Loch and Key: McLaughlins, Book 3

by Shelli Stevens

  The woman nodded, glanced his way curiously, and then walked off with the little girl.

  “So that was a yes to the drink?” he queried when she returned.

  “Do you drink whisky?” She answered his question with one of her own.

  Not since he’d overindulged twelve years ago with a group of sailors and had been sicker than a dog.

  “I have.” Ambiguity was always good.

  “Let’s go do a tasting, if you think you can handle it.”

  Damn, but had she just thrown down a challenge or what?

  “Sugar, I’m at least half a foot taller and probably close to a hundred pounds more. I think I can handle it.”

  “Right then.” She arched a brow and strode past him. “Shall we?”

  Kenzie led Brett to the cordoned-off area that was designated for the twenty-one and older crowd. With him walking behind her, she was fairly certain he had a great view of her arse, but what did it matter? There wasn’t much to see since it was hidden beneath her heavy tartan skirt.

  “Hello, Kenzie!”

  As they moved into the tasting area, people started waving and greeting her. She knew these people well and saw them frequently at the different Highland Game locations.

  “Good afternoon, Patrick. I’ve brought a friend in for a lesson on whisky.”

  “All right.” The older man glanced at Brett and grinned. “Have a seat, and I’ll get you both started. Though Kenzie could probably run it herself, seeing as she has before.”

  “Oh, you flatter me.” She winked at Patrick and took a seat at the table.

  As the older man began preparing their sampling, Brett’s mouth suddenly thinned as he looked over her shoulder. A moment later she heard the roars and taunting of men behind her.

  She turned and saw a group of young men approaching. Several of them familiar from their group dinner the other night.

  “Hey, Chief, isn’t that Carl’s girl?” one called out, clearly a little buzzed already.

  “My name is Kenzie, since you seem to be struggling to recall, and I’m nobody’s girl.” She gave them a saccharine yet bitchy smile.

  Her response only encouraged them and they started hollering and clapping.

  “She told you, Wilks.”

  “Your whisky.” Patrick returned with two shot glasses and three bottles of whisky. “Shall I begin?”

  Kenzie leaned over and gave him her most innocent, imploring smile, then asked quietly, “Actually, Patrick, I quite like the idea of running this one myself. Would you mind terribly? I’ll leave you my credit card to cover my arse in case.”

  Patrick blushed and looked around. “Oh, well, I don’t see the harm in it. I’ll be nearby if you need me.”

  Once he disappeared, she turned back to face Brett.

  “All right. Let’s get started.”

  “Where did the other dude go? Patrick?” Brett looked slightly alarmed.

  “He put you in my hands. You’re not worried, are you?”

  “I’d be all right in her hands,” one of the sailors yelled, causing the rest to guffaw.

  Little boys. They were like little fuckin’ boys.

  “That’s enough,” Brett called out tersely, and the group immediately stood straighter and quieted.

  They truly did respect him and his authority, even when not at work.

  “All right. I have three bottles of whisky here. One is considered average, the other high-end, and the last more of a bargain one. Which shall we try first?”

  “Bargain.”

  Ah, now that surprised her. She fancied him for the high-end type of guy. The group of sailors seemed to grow bored and disappeared back to their own drinks.

  She filled Brett’s glass with two fingers of whisky and then her own.

  Brett reached for it immediately.

  “Now I want you to—”

  Before she could finish he’d tossed it back, swallowing the shot in one single gulp.

  “Amateur.” She couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Excuse me?” His eyes were watering and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “You’re not to shoot the drink. We sip it. I want you to savor it and enjoy the complexity of the drink.”

  “Complexity? It tastes like whisky. Isn’t that about all there is to it?”

  She shook her head and refilled his shot. “Let’s try this again. Sip it. Tell me what you notice.”

  They took a sip together, and he closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to be considering it.

  “This one burns.” He opened his eyes and shrugged. “Honestly, it kind of tastes like ass.”

