Page 12 of Whiskey Darling
Chapter Five
Allie
When objects cartwheelin the wind, it’s human nature to reach for them. I dive for that bottle out of pure reflex.
Flynn traps it beneath a black Ferragamo boot.
Along with my fingers.
I’m caught between his legs. At his feet. My hand snared like I’m an unwanted stray cat creeping up on his porch. We both freeze, neither making an effort to do anything other than stare. Me at my hand beneath the black leather, and Flynn at the top of my head.
My brain veers off track with irrational thoughts. If I look up, I’ll be staring straight at his denim-clad, impressively sized package. I could touch it if I wanted, cup it even. What would Flynn Alexander do about that? Would he remain standoffish? Aloof?
My soft wail breaks the invisible ice field surrounding us.
“Ooohhhh!”
“Christ,are you okay?” Flynn steps back, releasing my fingers. Somehow, they escaped the same crushing fate as the water bottle. While I cradle my hand, he curls his fingers under my armpits. I’m unceremoniously jerked to my feet. Whether he hears my startled squeak, I can’t say.
“Are you hurt? Let me see… Damn, you move fast.”
I cannot breathe, much less form a coherent response. All the breath rushed out of my lungs the moment he touched me.
He checks me carefully for injuries. Torn skin. Bruising. I can’t stop looking at his hands, marveling how gentle they are, how large they are. How mine are engulfed by the size of his.
“Nothing appears broken…”
“I don’t know how, but I’m okay.” I’m stuttering, but that can’t be helped. My blood is liquid lava. My knees are weak.
And my heart… the blasted thing is fluttering.Fluttering.Like the wings of a trapped bird.
I should be trembling from apprehension, not with lust.
Flynn’s fingers coast over my knuckles, turning my palm up so he can trace the tender skin there. His head lowers while examining me, and I stare at the thick waves of his hair.
God, he smells good. Like the forest after a rainstorm. Cleanly sharp, underlaid with a spicy warmth. Whiskey laces his breath, faint but potent. Since I’ve recently become an expert on it, I recognize this particular brand.Devil’s Gold, Hell’s Cut.If I kiss him, will I taste it on his lips? On his tongue? Will lingering drops transfer from his mouth to mine?
Do I dare find out?
Almost as if in slow motion, our eyes meet. Collide. Clash. Melt. An invisible rope pulls me until I close the distance. Flynn encircles both my wrists, tugging until I land flush against his chest.
A soft gasp escapes my throat, sliding into the air between us. My skin tingles. Nerve endings flare. Heat consumes me, incinerating rational thought. I think I whimper.
Flynn is so…he’s so…
Dropping my hands as if they are aflame, Flynn breaks the spell.
His retreat is a hasty one. While I’m still shaking from the warmth of his body, he retrieves the forgotten water bottle.
“Glad you’re okay. You remember there are refreshments in the fridge, right?” He waves the crushed bottle toward the built-in outdoor kitchen and bar taking up one corner of the pool terrace. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend. I want that marketing report on my desk before the end of next week.”
Turning on his heel, he’s gone as quickly as he appeared, long strides carrying him back down the terrace steps. The bougainvillea sways with his passing and the rising afternoon wind, and he forgets his sunglasses in the hurry to escape.
His abrupt retreat is stunning, but even with the momentary flash of heat between us, I’m reminded again how emotionally distant my new boss can be.
And I remind myself how it’s a blessing in disguise.
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