Page 25 of Scotch & Dreams

“A good friend of mine owns a luxury men’s shop in Glasgow. Obviously, I huv to support him.” He threw her an angelic little smirk.

She laughed out loud.

“Ach, fine.” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “I cannae help myself.”

She chuckled. “Me neither. I think you may be my spirit animal.”

He laughed, and the low rumble of it tickled her senses. The man was seriously appealing. Violet leaned back against the arm of the couch, and Lachlan sat back against the other arm. One long, strong leg was bent on the couch with his arms casually resting on it. The other was stretched out with his socked heel on the cow hide area rug.

“And what about you? What do you do for a living, Mr. GQ?” she quipped, taking a sip of her scotch, thoroughly enjoying the evening with him. She wouldn’t be surprised if he modelled—from his physique to his features, the man was stupidly handsome. It would explain the sporty car and gorgeous house. It was quite plausible that his modelling career made him filthy rich. She almost laughed at the thought.

“I told ye what I did.” He looked at her from under a quirked brow.

“What? No, you didn’t. Oh my God, did I forget?” Her eyes grew wide, and her body tensed.

“I make whisky,” he said and nodded toward her glass.

“You make whisky?” she repeated, looking down at her glass, not really understanding what he meant.

“Aye, yer drinking it. Therapy in a glass.”

“You make this for a living?” She held up the glass, still not quite certain.

“Aye, for a living,” he confirmed, his lips tipped at the corners in mild amusement. “Cailleach Distillery.”

“Oh.” Violet was still putting together the pieces in her mind. “You work atCay-lee-yak”—she scrunched her eyes at her butchered pronunciation—“distillery? As in, you actually physically make the whisky?”

“Ach, lass.” He chuckled heartily. “I own the distillery, and aye, I do huv a part in the making of it.”

“Oh, right.” She was trying to absorb this new piece of information.He owned a distillery?

Apparently noting her confusion, he leaned back. “What did ye think I meant earlier when I said I make whisky?”

“Ohh,” she said exaggeratedly, recalling his comment, and then she giggled. “I don’t know why, but when you said you made the scotch, I pictured you like one of those old guys who make terrible wine in their kitchen, straining barley in old lady pantyhose. Like a hobby or something.”

He raised his brows. "I cannae say we huv ever used old lady pantyhose in our process."

She laughed despite herself. "I mean, like I thought you made it with a kit or something."

He nodded toward her glass. “Please tell me that doesnae taste like it’s from a kit?”

Violet looked at the contents remaining in her glass and took the final sip, making sure to let it linger over her tongue before she swallowed. “Nope, definitely not boxed scotch.”

“Ye dinnae say.” His crooked grin teased her.

“Modest, aren’t we?” she mocked.

“From time to time,” he jabbed back.

Violet laughed at Lachlan’s dry humour. The perfect host, he picked up the decanter to refill her glass.

“I think I better slow down,” Violet said, feeling the warming effects of the golden liquid.

“Just a drop more,” he hedged.

Maybe against her better judgment, but how could she resist? “Okay, just a drop.”

He smiled as he poured a splash more in each of their glasses.

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