  “So lovely to hear that you’re familiar with the taste of ass,” she teased dryly and finished the rest of her shot.

  Brett didn’t laugh, but remained silent. In his gaze she only saw a smoldering heat that made her realize maybe she shouldn’t have said something so completely suggestive.

  “Finish that and we’ll try the mid-grade whisky.”

  He tossed back the shot and winced. “Yeah, it’s pretty gross. Sorry.”

  “Glenfiddich is actually quite popular.” She filled up his glass with the next bottle. “What is your usual drink of choice?”

  “Brandy.”

  “Ah. Very classic.”

  “Is it?” He lifted the glass and sniffed. “This one smells different. Smoky.”

  “Aye. Try it. Let me know what you think.”

  She watched him lift the glass to his mouth and take a small drink. He pursed his lips and nodded.

  “That’s pretty damn good. Tastes smoky.”

  “That’s what Bowmore is legendary for. They’re produced in the second oldest distillery in Scotland.” She drank hers and then reached for the third bottle. “And here is our high-end Tomatin whisky.”

  Almost a pro at this now, Brett took a small sip and nodded. “It’s smooth.”

  “Aye.” She drank it back easily. “It’s my favorite. Well, one of them.”

  He tossed back the rest of the shot and arched a brow. “You have expensive tastes, Ms. McLaughlin.”

  “Mmm. Only in my whisky.” She refilled her glass with another shot.

  “That’s it?” He arched a brow. “We’re done?”

  “You’ve had four shots, I think that’s enough.” She gave him a sweet smile and then downed hers.

  His brows drew together as if she’d insulted him. “Is there more whisky to sample?”

  “Oh, aye, there’s plenty.”

  He pushed his glass toward her. “Let’s keep going.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to get drunk.” She arched a brow.

  “If you’re not drunk, sugar, then I’m nowhere near it.”

  Really? She wasn’t going to point out how his eyes were brighter than they had been a few minutes ago.

  “Oh right. Because you’re so much taller and heavier,” she murmured sweetly and stood to retrieve a couple more bottles.

  Ten minutes and three shots later, she could feel the buzz coming on and she leaned back in her chair and stared at Brett.

  He nursed his glass in his hand, a slightly dopey smile on his face. “You’re gorgeous.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No really. You’re gorgeous.” He leaned forward, propping an elbow on the table. “And you’re smart—oops.” His elbow wobbled and he fell forward slightly.

  “And I think we’ve had enough of this.” She stood, grabbed the bottles and returned them easily.

  Her stomach was warm and she had a mild buzz, meaning she’d either be here until evening before she drove, or she’d be catching a ride home.

  But Brett, now he was pretty much—

  “I can’t believe it. Is the chief drunk?”

  She turned at the voice, and gave the approaching sailors a wry smile.

  “Aye, he might be a bit. I think he overestimated his tolerance for whisky. Will one of you be able to drive him home?”

  “Drive me home?” Brett stumbled to his fee
t. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you?”

  “No, actually, I’m not.” He frowned and dismay slowly spread across his face. “Dammit, you got me drunk.”

  “I believe you got yourself drunk, Chief,” she said sweetly. “Perhaps you’d do well to know your limits next time.”

  “How are you still sober?” He was slurring his s’s right now. “I would be so damn pissed right now if you weren’t so gorgeous.” He stumbled forward. “Can I at least get a kiss?”

  His sailors were having a field day with this. She could see it in her peripheral. The nudging of each other and little effort to restrain their laughter.

  “No, you may not get a kiss.” She patted him on the shoulder and winked. “What you may want to get are a few painkillers before bed. Drink lots of water, and perhaps eat some bread.”

  “Bread. That doesn’t sound—oh my God.” He spun to the group of sailors. “Which one of y’all is driving me home? Can we go to Taco Bell?”

  Unable to hide her laughter now, she joined in with the laughing sailors. A few stepped forward to help escort him out of the cordoned-off whisky area.

