ROSS’S TOYOTA WAS A SEQUOIA—NORMAL enough—but he’d supercharged it. Which meant it was fast. Very fast. They sped through town to the Walmart where Holly picked up a swimsuit, new underwear, and a couple of tank tops and some shorts. She also grabbed some toiletries and mascara. The whole thing cost less than fifty bucks. Ross tried to pay but she wouldn’t let him.
They returned to his house and she marveled again at the size of it. It was beautiful, but stark inside. The furniture had clean lines and sleek finishes, but nothing said sit down and put your feet up. It felt like a museum, not a place anyone lived.
“You don’t like the furniture, do you?” he asked when they were sitting at the giant kitchen island eating the pizza he’d ordered.
“I, um.” She swallowed a bite of pizza. “It’s very clean.”
He laughed. “That’s one way of putting it. So what would you do if it was your house?”
She blinked. “Well, I can’t imagine having a house this big, but I think I’d fill it with comfortable furniture and books. You have all those built-in bookshelves, but nothing on them except for statuary and decorative plates.”
“I hired a designer and told her to do what she wanted.”
He didn’t seem too happy about it either.
“Well there’s your issue. But what do you like, Ross? Where are your trophies and car stuff? Maybe some of those would look good in here.”
“They’re in the man cave. That’s my favorite room. Guess I still need to give you the tour.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I was more interested in getting you naked, though.”
Which she hadn’t minded in the least.
“Well, I’m glad you have them displayed somewhere. But you could still warm this room up with books and stuff.”
“And the rest of the house?”
Holly gave him a wry look. “Ross, I’m a whisky maker, not an interior designer. Hire a different one—one who believes a house is meant to be lived in rather than magazine ready.”
He looked around. “I guess I thought I might sell it at some point anyway so why bother.”
Her heart flipped. She’d always known he wasn’t staying, but she didn’t like to hear it so soon after they’d been together for the first time. “Where would you go if you sold this house?”
“I dunno. I’d always thought North Carolina. I intended to take the team there, once we’d grown a bit more and I could replace Martin Temple. Not that I’ve found a suitable replacement for him—and not that I’m racing at the moment.”
She tried to smile. “Sounds like a plan. When your dad relents.”
His gaze seemed to sharpen. “Or maybe I could move to Lexington. Be closer to the distillery.”
“That’s an option,” she said evenly. “Assuming you’re going to be there a while.”
“I might be.” He took a drink of the beer he’d opened. “Would that bother you? If I were there, I mean.”
Nerves fluttered to life in her belly. “Why would it bother me? You’re a Blackthorne. It’s always been your destiny if you wanted it.”
He seemed to accept that. He twisted the bottle of beer in his hands. “What about you? Would you ever consider moving away from Kentucky?”
Holly’s throat tightened. “No. I’m a bourbon maker. This is where I belong. My sister is here. Uncle Evan and Aunt Brenda. All my friends. I wouldn’t fit in anywhere else.”
“I think you’d fit in wherever you went, Holly. You’re competent and determined. There’s not a company alive that wouldn’t hire you if they needed something done.”
She glowed a little at his praise. “You mean a distillery. That’s all I know how to do.”
“You’d be surprised how those skills translate—especially to a company that’s willing to train you to do something else.”
She tilted her head. “Are you trying to get me to change careers or what?”
“Not at all. Just pointing out that you could. If you wanted to.”
“I don’t want to.”
He nodded. “I got that.” The silence stretched for a long moment. “Your brother changed careers. How did that happen?”
Holly swallowed. “Ricky never wanted to work at the distillery. Or at least that’s what I believe. He got a dual degree in business and chemistry, then came home and started working. My dad and uncle always thought he’d be the one to take over. Because he was a man, of course. Girls don’t run distilleries.”
Ross was frowning. “You do.”
It pleased her he’d realized that since Uncle Evan was technically in charge. “I do now. But they were old school, different era, all that crap. They believed that a man—a Brooks man—would be the logical heir. Didn’t matter that Ricky only half cared about distilling whisky. He’s a great bullshitter and they fell for it.”
“That must have bothered you a lot.”
“You have no idea. It’s bad enough when people think you can’t do something as well as a man because you’re a woman. It’s worse when it’s your own family.”
“Your uncle doesn’t seem to think that way now. He told me you were the best he had.”
Her chin notched up with pride. “Because I am. And because he had a come-to-Jesus moment when the fire destroyed everything.”
“How did the fire happen?”
She was still bitter and she knew it. “How do they usually happen? Lightning hit one of the barrelhouses. Once it went up, the other two followed. They were too close together. I’d argued for plowing some of our profits into building new barrelhouses, farther apart, but Ricky said it wasn’t time. That we had enough separation and it’d be fine until we got bigger. Dad and Uncle Evan listened to him instead of me. It wasn’t fine.”
“He left the business after you sold to my dad.”
“Yes. I mean I love my brother, but getting out of the whisky business was the best thing for him. It takes patience—and he doesn’t have any. So he took a job in Connecticut with a drug company. I don’t know what he’s doing there, but he’s happier. Met his wife last year. They have a baby on the way.”
