Page 4 of The Bourbon Bride

“Paige Fairchild, the debutante everyone in town is talking about tonight,” I supply for her.

Surprise curves her lips in a grin that has me swallowing the lump in my throat and silently cursing myself for the loss of composure in her presence. This is… unusual. I hold tight control over myself at all times. Except in her presence, it would seem.

“And you are?” she asks, curiosity displacing the rote politeness she had first employed.

“Hayes Olsen. The pleasure is truly all mine, I assure you.” I take her hand in mine for a brief moment before I let it go. I flex my hand as I lower it to my side again, feeling the warm ghost of her touch through satin even now and wanting to feel it against my body again. What would that soft tough feel like on more sensitive skin, and how can I entice her to leave the gloves on should I have the chance? I push the salacious thoughts from my head. She’s not meant for me. Not now, not ever.

A radiant smile bursts across her face and I shake my head at the immediate gut-check reaction I get from it. She’s not what I was expecting. Something about her is radically different, which could both help and hinder my goal. Right now, it’s throwing me off the carefully cultivated cool I’ve mastered and depend on for every business transaction in my career. I must remind myself that she is simply that, a business transaction that requires my full attention.

“No way, you can’t be!” she says, her tender age, despite appearing more mature, coming through in her exclamation. “Hayes Olsen, the mysterious nightclub proprietor who brought gothic nightlife to sleepy Savannah? Sir, it is very good to meet you.”

She’s heard of me? And she called me sir. While the logical part of me knows she meant it as a polite term, the deluded part of my brain that is fascinated with her thinks it sounded a little too sexy and wants to hear her repeat it. From her knees.

“Thank you for allowing my parents to throw this god-awful party in your club. I know events of this kind aren’t typical for The Abyss, but it was my only request, macabre as it might be, to my slightly neurotic mother while she was scheming. Between you and me”—she abruptly lowers her voice and I lean in to catch each word that rushes out in her beautiful genteel drawl—“everyone has been talking about you. It seems you have made it difficult for some of the families in town to get in here, which made them all want to be at my party even more. I had hoped I could meet you but was uncertain if you would be in residence tonight. I’m so glad to have found you.”

My chest puffs at the admission. She gives me a conspiratorial smile and I find my own smile tugging at the set of my lips before I can school my features.

I hadn’t expected her to know about me in the slightest. I have indeed made it difficult for entitled bastards to use the club but allowed the Fairchilds the option because of my desire to own a piece of their souls. It seems she does her homework nearly as well as I do. I may need to revise how I want to go about this if that’s the case, as a surprise really is a better tactic for what I have planned. I should take her back to the party and stop the part of me that wants to steal her away and see if she’ll end up on her knees like I fantasized a moment ago. She’s far too innocent, wholesome even, for what I would want from her now.

“The Abyss is at your disposal, now and in the future, should you need anything. It really was a pleasure.” I extend my hand again. “I can escort you back to your party if you’d like.”

Paige doesn’t lift a hand to meet mine as expected, instead, she freezes me in place with a frown I’d like to wipe off her beautiful face.

“I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Olsen. You were the first person at this party who made conversation with me that didn’t revolve around a potential marriage or a business deal. Instead, you offer me a drink in my respite from the banality of high society and then tell me to go back to it? You can’t say things like that to a woman.”

If only she knew. And Mr. Olsen?Hearing her address me so formally now drives home our large age gap, making her appeal that of forbidden fruit. I want to lookandtaste, but I shouldn’t do either. She’s practically a child, and, well, I’m old enough to know better. The coy smile she gives me is pure sugar and I instantly know not to underestimate the Southern wiles that are bred into her.

“Please, call me Hayes.” I pause and consider her for a moment. I find myself curious about her and want to keep her with me longer than I had intended, maybe because of her appeal, but also because she intrigues me. “What had you so bored with the party downstairs that you decided to escape up here?” I ask, looking away from her hopeful face to the green space around us.

“The Elysium Garden,” she says, gesturing around at the plants, “is why I wanted my debutante party at The Abyss. I begged the planner to allow us to have the party up here, but she said it would be too cramped around the plants.”

Paige stops talking long enough to take the bourbon from my hand and tips back a large gulp. She coughs after she swallows and I’m reconsidering my offer of the drink. She’s too young for bourbon.

“That was good!” She licks her full red lips with a pink tongue I can vividly imagine lickingme. “What is it?”

I stifle the groan of longing that shudders through me, clearing my throat instead.

“Underworld Spirits bourbon. It’s made especially for The Abyss. You can’t buy it anywhere else, yet.” I don’t tell her that Underworld Spirits is another business of mine, so I have full control over all of its production and distribution.

“So exclusive.”

She smirks and takes a smaller sip, her red lips leaving a print on the glass rim that makes me want to see the color ringing my dick. The visual is very appealing, indeed. I push the thought out of my head. There’s no way I’ll be able to concentrate on getting what I really want if I’m focused on the short-term goal of fucking her mouth.

“How bad was it?” I say instead.

“The bourbon?” she asks, looking down at the glass.

“Not the bourbon,” I correct. “You left your own party. It must have been bad.”

Her head tilts down. “This party… it wasn’t really for me, if you must know. My mama insisted, so it was for her. I had hoped she would have flat-out refused my insistence to have the party at The Abyss instead of The Mansion and I could have skipped this antiquated madness altogether.”

Ah, yes, The Mansion. The very hotel right here in town I crave to have as my own. It’s like she’s offering me enticing morsels on purpose and I’m the damn dog salivating at the thought. It’s nearly Pavlovian how quickly I’m conditioned to respond.

“So, you didn’t want to have your party here at all?” I feign horror, my hand splayed on my chest, and she smirks at me again.

“I didn’t want to havethis partyat all. I used the unusual location request as a ploy to make her give up the whole thing. But Mama doesn’t give up; she strategically gives in just enough to make me do what she wants.”

“Do you always do everything your mama wants?”

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