The Distiller's Darling (River Hill Book 2)

by Rebecca Norinne

  Looking around, he blew out a whistle. “This is …”

  “A death trap?” She laughed again, a warm sound he was growing to enjoy.

  Once they’d left the ball, Naomi’s whole demeanor had changed. Her shoulders had instantly relaxed, and her eyes looked less wary, like she wasn’t constantly on guard. She hadn’t said anything, but he got the sense she didn’t enjoy those fancy events nearly as much as her family wished she might. Honestly, he could relate.

  “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure if there’s a bad earthquake, we’re dead.” She looked around the joint, her face happy and her eyes bright. “Although, come to think of it, this building’s been here since before 1906, so we’re probably safe.”

  “1906? Oh, the earthquake?” Upon touching down in San Francisco last week, Iain had quickly learned there were three topics of conversation you could safely embark on if you found yourself in conversation with a stranger here: the weather (it was great), technology (it was either life-changing or the root of all evil, depending on your audience), and when “the big one” might hit. Apparently, there’d been something everyone called “a four-point-two” the day before he’d landed, causing some damage in Berkeley, and it had people on edge.

  “One and the same,” she said, tossing back the last of her gin and tonic. Iain didn’t like to brag, but he thought the gin his family made was slightly more flavorful. Then again, he supposed he wasn’t at all impartial.

  “I can’t imagine living like that, always on the verge of disaster without any warning.”

  “Oh, it’s not too bad. The worst we’ve had since 1989 is a little bit of the bed rocking in the middle of the night.” There was a beat of silence, then Naomi’s eyes went wide with recognition at what she’d just said. She laughed again. “Oh, no, you probably think …”

  Iain eyed her over the rim of his glass. “That you have a fantastic sense of humor and are utterly delightful. Not to mention incredibly beautiful.”

  She eyed him back, her expression quickly shifting from jovial to thoughtful. “I’m just going to put this out there—and you can tell me I’m insane for even suggesting it—but do you want to go back to my hotel?”

  Iain tried to play it cool, but he was definitely surprised. He’d been hoping that’s how the night would end, but he’d assumed he’d be the one to make a move … a few hours from now. From the time they’d walked through the door of the pub, he’d known he was going to fuck Naomi, he just hadn’t known when. He was confident in who he was. He was never going to be the best-looking lad in the room, but he had something no other man here did: an Irish accent. Personally, he didn’t see what the big deal was, but across several continents, it was a sure-fire panty-dropper.

  He set his glass to the side and captured her gaze. “Just so I’m clear here, you’re asking me back to your room so we can make the bed do a little rocking in the middle of the night?” His lips hitched to the side in a smirk, while hers did the same. He appreciated that she appreciated his bad joke.

  “Yes, exactly. I’d also like to make the walls rattle a bit, if you’re up for it.”

  “You really are the most delightful woman I’ve ever met,” he said, sliding out of the booth and tossing a handful of bills on the sticky table before reaching out and taking her hand. “I promise to do my best to bring security down on our heads.”

  As they stumbled out onto the sidewalk, a dense fog snaked its way around them, wrapping their bodies in a misty cold. Naomi shivered, and pulled her flimsy black wrap tighter around her bare arms. Iain stepped behind her and circled her middle with his arms. With her hair up in an intricate knot, he had perfect access to her neck.

  “I’ve been wanting to taste you here all night,” he said, dropping a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the skin just below her ear. “And here,” he added, dotting kisses up the length of her long, delicate neck.

  She shivered once more, and this time not from the cold. “Do that again.”

  His tongue flicked out and licked a path from her spine to her nape. “If you taste this sweet here,” he said, trailing his lips along her shoulder, “I can’t wait to taste you here.” His hand skated its way down, down, down.

  “Oh God, that’s hot.” She melted into his embrace. “Where’s that damn Uber?”

  “Where’s your hotel?”

  She jutted out her chin. “Down the hill, in SoMA.”

  Damn. They definitely needed a cab. There was no way Naomi was walking that far in those spikes she called shoes. Reluctantly dragging his lips from her heated skin, Iain scanned their surroundings. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought they might not be too far from where he was staying.

  “Is this Nob Hill?”

  She chuckled. “Sure. Or the Tender-Nob. Or the Nobber-Loin. Take your pick.”

  “How far is Union Square?”

  “A couple of blocks. Why?”

  He pulled her in tight against him. Tight enough, he knew, that she’d be able to feel his erection straining against his trousers. He wanted this woman, and she wanted him. And neither of them wanted to wait. “I’m staying at the Westin. We could—”

  Before he had time to explain his line of thinking, Naomi had stepped out of his hold, grabbed his hand, and was marching them quickly down the street. He’d never seen a woman move so quickly and so effortlessly in shoes like that, but he wasn’t about to complain. Clearly, she wanted this as much as he did.

  “I—”

  “Shh, no talking.” She shot him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, that was rude. I’m just super keyed up right now and I don’t want to lose that feeling. We’ll be in your hotel room in approximately ten minutes, and hopefully you’ll be inside of me a few minutes after that. I don’t want to make it awkward with small talk.”

