The Distiller's Darling (River Hill Book 2)

by Rebecca Norinne

  Angelica giggled. “Only a little.”

  Noah bonked her on the head with the empty pastry basket on his last pass to clear the table. “You’re not funny.”

  “I’m hilarious.” Angelica beamed at him. “You love me.”

  “I do love you. Strings and all.” He leaned in for a kiss, and Naomi took the opportunity to make her escape.

  “Thanks for dinner,” she said as she stood up. “You can practice your cooking on me anytime, Angelica.”

  “Be careful what you’re asking for,” Noah said.

  “Hush, you.” Angelica rose and walked Naomi to the door. “Thanks for coming.” She gave Naomi a quick hug. “It’s always good to see you.” She let go and opened the door for Naomi to leave. “Maybe you can bring Iain next time.”

  “Maybe,” Naomi said. “If he’s still around.”

  It wasn’t until she was driving away that she realized Angelica had completely avoided the marriage question by turning the ’intervention’ right back around to Naomi and Iain. Maybe that little conversational gambit hadn’t been quite so altruistic after all. She’d known something was off about the way Angelica had posed her question, but she’d been too preoccupied with smoothing down her own ruffled feathers to see clearly what she’d been trying to accomplish. Score one for Angelica.

  “Clever woman,” she murmured. And immediately began plotting revenge. She was definitely going to sign Angelica up for gift subscriptions to at least three bridal magazines the second she got home.

  14

  Coming up on the sign that heralded the exit toward River Hill, Iain let out a long, satisfied sigh. He’d been working non-stop for the past two weeks. Al those long hours on the road had finally begun to pay off.

  For the past few days he’d seriously wondered if this whole scheme was mad. The contract tucked safely away in his briefcase proved otherwise. The order for five hundred bottles of Whitman’s Revival for a new speakeasy-style restaurant in Oakland was an excellent start.

  A start he felt like celebrating. And he knew exactly how he wanted to go about doing that.

  Trudging up the side staircase that led to his tiny one-room apartment over Max’s garage, Iain loosened his tie and yanked it off over his head as he walked through the door. He dropped his bag next to the rickety chair in the corner, kicked off his shoes, and made his way to the bathroom for a quick shower to wake him up as much as refresh his tired body.

  Twenty minutes later, he stepped out of the shower to check his phone and saw the message he’d been waiting for. Gavin Crawley, a musician he knew from back home, had been touring the U.S., playing small, intimate venues. Tonight he had a gig in Santa Rosa. Iain didn’t love the idea of more time in the car, but if he could convince Naomi to join him, the long drive would be worth it.

  Things had been great between them lately. When they weren’t working, they were either eating or fucking, and if it hadn’t been for the stress of his job, he could truthfully say the past couple of weeks had been outstanding. There was something very freeing about being with a woman who had no expectations of forever.

  And he knew Naomi felt the same. She’d said as much yesterday morning after waking him up with her lips wrapped around the head of his cock. When she finished getting him off, she’d chuckled and then whispered something about their non-relationship being “the best idea ever.”

  Iain was sure he’d look back on their time together with a mixture of lust and fondness. The only downside was he didn’t know if he’d ever find someone else who would be able to get him going quite the way Naomi managed to.

  But tonight, he wanted to get her going. He knew his whiskey was damn good, but the restaurateur had called out its branding as being an essential element of why he’d gone with Whitman’s instead of a more well-known commodity. The label Naomi had designed fit the aesthetic of the new restaurant perfectly, and because of how well it tied with the space’s overall look, Whitman’s would take pride of place in the circular bar area smack dab in the middle of the room. In fact, the chef was going to have his bartender create a whole series of signature cocktails featuring Whitman’s. Iain knew he owed a large part of this deal to Naomi’s ingenious work, and he wanted to thank her. Properly. He picked up his phone and opened the text messaging app.

  Iain: Remember how you said we should order Chinese and stay in tonight?