  “Make sure he gets home safely?” she asked the sailor who looked most trustworthy. Really, it was a shot in the dark at this rate.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He grinned. “We’ve been trying to get Chief drunk for years. You accomplished what we’ve never managed to do.”

  Guilt stabbed briefly through her, but she kept her smile up.

  “He’s probably not drunk,” she lied, “but it’s best you drive him just in case.”

  “He’s tossed on his ass. I’m pretty sure he’ll puke tonight.”

  “I hope not,” she murmured, worrying her lip with her teeth. God, if he actually got sick in their car? Yikes.

  Brett was half led, half carried past her.

  “You’re gorgeous, Kenzie,” he called out again.

  And then he broke into that don’t you forget about me song as he was led out of the fairgrounds.

  “What the hell kind of nonsense was that?”

  She turned to find her brother Colin standing behind her, scowling. How long had he been there?

  “What nonsense?” she asked innocently.

  “You got that man pissed drunk. Why?”

  She blushed. Damn good question. “He overestimated his tolerance level.”

  “You don’t mess around with a man like that, Kenz. He’ll not take it well in the morning. Do you know him?”

  “Aye, she does.” Aleck appeared next, a dark expression on his face as he glanced after the retreating sailors. “So it was him? He brought the card. I should’ve known.”

  “Aleck…”

  “You made your bed, you can lie in it.” He shook his head. “That was dirty. You know he’d try to keep up with a woman, and your tolerance is higher than most men’s with whisky. It near runs in your veins.”

  Aye, of course she knew. That’s why she’d brought Brett over here.

  The guilt inside her spread, not fading even after her brothers left her again and the sailors had long since disappeared.

  Shite.

  Aleck was right. Brett was going to be a mess come morning, and embarrassed as hell.

  She’d fucked up, and good.

  Chapter Eight

  Oh fuck. His head hurt like someone was taking a baseball bat to it.

  Lying in bed, Brett contemplated getting up to find some kind of painkiller. But that would mean getting up. He lay there for a while, memories of yesterday seeping into his consciousness and bringing horror and humiliation.

  Holy shit. He’d gotten drunk. In front of Kenzie. In front of his sailors. So drunk that they’d had to nearly carry him out of the fairgrounds.

  More memories came, this time of him shoveling nachos and burritos down his throat. Taco Bell. He hadn’t been there since he was a teenager and his cousin had gotten him high. Had he…had he actually begged his sailors to take him there?

  Groaning, Brett pulled the pillow over his head to help block out the morning light. Block out the memories. The pounding in his head didn’t stop, though. It took a few seconds to realize that the pounding was coming from his front door.

  Probably one of his men coming to check on his ass.

  Swinging his legs out of bed, he stumbled to the front door—ready to tell whomever it was to get lost. He unlocked the door and bolt and then swung it open. With the sunlight glaring behind the person, it took a minute to figure out who it was, but soon a very definite female silhouette took form.

  “Can I come in?”

  Kenzie. For once, he had absolutely no desire to see her.

  “No.”

  He tried to shut the door and she grabbed it, pushing it back open. She was stronger than she looked, he mused, or he was too weak and hungover.

  “What are you doing here?” It was a near-snarl.

  “You told me not to forget about you, remember?” She gave him a cheerful smile and closed the door behind them.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Yesterday…” Her words trailed off and her gaze slid over him, lingering on his bare chest. She swallowed hard.

  Never one to be self-conscious, he wasn’t about to start now. Besides, he had on boxers and that was practically overdressed for the hell his body was going through.

  “It doesn’t…never mind.” She shook her head and blinked, adjusting the paper bag in her hand. “Have you taken anything for your head?”

  “No.”

  “Go lie your arse back down. I’ll bring you something.” And she disappeared into his house as if she’d been there a hundred times.

  Which, how the hell did she even figure out where he lived in the first place?

