Page 6 of Turning Up the Heat

CHAPTER THREE

WHENSHEDELIVERED the final words of her presentation and the audience politely applauded, Gemma exhaled with relief. A few months ago, she’d been asked by the conference organizers to prepare a workshop to discuss the new distilling processes she’d developed. She didn’t like public speaking, and she wasn’t sure what she would do to entertain her audience for forty-five minutes. But that she’d gotten through most of it without fumbling her words or boring anyone to sleepwas a bit of a miracle.

For three months, she’d worked on the presentation day and night, memorizing it, but when the door opened and a latecomer had entered into the room, she completely lost her train of thought and almost swallowed her tongue when she saw it was Tom. Panic had set in and she froze up for about ten seconds before she realized that she hadn’t needed to memorize anything. Of course, she could spend forty-five minutes talking about rum. Rum was her life, and she’d managed to revolutionize the distilling process. The impostor syndrome had drifted away, and every time she’d looked in Tom’s direction, she could see his eyes were locked on her. But she’d been pleasantly surprised when her allotted time had flown by like it was only a few minutes.

As she closed her laptop, fellow distillers and others involved in the production of rum all came up to congratulate her and discuss the finer points of the presentation. But the one person who didn’t come to her was the one she wanted to the most. Her attention was captivated by Tom hanging out in the back of the room, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He was so effortlessly sexy.

The crowd cleared after several minutes, and she was happy to see that that Tom had stuck around. She put her laptop in her shoulder bag and walked toward him.

“Great job,” he told her. “Your presentation was very informative.”

“Did you like it?”

“I did. You managed to present just enough information but not give away any of your secrets. Much to the chagrin of the people who came here to learn what you do.”

Gemma laughed. “Like you? Is that why you came to my presentation? To figure out how I did it?” She began walking and they left the room, heading for the lobby bar, where conference goers mingled between events.

“I was curious. I’m still kind of amazed you were able to pull it off.”

She stopped walking. “That was a crappy thing to say.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant is that for so long distilleries have been trying to find a way to quick-distill, and make it taste aged and hand-crafted. But you did it, and you did it well. If anyone could do it—and no one else could—it would be you. My guys wouldn’t have figured it out.”

“That’s because they’re talentless hacks who only know how to push a button. They don’t live and breathe rum the way I do,” she pointed out. “And that’s too bad for you. You aren’t getting anywhere near my secrets ever again.”

“I’ve gotten close to at least one of them,” he said, reminding her of what they’d done in the supply closet the night before. “How much would it take for you to come work for me?”

Gemma was stunned silent. Was that what he wanted? For her to work for Cain Rum? It was never going to happen. “It would take a lot more than whatever you’re willing to pay me.”

“Come on. You haven’t even heard my offer,” he teased.

She stopped walking again. This time she faced him. “Fine. Humor me.” There was nothing that would make her leave her brothers and their family distillery, but she looked him up and down. She might play along that she could be convinced. Maybe he’d throw a little something extra into the deal. Maybe if he’d pay her with orgasms, she reasoned, it might be worth it. Her eyes roamed over his body, and she wondered what he looked like underneath the suit.

“My eyes are up here, Rexford,” he said, drawing her attention to his face and into his deep, cool blue eyes. “Why don’t you let me buy you a drink? We’ll talk terms.”

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” she said. “I’m not going to work for you.”

“Gemma, you know we have lots to talk about.”

He was right, but at the moment, she wasn’t interested in talking. “I know.”

“Uh-oh, it looks like we’ve been spotted.”

Gemma looked over her shoulder and saw Reid and Quin at the other end of the hallway, watching her, both of them wearing matching frowns as they spied her with the enemy. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Tom. “I could really use that drink,” she told him. “Let’s go.”

In the hotel lobby bar, Tom handed Gemma the glass of rosé she’d ordered. “I’m surprised by this, I would have figured you to be strictly a rum drinker.”

She shrugged. “You how it is. I spend my whole day around rum. When I go home, I smell like rum. I’m sure it’s coming out of my pores. I like the stuff, and I appreciate it. But it’s not the thing I want to drink all the time. Some nights, after spending the entire day in the distillery, the last thing I want to do is sit down with a glass of rum when I get home.”

“I get that,” he told her. “When I spend all of my time freaking out over rum at the office, it’s not always the most relaxing way to unwind, now is it?” He was already finding things they had in common. “So, what sorts of things do you like to do when you aren’t making award-winning rum or revolutionizing the industry?”

“Why? Are you trying to get to know me or something?”

“I thought I might.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, but the intimate way he looked at her was anything but casual. “I already know what you look like when you come. I might as well find out your favorite movie.”

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