Page 344 of Steamy Ever After

He affects a casual pose, relaxed with one leg kicked over the opposite knee, but I catch the hitching in his breath as I approach. His fingers stray up to the scar over his face, tracing out the faded lines of an old injury.

“Ah…” Bert looks pleased with himself. “I thought Bethany’s clothes would fit you.” He places his book on the side table and moves the recliner to its upright position. “I hope you don’t mind. Those belonged to my late wife. I’m a widower and still have a few of her things. I’m glad they fit you.”

“My condolences, and thank you.” I’m unsure how to respond to his statement about being a widower, or about wearing his dead wife’s clothes.

This is awkward.

Bert fills in the pause of conversation. “I’m not a coffee drinker, but I made some hot tea. I’ve got cocoa if you’d prefer that?”

Next to the teapot and cups, two tumblers of amber-colored fluid wait.

“The tea is perfect,” I say. “Thank you for your hospitality. I’m terribly sorry to be a burden.”

“Child, you are no burden at all.” He glances toward Drake, kicking the younger man’s boot. “It’s nice to have a woman over for a change, don’t you agree? Isn’t it nice to share the fire with Abby?”

Drake turns to Bert, a parade of emotions flashing in his expression before he schools his feelings. I bet anything he’d rather be out in that blizzard tracking down, and killing, that second pack of wolves.

Drake says nothing. He shifts in his seat, drawing his feet out of Bert’s nudging distance.

I point to the glasses. “What’s that?”

“Bert says you’ve never tasted whiskey,” Drake answers.

“I prefer wine.”

“Doesn’t matter. In Peace Springs, we drink whiskey.” Putting his book down, Drake leans forward. He grabs the two glasses and hands one to me. He taps his glass against mine. “Welcome to Peace Springs, Miss Abby…?”

“Abby Knight.” I give my full name, although I don’t get the feeling Drake is happy to have me descending on his small town. Then he surprises me, rewarding me with one of his elusive smiles.

“Now that is a pretty name.” He presses the cup to his lips and tilts his head back, downing the entire glass in one swallow. Despite the smile, the hardness of his eyes returns, glittering as he waits for me to drink my whiskey.

I sniff the aromatic liquor. It’s far stronger than wine. The alcohol burns the sensitive tissues of my nose, but it smells like heaven. I tip the glass against my lips, coating them in whiskey. Then I lick my lips, closing my eyes when a sweet flavor coats my tongue.

“What kind of whiskey is this?” It’s nothing like I expected. There’s a burn, of course, but an amazingly mature flavor coats my tongue.

Drake pours himself another drink. “Salted caramel whiskey, a good starter drink.” His eyes lock onto my mouth as I lick my lips. “We’ll work you up to the harder stuff over time.”

I take another sip. “It’s like wine, with all the different flavors, but unique and distinct.”

Then his words hit, over time? He’s thinking about other times.

As in more than tonight.

Is he interested in seeing me after tonight? Boy, I hope so.

That thought makes the butterflies in my belly take flight, and while I’d like to think the whiskey is what heats my cheeks, I know that’s a lie. Deep down, I very much want to see more of Drake.

Which is crazy. I’m in no position to be thinking about starting up anything with anyone.

Especially after the disaster with Scott. I can’t believe he thinks I’ll ever go back to him.

“Do you like?” Drake watches me closely.

Another sip, this one bigger than the previous one. The burn of alcohol lights a fire inside my mouth and coats my throat with a delicious burn.

“Oh my, that’s strong stuff.” I cough and sputter.

Drake smiles, then turns to Bert. “I think we have a convert.”

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