  Christ. What was that he’d thought earlier about love at first sight? Because the more he got to know Naomi, the more he liked about her. Actually, honestly liked. When you factored in her no-bullshit stance toward sex, he thought he might even be half in love with her. All in the course of one evening. Provided that sort of thing actually happened in real life. But since it didn’t, he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her palm, his tongue flicking out at the last second to give her a brief preview of what she could expect in approximately thirteen minutes.

  Because while he couldn’t wait to sink his cock inside of her, he didn’t want to rush things either. He’d told her he wanted to taste her, and he hadn’t been lying. Iain had a very refined palate, and he planned to spend several long moments identifying all the unique flavors that comprised Miss Naomi.

  When she moaned and squeezed his hand in a vice grip before increasing their pace, Iain chuckled to himself. Yeah, we’re on the exact same page.

  Six minutes later (but who was counting?) they sailed through the doors of the hotel and into the grand lobby. Without breaking stride, Naomi made her way straight to the elevator bay, and pressed the button.

  “You come here often?” Iain felt an unexpected bolt of jealousy. He knew this was a one-night stand and that they were both sexual beings, but he didn’t like the reminder of just how sexual Naomi might actually be. That probably made him a chauvinist pig, but he didn’t think she’d want to be confronted with the evidence of his past partners either.

  Her eyes found his, and immediately the heat in them cooled. “Yes, many times. Is that a problem?”

  He didn’t like the implication of that frosty statement, but he liked the idea of them parting ways even less. He didn’t want to say goodbye without learning just how hot their fire burned. If it was even half as potent as he thought it might be, their night together would be worth it. And besides, it wasn’t like he was going to marry this girl; what, and who, they’d done before they’d met had no bearing on the things they were about to do to one another in the here and now. All he needed to do now was wrap it up and enjoy the ride.

  “No problem at all,” he said as the do
or chimed and then slid open. Placing his hand on the small of her back, over where her dress dipped deliciously low in the back, he guided her inside the compartment.

  When the doors shut, he pressed the button for his floor and she turned to him. “I don’t come here to—”

  He stepped into her space, backing her up against the wall. “It doesn’t matter,” he growled, nipping at her lush bottom lip and tugging it between his teeth. “I want you, and I intend to have you. I don’t care about anything else.”

  Naomi’s head fell back with a moan, and she speared her fingers through his hair, holding him close while he feasted on her skin. With his attention focused on her dainty collar bone, Iain slid the strap of her dress down her shoulder where it pooled at her elbow. The obsidian fabric slipped down her skin with a slight whoosh, exposing her nipple to his hungry mouth. When he sucked it between his lips, she mewled, the sound going straight to his dick.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you have an exceptionally talented mouth?” she asked, her words coming out in between pants and moans.

  He flicked the pert dusky pink nub with his tongue and winked. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  3

  Naomi opened one eye and examined the ceiling until she remembered where she was. Ah, yes. The gala. The hotel. The Irishman. Yum. She yawned and stretched, feeling the burn of muscles well-used. Iain’s elevator antics had been just the start of their fun last night.

  Fortunately, his room was only on the fifth floor. The elevator’s security cameras might have burst into flames if they’d traveled any higher. They’d stumbled out of the compartment and down the hall in a haze of lust, and her dress and his pants had dropped on top of each other right inside the door to his room. And then … well.

  Naomi pointed her toes and smiled, feeling satisfaction spread like warmth through her body as the muscles in her legs stretched and loosened.

  Iain had made good on his dirty promises of a feast. Her body had been appetizer, entrée, and dessert, and then she’d happily returned the favor. They’d spent a great deal of time gasping, panting for breath, and moaning—and quite a bit of time laughing as well.

  On the whole, definitely a night to remember.

  And now it was time for the part that sometimes turned awkward: leaving.

  She turned in the bed, and found Iain watching her through lowered lashes. “Hello.”

  “Good morning.” He reached out a lazy arm and wrapped it around her waist, tugging her body flush against his.

  She relaxed against his warmth for a moment, then stretched up for a quick kiss. “Can I use your shower?”

  “Be my guest,” he said with a yawn.

  She slid out of the bed with a final pat on his extremely well-muscled thigh. “Thanks.”

  Knowing Iain was watching her walk naked through the room, she put a bit of flair into her bend as she snagged her dress from the floor on the way into the bathroom. She heard a quick intake of breath behind her and grinned. It was nice to leave a lasting impression.

  She closed the door behind her and flipped on the shower spray, letting the water warm up before she stepped in. She took advantage of the tiny hotel-branded shampoo and conditioner bottles set decoratively in the soap dish; Iain either wasn’t the sort of man to use anything but his own hair products, or he hadn’t been here long enough to need them yet. She was betting on both, actually. She worked the conditioner into her hair, grimacing at the familiar scent.

  Her parents’ penthouse was near here, so she frequently stayed at this hotel when she came to the city to visit. She certainly wasn’t staying with them. Letting her mother have the opportunity to eavesdrop on her comings and goings was something she’d learned to avoid years ago. So she stayed in a hotel, or once in a great while in Jacob and Tanya’s guest room if she thought she was up to being pummeled by several sets of tiny fists at six o’clock in the morning.

