Page 61 of Grace on the Rocks

“We sure do,Wes.”

“Thank you,Bryan,”Westeased.

“Thank you,Bryan,”Graceechoed, and she could see the tops of his cheeks redden above his beard.

Once they put a good dent in the charcuterie, he produced two plaid bandanas folded up like blindfolds.Wesley’seyebrows shot up as she darted a look back and forth betweenGraceand their host, her filthy mind going placesGracedidn’t want to imagine.

“Go on,”Bryanprompted when neither of them moved.

“Mr.MacNeil, just what are you proposing?”Wesasked saucily as she reached for a blue and green blindfold, and if he’d proposed a threesome,Gracewas pretty sureWeswould say yes on the spot.

Vacation is for food and orgasms.Andthey’d already eaten food.Herpulse sped up, preparing to take flight.

Bryan looked down at the bandanas as though surprised by their hesitation. “Tastetest,” he said, like the obtuse male specimen that he was.

“It’s not haggis, is it?”Wesasked, wrinkling her nose.

“Different kinds of cheese straws?”Graceasked, daring to be hopeful.

“Neither,” he beamed. “It’swhisky.”

Wes andGraceexchanged uncertain glances.

“I’m game,”Wessaid. “Butwhy the blindfolds?Wedon’t know anything aboutScotchanyway.”

“The color can alter your… perception of the flavor,” he said, offering the other bandana toGrace. “Andit’s more fun.”

She didn’t really want to taste more whisky.Wasn’tit all the same?Butshe had an inkling of what he was trying to do forWes, and it was unbearably kind.Hewas making it damned hard for her to dislike him.

So she took the plaid and tied it around her eyes.

“If you prefer not to s-s-swallow”—Grace’sface burned beneath her bandana.Wasshe the only one hearing innuendo in every other word?Bryanwent on without missing a beat—“I’llforgive you for using this mug,” he said, puttingGrace’shand on a ceramic handle, and she felt a tiny bit better, if rattled by the slight frisson running up her arm to her flushed cheeks.

She listened carefully as he uncorked a bottle and poured two splashes before placing one gently in her hands, tickling her palm ever so slightly as he pulled away.Theglass wasn’t a straight-sided tumbler, but rounder and tapered, and her tingling hand almost knocked it over.

“TheGlencairnglass,” he rumbled softly in that deepScottishburr, as he covered her hand to help steady it, “is designed to let you give the dram a nice whirl, opening the nose.Whatdo you smell?”

Grace leaned down to give it a sniff.Atfirst, she was hit by the strong scent of alcohol, but then she realized there was a whole rich tapestry behind it.

“Barbecue smoke?”Wesasked.

“Aye, that’ll be the peat.”

“And something sweet.Sortof a peppery chocolate.Doyou smell that,Gray?”

“I smellBand-Aidsin the ocean,”Gracesaid, feeling like she was letting them both down.

“Well done,”Bryanlaughed. “Nowtaste it.Holdit on your tongue and roll it for a moment.”

WhenGraceswallowed, it burned all the way down, allowing her to trace its path to her stomach by the warmth it left behind.

“Bacon,”Wesgasped. “Sweet, smoky bacon!”

“It really does taste like a campfire,”Graceagreed, trying not to cough. “Butalso… cinnamon?”

“Yes!Cinnamonvanilla toffee,”Wesagreed.

“Is it a little bit fruity?Isthere fruit in whisky?”Graceasked.

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