“And your sister? She’s the youngest. Did she care about whisky the way you do?”
Holly smiled sadly. “She did. We were going to buy Ricky out when we inherited someday and run the distillery together.”
“And now she can’t. Do you think she could ever move out of the group home?”
“Anything is possible if the right therapy or procedure or drug were to come along. But it hasn’t. She’s too dependent on help, and the staff there is really good. She also has some behavioral issues stemming from the injury. She’s safer there.”
Ross reached out and put his hand over hers. Her skin immediately grew hot where he touched her. “You’re a strong woman, Holly Brooks. You’ve had a lot of problems to shoulder—and now you’ve got me to deal with, too.”
She leaned forward and kissed him, needing the contact. Needing to put away her sadness and feel happy in the moment. “Yeah, but now I know how to deal with you.”
When she would have pulled away, he tugged her back for a longer, hotter kiss. As if he knew what she needed.
“You certainly do.”
Those were the last words they spoke for some time.
SHE DEFINITELY KNEW how to deal with him. Ross lay in bed, body sated, mind whirling. Holly slept beside him, curled on her side, her hair spilling over the pillows like a river of red flame against his white sheets.
He liked seeing her there. Liked the way she made his house seem less empty and more lively. After pizza, they’d climbed in the hot tub and he’d queued up a movie on the giant television screen under the portico.
Talladega Nights, of course. Holly had laughed through all of Ricky Bobby’s antics. Between laughing and watching the movie, they’d talked about nearly everything.
Politics, religion—the big no-no topics, but they mostly agreed on those subjects—books, whisky, food, cars, hobbies, favorite season, favorite color, favorite holiday, etcete
ra.
Ross loved the way the lights in the hot tub made her glow—her skin was luminescent, her hair vibrant. He loved the way she laughed when Ricky Bobby did something funny, the way she seemed to throw everything she was into everything she did.
He’d thought her reserved and standoffish when he’d met her. He’d thought her cold and mean.
It was so far from the truth as to be laughable. Holly Brooks was sweet, vibrant, and lovely. There were sweet, vibrant, lovely women in his circles too. Most of them were married. Then there were other women who, no matter how beautiful, always seemed to be trying to project an image of who they wanted to be—or who he might want them to be—rather than being themselves.
He loved that Holly was herself.
He turned over and put a hand on her hip. She stirred and sighed but didn’t wake.
He loved being inside her body. The way she made him feel—it was something special, he knew that. Something big. He couldn’t define it, not yet, but he knew it wasn’t a feeling he wanted to give up anytime soon. He needed Holly in his life and in his bed, for however long they made each other feel good.
He pressed a kiss to her naked shoulder.
He hadn’t wanted to work at the distillery. He still didn’t feel like it was his calling in life. But he had to admit, if he hadn’t flamed out on the track and roused his dad’s ire, he’d have never known Holly.
Somehow, that would have been even worse than not racing.
Chapter Fifteen
HOLLY WAS SITTING at her desk on Monday morning when her phone rang. She picked it up, saw the name, and shook her head.
“Hello, Mel,” she said.
“Girlfriend, you’d better spill. You spent all weekend with that man! Don’t tell me you didn’t do a little mattress mambo.”
Holly laughed. God, Mel cracked her up. Or maybe it was just easy to laugh right now. She was happy. She felt bubbly and light inside, like maybe she’d fly away if she didn’t concentrate on staying on the ground. Ross did that to her. Who would have dreamed it a week ago?
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“Holly Margaret Brooks, you are a terrible friend. Fine, I’ll tell you about mine. Doug called and we talked. I asked him what was wrong and if he just didn’t like me.”
“And?”
“I’m considering not telling you. You’d deserve it if I didn’t.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. Yes, we did it. Several times. He’s magnificent and I’m very satisfied. Happy?”
“Not quite, but that’ll do if it’s all you’re telling me.”
“Come over some night this week and let’s have some wine. I’ll tell more when I’m liquored up, I’m sure.”
“Now you’re talking! Anyway, Doug. He has a stutter and he didn’t want me to know. When he’s at the bar, he has a beer and it relaxes him enough that it’s not noticeable at all. When he called me, he’d had two. But he thought if we left the bar together, that I’d be turned off once we were somewhere quieter and I could hear the stutter.”
Holly’s heart ached for him. “Aw, poor guy. Not that he stutters, just that he thought you’d care. You don’t care, right?”
Mel seemed a little shocked. “Of course not!”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest you would. I know you don’t.”
“Of course I don’t. But, girl, you should have had all the ornery worked out of you by Mr. Sexy Racy Pants.”
Holly snorted. “Well, I definitely did. I’m just a bit distracted is all. I apologize. So are you seeing Doug now? Did you get together?”
“Not yet. He really did have to work a shift this weekend. But we’re going out tomorrow night. Dinner at a restaurant. Quieter than a bar.”
“That’s great.”
“Sooo,” Mel said, dragging it out a little bit. “Are you seeing Ross now? Or was it a weekend of bliss and we’re moving on now?”
Holly felt her skin heating. She was glad Ross had his own office unlike the first couple of days when he’d been in here with her. If she had to look at him right this second, she’d burst into flame. “He was still interested this morning when he kissed me in the barrel house. So I’m thinking maybe we’re seeing each other. For now anyway.”
