Page 29 of Whiskey Darling
God, Flynn is sexy as hell in a kitchen. Who knew watching a man cook for me would be such a turn-on? I’m seriously in love with his grilled cheese sandwiches right now. And his arms. And how the muscles in his back ripple beneath his shirt. And this wine. And him.
I babble for what seems like a long time.
Flynn is suddenly beside me. His palm is hot on the lowest part of my back, scorching me through my clothes.
“Come on, Darling.” His gentle murmur sounds a million miles away. “Off the barstool now. Careful. I got you. Let’s sit outside for a while, get some fresh air while you tell me about Ireland.”
* * *
Flynn
Allie is an adorable drunk.
The way she looks up at me once we settle on the outside lounge makes my heart race. Like it’s being pumped full of adrenaline.
She settles under my arm as if crafted to fit there. She’s warm. Tiny. And if I had an ounce of self-preservation left in my stupid body, I’d deliver her to the cottage. Put her inside and walk away.
But I don’t. I remain planted where I am, with Allie cradled against me, staring into the flames of the gas fireplace. It casts a mesmerizing spell over us while she speaks of Ireland and Conner in disjointed, reluctant pieces.
I never told anyone how the arrogant prick called me soon after Allie arrived in California. First words out of his mouth once he confirmed we’d hired her?“Do whatever’s necessary to keep her. She’s bloody brilliant.”He wouldn’t elaborate beyond that, other than saying he’d made a mistake in letting her get away.
Yeah. Connor Morgan is an asshole.
Allie falls asleep in my arms twice while I debate on what I should do.
I decide on placing her in one of the spare bedrooms. Allie holds her own drinking whiskey, but a few glasses of wine turns her into a sweetly dependent mess. I don’t care though. With her arms looped around my neck, and her face snuggled into my chest, I’m feeling like a king as I carry her up the stairs.
I could get used to this.
Laying her on the bed, I leave for a few moments to gather some items. Upon my return, I discover she’s rolled onto her stomach. With a hand tucked under her chin, she’s sound asleep, and snoring slightly like an aggravated little kitten.
My weight depresses the mattress, inducing an unintelligible murmur from her. My fingers brushing her bare leg sends her snuggling deeper into the pillows and moving closer at the same time. It’s as though she’s seeking my hand on her skin. And Lord, I don’t want to stop touching her.
Taking a deep, steadying gulp of air, I release it in a big woosh. Sweat beads on my forehead.
First things first, I gotta get these boots off her.