  He sat back against his headboard and waited for Naomi’s response. He knew she’d been sculpting all day, and if his timing was correct, she should be wrapping up soon. The light in her studio was best in the morning; the shadows caused by the late afternoon sun filtering through the large oak tree outside her window could be problematic if she was working on some of the more intricate parts of one of her designs.

  As predicted, her response wasn’t too long coming. Three dancing dots appeared on his screen before they were replaced with her reply.

  Naomi: I’ve been looking forward to dumplings all day.

  He smiled fondly. She was an unapologetic hedonist—something he adored about her, since it matched his own voracious appetites so well.

  Unfortunately for her though, Iain had something other than dumplings in mind. From any other man, at any other time, what he was about to propose would probably sound suspiciously like a date. Thankfully, they were well past all that nonsense.

  Iain: How about the best tacos in Santa Rosa and a concert instead?

  Naomi: Santa Rosa? If you want tacos, you should swing by Max’s on your way over here, then I can still have my dumplings.

  Okay, maybe the tacos shouldn’t have been his opening gambit. All of his new friends were seriously obsessed with Max’s carnitas, seemingly to the exclusion of all other attempts at the dish. Iain was pretty sure Noah was close to petitioning the city council to make them the official food of River Hill, and the rest of them weren’t much better. On the plus side, she hadn’t said no to the outing—just his choice of meal. He could still salvage the situation.

  Iain: How about you order your beloved dumplings, and you can eat them in my car? I have a buddy playing a gig that I want to check out. Plus, I’m celebrating.

  Naomi: You got a sale?!?

  Iain: I did. That new place in Oakland I was telling you about the other day. They loved the label, so naturally, I wanted to include you in my celebrations. I couldn’t have done it without your help.

  Naomi: Well, why didn’t you say so? I’d love to!

  Iain: Pick you up in thirty?

  Naomi: Better make it forty-five, if that’s okay?

  Her response was immediately followed by the second selfie she’d sent him that day—unlike the one she’d sent this morning, however, her glasses were long-gone, and her dark hair was covered in a fine dusting of clay powder. And his black button-down? He was pretty sure it belonged to Naomi now. No way was he ever going to be able to get those stains out. He waited for the annoyance to come, but it never did. Interesting. He’d once dated a girl who’d stolen one of his shirts much as Naomi had, and that stunt had signaled the end of their relationship. But seeing this woman clad in nothing but his shirt? He liked it.

  Christ, she’s sexy, Iain thought, his thumbs brushing over the virtual keyboard. “See you then,” he typed, and then set his phone to the side to finish getting dressed.

  Later, he wouldn’t have been able to explain why he’d taken the time to remove the wrinkles from his clean shirt with the iron Angelica had made him pick up at Target. All Iain knew was that looking good for Naomi wasn’t the chore it would have been with anyone else.

  And he wasn’t going to examine too closely why that was.

  “Your friend is amazing.” Naomi linked her arm through Iain’s as they strolled toward his car at the far end of the lot. “Thank you for bringing me.”

  Traffic had been terrible getting down to Santa Rosa, and Iain had been worried they’d miss the start of Gavin’s show, but seeing the relaxed smile on Naomi’s face made their mad dash worth it. He would n
ever admit it aloud, but he enjoyed being the one to make her light up like this. She frequently wore a cynical scowl instead of the smile that transformed her face; Iain knew it was generally due to something her mother had said about the choices Naomi made. It made him happy to know he could give her a few moments of respite from all her familial expectations.

  That was yet another thing they had in common. Iain always felt guilty complaining to any of his friends back home, but he didn’t worry about Naomi judging him. While their families were worlds apart—literally—she just got it. She understood how hard it was for Iain to live up to his father’s expectations, and how frequently he was compared to his two older brothers. Probably because she was in the same situation.