  He wanted to argue, but his damn head pounded with every breath he drew in. This was why he didn’t drink whisky. He should’ve known better. Should’ve read more into that twinkle in Kenzie’s eye when she’d made the offer to go sample some.

  He crawled back into bed, beyond the point of worrying about pride, and pulled the blanket over his head. Several minutes passed before he heard her soft footsteps in his bedroom.

  “I’ve brought water and painkillers. Take them before you fall back asleep.”

  As if he could sleep through the pounding. He sat up carefully and accepted the glass of water and three pills. He tossed the pills into his mouth, took a swig of water and then swallowed.

  “Drink the whole glass.”

  Glaring at her over the rim, he obliged. More out of thirst than from her request.

  He turned his head to check the time on his bedside clock. Almost nine in the morning. Jesus. He never slept this late.

  “Lie back down,” she said softly. “I’ll wake you when breakfast is ready. Hopefully the meds will have kicked in by then.”

  She turned to leave and he caught her wrist, stopping her retreat.

  “Why are you here, Kenzie?”

  Her lashes fluttered down and she gave a small shake of her head. “Guilt. Plain and simple. Hoping I can get you to forgive me.”

  He grunted. “Not only did my men have to see their chief drunk out of his mind, but I also begged them to go to Taco Bell. How the hell do I come back from that kind of low?”

  She winced. “Ouch, I really owe you one. I’ll start by fixing you some hangover food.”

  He smoothed his thumb over the silky underside of her wrist. Despite the pain in his head, he allowed himself a moment to really look her over.

  She certainly didn’t appear as if she’d come here to seduce him. The sweatpants she wore were slightly baggy and ended at her calves. They were a light pink with the year 1988 on the side. On her feet were black flip-flops, with her red toenails looking dainty and feminine.

  On top she wore a black T-shirt that hugged her chest just enough to give definition of her shape. She wore no makeup and her hair hung in two braids on either side of her head.

  Right now, despite how much his dick was
leaping to attention at having her nearby, he wasn’t in the state of health to act on her current state of adorably sexy.

  When she tugged against his grip, he glanced up to look into her eyes. Her gaze was a mix of unease and awareness. Beneath his thumb he felt her pulse quicken.

  “Your stove is on,” she murmured huskily. “I need to start breakfast. Unless you want your pan to catch fire.”

  His lips twitched and he gave a reluctant smile. “That would pretty much make my morning complete.” After releasing her hand, he lay back down on the bed and closed his eyes. He listened to her retreating footsteps and tried not to focus on the pounding in his head. There was no way he would fall back asleep. Not with the amount of pain in his head and the fact that the sun had been up for many hours.

  Music drifted from the kitchen. Dave Matthews? She must’ve been playing it from her phone. The smell of bacon began to float through the house.

  His let his eyes close and slowly felt his muscles begin to relax. He must’ve fallen back asleep, because the next thing he knew there was a hand gently squeezing his shoulder.

  “Can you wake up and eat something?”

  The soft question had his eyes snapping open. Kenzie sat on the edge of his bed, hovering over him with a concerned expression.

  Could he eat? He blinked and sat up slowly, waiting for his head to explode from the pounding. Except for just the hint of pain, it was gone.

  “Wait, you actually made breakfast?”

  “You’re going to want to put something in your stomach.” She sat up and grabbed the tray she must’ve set down on his dresser when she’d come in. “Something hot and a little greasy. You know, the perfect hangover food.”

  He glanced down at the plate of food and his stomach growled. There was a breakfast sandwich of sorts with a fried egg, melted cheddar cheese and bacon, nestled between thick white bread. Beside it were chunks of potato, clearly recently cut and fried. Then on the side, almost as a pretense at being healthy, there were a couple slices of orange.

  Damn but if it didn’t look like something you’d order at some underappreciated diner off a truck stop.

  “This looks amazing,” he admitted. “Thank you.”

  She blushed slightly and shrugged. “It’s the least I can do. How do you take your coffee?”