantha’s friend was dating the president of TKE?”

  “Because these are the things you bother to find out when you push your friend into the arms of a strange woman.” Thank god the guy was so wasted that when he took his shot, he swung wide, and I was able to drop him with a right hook to the jaw. “Besides, I promised Muffy I’d tend bar until the flasks were handed out.”

  Harrison rolls his eyes. “Always behind the scenes, pulling strings like a puppet-master. When are you going to let go and start enjoying life?”

  I sidestep his question with one of my own. “Where’s Stockton?”

  “He refused to come tonight because his mother keeps trying to set him up with one of Muffy’s granddaughters.”

  “Stockton’s mother has been trying to marry him off since college.”

  “It’s only gotten worse,” Harrison states with a scowl. She’s taken to ‘dropping by the office’ with a new girl each week.”

  “Sounds like you could use a drink,” I say, moving to the makeshift bar and filling a tumbler of whiskey directly from the cask. I hand it to him. “Tom’s Special Reserve.”

  He lifts his glass in a toast. “To snatching kisses and kissing snatch.”

  “Who is she?” I ask, suddenly suspicious. It’s not like Harrison to be that crude.

  “No one,” he answers too sharply.

  “Liar. Your eyebrow always twitches when you lie,” I say pointing to the corner of his eye. “Whoever she is, she’s got you tied up in knots.”

  Harrison’s eyebrows knit together. “The only tying up going on will be happening later tonight.”

  “But not with Roxi. Just so we’re clear,” I growl pouring myself a tumbler. It’s not like me to stake a claim, but I’ve seen Harrison work. He loves the chase almost as much as winning the prize. And I don’t know what happened when Roxi and I touched, but I’ve never felt electrocuted by a woman’s touch before. Not like this.

  “Roxi, huh? That her name?” Harrison’s smile turns sly.

  “Don’t get any ideas. My love life’s off limits.”

  He spreads is hands. “I just want to help.”

  “You want to help? Spread the word — discretely — about tonight’s poker game.”

  Harrison quickly turns serious. “What’s the buy in?”

  “Fifty.” He knows I mean thousand. “Limited to the first five. If we have ten, I’ll do a second seating at one.”

  He nods. “See you at midnight?”

  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 shit 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 fucking 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 fuck 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 fuck.

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

  “Tell me what you want,” I say tightly. My cock is like iron, straining so hard again
st 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 fuck.

  “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 orgasm, sex-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 nipples 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.