  Cathal Brennan would like nothing more than for Iain to come home and settle down with a nice Irish girl who’d give them lots of grandbabies—exactly as his brothers had done. And Naomi’s mother? Well, he’d overheard enough of Naomi’s conversations with the woman to know she wanted her daughter to settle down with a successful Jewish doctor. Someone exactly like her brother. It was no wonder Iain and Naomi got along so well—they were practically the same person.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, dropping a quick kiss on her lips before opening the passenger side door for her. When they were both settled in their seats, he pulled out of the lot and onto the freeway, back toward River Hill.

  “Want the last dumpling?” she asked, tilting the box of cold Chinese food his way.

  “No thanks. I know you want to finish them.”

  Naomi popped it into her mouth and smiled. When she swallowed, she said, “You know me too well, Mr. Brennan.”

  Iain’s chest pinched tightly, and he rubbed the ache away with the heel of his palm.

  “You okay?”

  He nodded and flicked his eyes her way. “Yeah, just a twinge. Probably your dumplings.” He winked, but even as he said it, the words rang false in his mind. Iain had a stomach made of lead. You had to, when whiskey was your lifeblood. He could drink loads of the stuff and never suffer heartburn or acid reflux—an unfortunate side effect of whiskey for some. Maybe Mr. Chin’s had used a new spice in their dumpling filling that he wasn’t used to.

  Whatever it was, he didn’t like the feeling—at all. It was like someone had wrapped their fist around his heart and then squeezed with all their might.

  Naomi rooted around in her purse. “I think I have an antacid in here somewhere. There!” She pulled out a silver foil-wrapped tube and passed it his way.

  Iain plucked a tablet out of the wrapper and popped it in his mouth. Eww, disgusting. “Thanks,” he said, swallowing down the chalky substance that coated the inside of his mouth like a grotesque mixture of sawdust and toothpaste.

  “No problem. I’m not a huge heartburn girl, but if I’m feeling stressed about something, the acid in my stomach builds up, and it just fucking hurts.” She laid her hand on his thigh and squeezed. “And I know you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders lately.”

  “Yeah, that must be it,” Iain answered idly, rubbing the spot above his left pectoral when it clenched again. Until this afternoon, he’d been worried he’d have to return to Dublin with his tail tucked firmly between his legs to a loud chorus of ’I told you so.’ This whole thing—trying to launch an unknown brand, and in California of all places—had been his idea. He’d put his and Maeve’s reputations on the line, and if things didn’t work out, they’d never hear the end of it. Failure was not an option.

  Naomi twisted in her seat to better face him as he guided his car down the freeway off-ramp toward her cottage at the edge of River Hill’s town limits. “How long have you known Gavin?”

  Iain was thankful for the change in topic. Thinking about what his father would say if his gamble didn’t pay off made him moody, and he didn’t want to brood. He wanted to enjoy the rest of the evening with the beautiful woman at his side. “We went to school together,” he answered, a fond smile stretching his lips as he turned onto Naomi’s street. “We were in a band together, if you can believe it.”

  “No way!” She bounced animatedly in her seat. “You’ve never mentioned you’re a musician.” Abruptly, the excitement dimmed from her eyes, and she looked out the window as he pulled into her driveway.

  Briefly, Iain wondered if she’d come to the same conclusion about that statement he had. He hadn’t ever mentioned he could play the guitar because that wasn’t what their relationship was about. They only talked about the present—he told her about his difficulties making a sale, and she explained how the sculpture she was currently working on was fighting her—but they never really got into their pasts. Or, for that matter, their futures. Almost as if they had an unspoken agreement not to bring up something that might make this … something more.

  Naomi pushed open the car door, and he came around the back of the vehicle to take her hand. Brushing aside their awkward moment, he lifted her knuckles to his mouth. “I can play guitar. Not as well as Gavin, but I can carry a tune.”

  They reached her door, and he dropped her hand. Setting the key in the lock, she twisted it, and the door snicked open. They stepped over the threshold and, as if moving by instinct, Iain moved behind her to help her with her coat. They did this so often now that it was almost second nature. And that was a thought that didn’t need exploring.

