Page 58 of Scotch & Dreams

Violet closed her eyes for a moment, savouring his words. Lachlan had been on her mind when he seemed to appear out of thin air. And heaven help her, he was looking at her much like he had before he'd left on his business trip. Something was happening between them. She could feel it in every cell of her body.

It was the first time she'd seen him in a kilt, and she couldn't help the vision of being ravished by this highlander from skittering through her mind. He looked so tall and handsome in his tux. The kilt was deep navy and green with a pinstripe of red—like the blanket she'd bid on. Was it a family tartan?

Being alone with him now and the way he was looking, it was like she could feel her blood storming through her body, making it ache hungrily.

“Why are ye down here alone, lass?” His voice had grown husky.

“I was just, um, on the whisky tour.” She couldn’t keep the breathiness from her words as he'd stepped closer to her.

His eyes never left hers, and she swallowed, not knowing what he intended. Too many times, she’d hoped for something that never happened. Despite her every nerve ending firing, she didn’t dare let herself believe that he was looking at her like he wanted her.

He stood before her and leaned in so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. “I think ye may huv lost your tour group, lass.”

“So it would seem.” She glanced toward the empty doorway, realizing she was very much alone now with Lachlan, and a delicious shiver danced across her skin.

When she turned back to face him. He was watching her intently, his cerulean blue eyes glittering in the dim, warm light. It was almost unnerving. He was standing so close to her—too close for business. Too close for a colleague. Too close for a boss. She could smell his cologne, see his five o’clock shadow. He was filling her senses, and she was getting lost in the heady feeling of it all.

“And have ye had the chance to try the brew?” His voice was as smooth as the whisky he spoke of.

“I think I’ve gone and missed that part." She pouted, feigning sadness.

“Och, lassie, we cannae huv that,” he said, soothingly playing along. “It's a good thing I happened upon ye then.” He gave her a sexy wink full of promise and took her hand, leading her past a row of casks and around a corner she hadn't noticed before. They stopped in front of a barrel that looked more weathered and old than the others. All the cask barrels lay on their sides, including this one with its time-worn wood.

“Ye cannae go on a whisky tour and no' sample the whisky,” he said, decidedly, as he pulled out a plug from the side of the barrel and dipped in a long copper turkey baster-looking thing into it. “The best way to huv whisky is straight from the cask.”

“I’m intrigued,” she said, watching him. "What is that?" She nodded to the copper pipe he dipped into the barrel.

"This? This is a whisky thief. We use it to steal a wee taste before it's bottled."

"Oh, wow, I didn't know you could do that." She watched intently. “So, is this part of the tour?"

“When you huv the tour with the owner, aye.” He threw her his crooked smile, making her knees go weak—par for the course—and held the tube up, gesturing for her to come sample its contents.

Oh man. Violet felt her carefully built walls crumbling. Not only did he look like he stepped out of a Scottish GQ magazine, but their easy banter also made him hard to resist. She could blame the drinks, the magic of the night, or this place, but the truth was, she had more than a little crush on the man. He looked up at her expectantly, waiting for her to come over. She looked toward the door where the others had long since gone through. Andy was clearly too caught up to notice her absence. What would it hurt?

“Angus, the tour guide, told us these casks held the original recipe whisky,” she said as she tentatively stepped toward him. God, what was she doing? She should probably just go catch up to the group. There was danger written all over this situation, and she knew it. But she stood before him with her legs unwilling to walk her out the door. She’d dreamed of him flirting with her, wanting her, but she also fought against it and told herself not to want him.

“Those barrels dinnae, but this one does. This brew has been made in the same manner with the same ingredients for over four hundred years. My grand-da’s great-great-nan created this brew and used it at first as a home remedy for illness, but it was so good that everyone who tried it was always wantin’ more. Demand grew, and the distillery was born.”

“Really? It was a woman who started it all?” Violet asked, surprised.

“Aye.” Lachlan’s eyes were locked on her.

Her heart skipped a beat. Damn him.

“I dinnae ken why Angus always leaves that part out. It’s my favourite bit.”

"So is it the holy grail healing power whisky?" she asked, peering into the blackness of the hole in the cask where the cork had been.

His rich chuckle rippled down her spine like a hot shower on a winter's day, melting her bones. "Perhaps ye should test it and see." His eyes glinted with mischief.

He held the whisky thief toward her like it was a spoon with magic medicine she was supposed to sip.

“No glass?”

He shook his head. His grin gave away how much pleasure he took in her uncertainty. “Tilt yer head back and open yer mouth, V.”

“Seriously?”

---