Page 50 of The Bourbon Bet
He hands me a bouquet of beautiful flowers. They are a mix of vivid shades of red roses, calla lilies so dark they’re almost black, and a few tiny white blooms I can’t name. Their perfume rises, complex and intoxicating, sweet with undertones of spice that remind me of him.
“These are gorgeous. Red is my favorite color.”
His gaze travels over my dress. “It’s now mine too.”
“That’s as smooth as your bourbon,” I joke, smiling into the flowers.
“Not smooth, only the truth. You are exquisite, Rosalia. A goddess made flesh.” His voice is low and rough, making me shiver.
He offers his arm, and I slide mine through his, my palm settling against the warm fabric of his sleeve. The material of his suit is as soft as cashmere. Heck, it probablyiscashmere. But what has my pulse jumping is his warmth and scent—a dark and heady spice I want to lick from his neck.
On our other dates, we’d barely touched or even sat close. Tonight would be different. Forget the torture of trying not to look like a fool at the gala; the true test will be spending all evening on Sebastian’s arm.
We walk a few steps to the car, idling at the curb. Sebastian opens the door for me, and after he goes around to the other side, he gets in. The Bentley’s leather seats cradle me in luxury, still warm from the day’s sun.
Sitting here pulls me into the memory of my very vivid and dirty fantasy I had the night after our first dinner date. And okay, fine, it wasn’t my only one.
“Do you have a glass divider between the driver and the backseat?” I blurt, then my cheeks burn hot. No. I did not ask that aloud.
Sebastian pauses, eyebrows lifting slightly before a small smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. “No. I don’t think this car comes with the option.” His eyes glitter with mischief, his half-smile curling wider. “Why are you asking?”
I duck my head, suddenly fascinated with arranging the flowers in my lap. “Curious is all.” Needing any new subject, I ask, “How far is the venue?”
“A little over an hour. It’s at the distillery in Bardstown.” He sucks in his bottom lip, and the enticing visual has all my attention until I notice his hesitationbefore he adds, “My mother has invited practically everyone who matters in Kentucky bourbon circles. Family tradition.”
“Will there be many people you know there?” I ask, aiming for casualness, but the undercurrent of anxiety seeps out.
Sebastian’s smile turns wry. “Everyone I know will be there. Small industry, big egos. My family has a way of drawing crowds.” He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully. “Including some people I’d rather not see. But having you there changes everything.”
My pulse trips over itself. “So…at your distillery?”
His brows furrow. “I didn’t tell you?”
“You only said your mom had organized that event.” Being surrounded by his family at their distillery is terrifying.
“Oh, when she heads them, they’re usually at our place because we have a building that hosts events like weddings and galas that’s well away from the day-to-day operations.” He smiles. “Sometimes I forget you’re not a local and wouldn’t know this.”
I’ve spent enough summers in Kentucky that the state is my half-home. However, I’m not from the same Kentucky as him. “It’s fine. No worries.”
“Are you sure?” He runs the pad of his thumb along the corner of my frowning lips. His touch has me forgetting all about my worries, replacing them with a sudden urge to draw his finger into my mouth to see his reaction.
He withdraws slowly as if he’s thinking the same thoughts. When he rests his hand on his knee, I cover it with mine. He flips his wrist and entwines our fingers. The simple contact sends electricity racing up my arm, settling somewhere deep in my chest. My heartbeat stutters, then races to catch up, each pulse sending heat through my veins.
We fall into a silence that is charged yet peaceful. The quiet stretches, comfortable and electric, until the Bentley merges onto the freeway with a gentle surge of acceleration. I ask about his week, and the conversation flows effortlessly into talk of the upcoming derby events. When he invites me to watch the air show and fireworks with him the next weekend, I hold my breath for a few beats beforeaccepting. I tell myself my racing heart is anticipation for finally witnessing the famous spectacle and not because I’ll be spending an entire day with Sebastian. By the time the car is winding down the road to the distillery, my earlier worries have dissolved like morning mist, swept away by the wave of unexpected joy I’ve found in his presence.
We slide between the open iron gates that display Blackstone Bourbon in brass lettering with the silhouette of their bottle behind the script. We drive past dark red brick buildings, both small and large, their windows glowing amber in the fading light. Copper stills gleam through some windows, polished to a mirror shine. The surrounding hills roll into the distance, dotted with aging warehouses. The air itself seems different here—richer somehow, carrying the sweet, woody scent of bourbon that’s been soaking into the soil for generations. The property is stunning, a perfect blend of industrial utility and Southern grandeur, yet I can’t concentrate. All of my insecurities have returned to suffocate me.
I smooth my hands over my dress, trying to quell my nerves. “This isn’t my world. I don’t want to embarrass you tonight,” I admit. “I know these events are important for your business and your reputation.”
“You could never embarrass me, my Red Rose.” His voice wraps around the endearment like velvet, landing low in my stomach. I have to press my thighs together, shocked at how three simple words can affect me so viscerally. He cups my cheek like I am his delicate, perfect flower. “I need you to hear this. Are you listening?”
I nod, still internally swooning over the term of endearment.
“I know this might feel overwhelming, but when you agreed to come with me, I actually began to look forward to it. Our worlds don’t have to align perfectly. What matters is how we are together. And when we’re together, it's like I can finally breathe.”
I lean into his touch, savoring the warmth. “I feel it too. You make me forget about everything else—all the stress, all the pressure I’m under. When we’re together, I’m drawn to you in a way I can’t rationalize. It’s physical, but it’s more than that.” The confession feels like stepping onto thin ice and the absolute truth. “But there are things about my life right now, complications I haven’t told you about.” The words stick like honey laced with poison. Every smile, every touch, every connection with Sebastian makes Thorne’s leverage over me a noose that tightens.
“We all have complications,” he says softly. “But I love watching your face break into laughter, how you pull it from me when I least expect it.” He shifts in his seat, angling his body more fully toward mine, his eyes never leaving my face. “The way you lean forward, talking about storytelling, noticing things others miss. You listen as if each syllable holds weight. You remind me there’s more to life than balance sheets and bourbon.”