  “Can you sing, too?” she asked, dropping her keys in a bowl on a low, mission-style table and kicking off her heels. He shook his head in a negative as she headed toward the kitchen at the back of the house. “Oh, well. Drink?”

  “Thanks,” he mumbled, unwinding the scarf from around his neck and hanging it on the peg next to her jacket. He removed his coat and hung it up as well, pausing a beat to stare at their clothing hanging side by side, the pain in his chest making itself known again.

  He shook his head to try and banish the strange thoughts that were buzzing around in his head like a swarm of angry bees. He liked Naomi; they got along really well. And hell, he loved fucking her, that went without saying.

  That’s all this is, he told himself. And he really wanted to believe that, but he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he wasn’t developing … feelings for her. Unwanted, inconvenient feelings.

  They’d made a deal, damn it, and he had every intention of upholding their bargain. Brennan men always kept their word, and he’d promised Naomi this wouldn’t happen. He needed to shut this down, and fast.

  Iain stared at his reflection in the mirror hanging next to the door. “Get yourself together, man,” he scolded his scowling expression. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Running a hand over his artfully-mussed hair, he caught his eyes one last time before turning away. From all outward appearances, he was still the same guy he’d been earlier that day. He could go on pretending that nothing had changed, that something about the seemingly simple domestic routine of returning to Naomi’s home together like they’d done it a million times before hadn’t thrown him for a loop.

  It was probably just Gavin’s music getting to him. His friend had unveiled a new song tonight about falling in love with someone you’d only ever considered a friend. It was about a girl back home they’d both known since they were teenagers; Iain still couldn’t believe the two had hooked up, much less fallen in love. The world truly worked in mysterious ways.

  He stepped into the kitchen to find Naomi at the counter muddling a sugar cube with bitters for an old fashioned. Dropping a twist of orange peel on top, she passed the glass to him. “Cheers on your sale.”

  They clinked glasses, and he took a sip. “Mmm, that’s good.”

  She smirked. “You’re just saying that because I used your family’s whiskey.”

  Iain winked. “I know you did.”

  She tilted her head to the side and stared at him with a look of intense concentration. “How did you know? I put it in a decanter so you wouldn’t.”

  He glanced at the decanter in question, and realization dawned. Naom
i didn’t drink whiskey, but he’d gotten her to try it by mixing up one of his favorite cocktails. He’d never noticed this decanter before now, though. And the bottle of whiskey he’d brought over last week wasn’t one of his family’s—it was a lighter blend from a distiller about an hour south of River Hill that was good for beginners. At some point, Naomi had gone shopping specifically for Brennan’s whiskey. He didn’t know what that meant, but it did … things to him.

  Gave him feelings he didn’t want to have. Made him have thoughts he shouldn’t be having.

  Iain set the glass on the counter and stepped toward her. Placing his hand to Naomi’s waist, he pulled her closer until their thighs touched. She looked up at him and licked her lips. Lips he wanted to kiss. Lips he wanted to get lost in. “I have a very refined palate, Miss Klein. Allow me to demonstrate.”

  His lowered his head and captured her mouth in a long, slow, drugging kiss. One, Iain hoped, would drown out the angry buzzing that was back in his head.

  15

  Brrrrt. Brrrrt. Naomi opened one eye and peered at her phone, vibrating anxiously on the nightstand.

  “Are you going to get that?” Iain mumbled from her other side.

  “No. It’s just my mother. Probably wants to give me the schedule of events I’m supposed to attend for the next two weeks.” She rolled over and threw her arm over Iain’s chest, snuggling in to him. “Not urgent in the least.”

  “Mmm. I can think of something urgent.”

  She let her arm drift downward. “Oh, my, this is an emergency.”

  He pinned her hand against him, and then used it to stroke himself. “You know it.”

  She giggled and tugged her fingers free of his hold, then pulled him toward her, using the momentum of his roll to bring him on top of her. “Let’s see what we can do about that.” Her last word came out on a gasp of pleasure as he tested her readiness with one of his long fingers, and then entered her in a slow thrust.