“I knew it. He’d be a fool not to want you.”
“Well, let’s not start booking venues and ordering dresses, okay? We’re having sex. It’s not permanent.”
It hurt to say that. She didn’t know why it hurt, but it did. And yet she had to remind herself of it. Often. Because Ross was still trying to get back to racing. And once he did—because she had no doubt, now that she’d seen his house and all his trophies, that he would go back—whatever was going on between them would be over.
They’d watched the race on Sunday, and he’d explained about series and points and playoffs, which she’d thought was called the chase for some reason, until she couldn’t keep it all straight. But the basic thing she remembered was the travel. More than thirty races from February to November. Just about every weekend. There was no way to continue a relationship, even just a sexual one, if he was gone all the time.
If Ross went back to racing, they were done. For a woman who’d wanted him gone from the distillery just a few days ago, that thought certainly made her stomach tighten.
“Okay, fine, not permanent. But I called it. He was interested in you. I knew he had to be.”
Holly’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. “Yes, you were right. Do you want a prize?”
“Sure. How about a bottle of Blackthorne Brooks Creek Select? Or even just good old Blackthorne Select. Whatever.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I might know some people.”
They talked a few more minutes and then Holly had to go for a meeting with Uncle Evan and the team. Ross was in the meeting too. He was kicked back in a chair at one end of the table, fingers lazily moving back and forth against his lower lip, his eyes intent on her.
“Holly,” Uncle Evan said at one point in the meeting. “Are you feeling okay?”
“What? Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re a little red.”
“It’s hot in here,” she blurted.
“I agree,” Ross chimed in. “Definitely hot.”
“I’ll check the thermostat,” one of the guys said as he got up.
Truthfully, it was colder than the Arctic, but the way Ross stared at her made her warm. More than warm. Blazing hot. All she could do was imagine the way he’d looked naked—and the way he’d taken her to heaven with his mouth and body.
So many times this weekend. So many times.
She wanted a repeat. As soon as possible.
By the looks of him, he did too.
When five o’clock rolled around, the distillery began to empty out. Holly packed up her stuff and walked out of the office. Ross was coming out of his. He looked so fine in his Blackthorne polo and jeans, and she took a moment to appreciate just how lucky she was that she knew that body intimately.
He gave her a heated look. “Have a good day at the office, Holly?”
Goofball. He’d been with her for a lot of it. “I sure did. How about you?”
“It was fine. Not as good as tonight’s going to be, though.”
“Really? Do you have plans?”
They were walking down the hallway, passing open office doors. Then they hit the stairs and headed down to the ground level.
“Yep. Going to take my lady to dinner and then I’m going to take her back to her place for dessert. Lots of dessert. Hot, sticky, sweet dessert.”
She was sweating. Even her hair was hot. Geez. “Oh yeah? Sounds nice. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”
They walked out into the parking lot. Since it was quitting time, the lot was filled with people talking and getting into their cars.
Ross went over to the truck he’d driven today and she went to her Jeep. They were parked beside each other, their driver doors side by side because he’d backed in.
“I want to kiss you,” he said as he stood with his hand on the door.
“I want it too.” They couldn’t though because she’d insisted she didn’t want everyone knowing she was sleeping with the Blackthorne in their midst. Ross had agreed, but she didn’t think he liked being a secret.
Still, it’d only been one weekend. Anything could happen.
“Then we’d better get out of here.”
“You know what, Ross?” she said as she opened her door. “Why don’t you go straight to your lady’s house and give her that dessert before dinner?”
He arched an eyebrow. “You think she’d like that?”
“Oh yeah. She’d be crazy not to.”
A COUPLE OF DAYS LATER, Ross trailed after Holly as they walked through the facility on their way to bottling. He liked following her so he could watch her ass. That ass he’d had his hands on every night this week. Those legs that had wrapped around him while he lost all his control and gave her everything he had.
He’d been at the distillery for almost two weeks now. And it wasn’t all that bad. Or maybe it was Holly who made it not bad. He didn’t know, but he’d actually been a little fascinated by the process lately. It was like he hadn’t fully appreciated it until he’d been forced to spend a few days working with every part of the process of distilling whisky.
Yes, it required patience, but there was a definite art to it. And satisfaction when you tasted something you’d made. Something very fine.
He could see it in Holly’s face whenever they tasted the whisky to see if it was ready yet. She had a real pride in what she did. He drove cars, but pride wasn’t a part of it. He did it because he loved speed. He loved winning, too.
But pride didn’t figure into it for him. He won trophies and points and money, but that wasn’t the same as creating something that gave people a lot of pleasure.
Oh, sure, he could argue that watching him race gave people pleasure. But it wasn’t the same thing. He didn’t create a thing people loved, and nobody got to participate in his success or failures except for him and his team. That wasn’t the same as someone cracking open a bottle of their favorite Blackthorne whisky and sharing with friends because they’d gotten promoted or had a baby or gotten engaged or started a business.
Ross: 7 Brides for 7 Blackthornes (Book 3) Page 14