  But her parents would probably be selling their place soon, she reflected. Her mother’s favorite hobby—aside from interfering in her children’s lives and supporting her husband’s ambitions, of course—was buying properties and re-decorating them. Naomi had to admit that her mom had impeccable taste. Judith Klein would probably be horrified to hear it, but Naomi was pretty sure that her artistic talent had come from her mother. Naomi, my dear, art is very well for a hobby. But you need to have goals. Her mother’s voice echoed in her head.

  Naomi finished rinsing the conditioner out of her hair and smirked. Turns out, she did have goals. She’d met a lot of them, in fact, and then dreamed up more. And the gallery owner she was meeting in a few hours was the key to her next one. She’d picked her hotel for this trip to be closer to that meeting than the gala and her parents, but she’d wound up here anyway. Funny how things worked out. She hardly minded, though. A shower here, and a stop at her hotel to change clothes and check out, and she’d be on her way to being the next featured artist at Z Gallery.

  She soaped and rinsed her body quickly, smiling as her fingers met the flesh Iain’s clever hands had shaped the night before. As a sculptor, Naomi knew all about how to mold a person’s curves, and Iain was damn talented at it. She shut the water off, then squeezed the dripping length of her hair over the drain until it seemed safe to step out of the tub without creating a flood. She reached past the curtain toward where the towels were folded, but when her hand encountered flesh instead of terrycloth, she yelped in surprise.

  “Not every morning a man gets goosed when he goes to piss,” Iain’s voice came from beyond the shower curtain. He sounded amused.

  “Sorry! Can you hand me a towel?”

  “Here.” His hand came through the curtain holding the white towel, still folded. “Sure you don’t want me to return the favor?”

  She took the towel and laughed as she wrapped it around her body. “You’re too kind.” She swept the curtain open. “Hand me another?”

  “Here you are.”

  She took the second towel and bent to wrap it around her hair, twisting it quickly before she straightened. “Thanks.” She stepped out of the tub, giving in to her baser impulses and fastening her hands on his hips to balance herself.

  He reached back and palmed her breast through the towel. “Still nice,” he murmured. He turned to face her fully, and she saw that he was hard again. “One more for the road?”

  She was tempted, but she had a schedule to keep. She reached down and stroked him twice. “I can’t.”

  He lowered his head to rest his forehead against hers. “Cruel woman.”

  “Successful woman.” She reached further and tickled the sensitive area behind his balls, and he hissed in a breath.

  “I stand by my previous statement.” He grabbed her hand and ignored her grin. “If you’re not going to do anything with that, put it away. You can’t go waving deadly weapons around like that.”

  She laughed. “Sorry. I have a meeting.”

  He looked her up and down, towel and all. “What kind of meeting?”

  “What, you don’t conduct business in the nude?”

  “Depends on the business.” He pinched her bottom as she turned to leave the bathroom. “Want to buy some whiskey?”

  “Not today.” Her dress muffled her voice as she tugged it over her head. “I think I’ve had plenty of Irish in me for the day.”

  “You can never have enough Irish in you.” He followed her out of the bathroom and gave a tug to the hem of her dress. “There you go. That’s straight.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. You need anything?”

  “My wrap?”

  “On the chair.” His voice was muffled now as he shrugged into a t-shirt he’d pulled from the carry-on suitcase lying open on the luggage stand. She hadn’t noticed it last night, since her eyes had been focused on the man who owned it.

  “Not staying long?” She didn’t see any other bags.

  “Flying out this afternoon, actually. Got meetings up in Seattle.”

/>   She didn’t press. His business, whatever it was, wasn’t hers, and she didn’t know anybody in Washington other than a few artists who lived in a commune outside Walla-Walla. She didn’t think they wanted any whiskey, though. They had a well-known preference for mushrooms as their artistic muse.

  “Have a good trip,” she said.

  “Have a good meeting,” he answered.

  “I intend to.”

  She didn’t offer him her number, or her card, and he didn’t seem inclined to give her his, either. What luck! A one-night stand who was literally only in town for one night? She definitely wouldn’t be running into him again. And while she might have enjoyed a repeat of last night— who was she kidding, she would love a repeat of last night—she was far more interested in avoiding awkward prolonged goodbyes, painful hints about what she was doing next weekend, or a never-ending series of text messages.

  Naomi beamed at Iain. He was the perfect man. Sexy, great with his hands, and gone the next day. She gathered her things while he finished dressing, and then gave him a quick kiss. “Thanks for a great night, Iain.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate the introduction to San Francisco.”

  She laughed. “Nobody better to make you feel at home than a native.”

  “I’ll return the favor next time you’re in Ireland.”

  “You’ve got it.” She chuckled, knowing neither of them meant it.

  “Shall I see you out?”

  She shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ve got it.” She pulled out her phone and checked the time. “Gotta get moving, though.” By some miracle her mother had only texted her once overnight. She ignored it, like she usually did. Communication with her mother required coffee. “Safe travels.”