Page 74 of Whiskey Kisses

With security in place at the distillery and a crew to roll with, the situation feels a little more solid. I keep a couple of guys parked at the gates outside Evie’s house and add two more to her security detail. By now, Cole and his guys might recognize Timmy, but they don’t know Sully or Jett. I instruct them to keep far enough back that they can keep an eye on her without anyone else knowing they’re around.

“Good,” she says when I tell her one morning. She’s standing at the kitchen counter, making herself a cup of coffee. “No more house arrest.”

“It’s only been a few days,” I retort, tugging on her ponytail.

She smacks my hand away lightly. “Why are you always pulling my hair?”

“Because I like you,” I tease, pressing the front of my body against the back of hers. I don’t know why her fussing always gets me kinda hot, but it does.

But Evie likes it, too. She likes it when I chase her, loves it when I catch her. I kiss the hollow beneath her collar bone, and she gives a soft, breathy laugh, arching her body like she can’t help it.Her ass pushes up against my zipper and that’s it—goodbye, rationale, hello lizard brain.We haven’t fucked in days, and she smells so good, thatEvie combination of soap, shampoo, and undertones of natural sweetness.

Her head falls back as I suck gently on her throat. The blush spreading across her chest continues beneath her shirt and I’m sure, if I checked, that her tits have the same rosy glow. “What time are you meeting Opal?” I murmur into her skin.

“Soon,” she says, trying to sound firm.

“How about?—"

Finn clears his throat from the doorway and Evie slips away, leaving me with an erection. “Alex just called. Some girl’s at the gate, saying she’s Evie’s sister.”

Evie whips her head around, glancing at me. “I’ll go see what she wants.”

“If Maribelle’s already here, you might as well let her in,” I call, adjusting myself before following her. Well, that’s a mood killer. I didn’t consider that Maribelle would know where Evie was living now, but of course she would. They’re both related to Myrtle, though it’s apparent Evie was the favorite.

I’m glad. After observing her father’s disregard, she deserves to be someone’s favorite.

We walk across the front yard, still soggy from yesterday’s deluge, and down to the gate where a white Mercedes coupe is idling beside Alex’s Suburban. Maribelle rolls down her window as we approach, her amused smile at odds with the impatient flick of her hand. “What is this, Evie, the White House? Can I come in or not?”

Evie glances at me, rolling her eyes.

“Let her in,” I tell Alex, who takes his time ambling over to unlatch the gate.

Maribelle pulls in and parks beside Evie’s pickup. Climbing carefully out of the driver’s seat, she flips up her sunglasses and gives the house an appraising look. She appears more like her old self today, in a ponytail, cashmere sweater and designer jeans, only she’s got a baby belly now.

Evie strides ahead of me, not bothering to hide her irritation. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Maribelle’s gaze sweeps over the leafy wreath on the front door and the rickety, old porch swing before settling on Evie and me. Her darkeyes are smoky with an edge of something I can't quite place. Trouble, maybe, or just bitterness. Who knows. “Daddy told me you were playing lady of the manor at Aunt Myrtle’s, so I figured I’d come see for myself. Not exactly fair, but I can’t say I’m surprised the old bat left you all of this.”

When neither of us say anything, she sighs. “You two know damn well why I'm here, so you might as well invite me in.”

“If you insist,” I say, giving Evie a gentle push toward the house.

“Hello to you too, Tristan,” Maribelle says sweetly, following us up the porch steps.

Evie shows her to the sitting room just inside the front entryway. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asks, folding her arms.

I lean against the doorjamb. “She doesn’t need Southern hospitality, babe. I’m pretty sure she just wants that money.”

“That’s right,” Maribelle says with a sharp laugh. “You know all about that, don’t you, Tristan? After all, money’s why you married Evie in the first place.”

Evie flinches beside me. I hate it. “It’s not just about money.”

Maribelle snorts. “Oh, honey. Do you really think this is anything but a business transaction?”

She’s not wrong, but she’s not totally right, either—there’s a lot more to us than she knows or cares to understand. It doesn’t matter, though, because her words land just as she intended. I can see it on Evie’s face, in the way she won’t look at me.

“I think it’s none of your fucking business,” I say, tired of Maribelle already. No wonder Evie struggles with her self-worth. She’s been fed this bullshit for years. “You could’ve saved yourself the drive, by the way. We know you want ‘your share’—you’ve mentioned it about a hundred times.”

She recoils, eyes flashing. “Can you blame me? I just watched everythingmyfamily built get taken away byyourfamily! And I’ll come back every single day to remind you of that if you don’t make this right, Tristan. The distillery might be yours legally, but it’s not yours morally.”

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