Page 86 of The Bourbon Bet
I really,reallylike it when the cool and collected Sebastian Blackstone is turned on. Witnessing his reserve slipping is a tantalizingtreat.
Leading me down the stairs, he says, “I need to swing by my office to grab my jacket and a few files. It’s a short walk from this building. Would you like to come with me or head to the car?”
“I’ll go with you.” Heat tingles through me, settling between my legs. I hope the office has a door and a lock.
As we navigate the distillery, we’re interrupted by several people who need him. He greets each employee by name, and I’m struck by the loyalty and respect he inspires. Even now, as he jokes with one of them, I can see the easy camaraderie between them.
Near the exit, a young worker approaches with what sounds like a production issue. Sebastian listens intently, asking clarifying questions rather than dismissing the concern.
“The temperature rose two degrees in the new experimental batch?” His brow furrows. “Good catch, Elijah. That could have affected the entire fermentation process. Let’s adjust the climate controls and document the variation. This is exactly why we monitor so closely.”
The relief on his employee’s face is immediate. Instead of panic at bringing bad news, there’s pride in having his observation valued.
Further down the walkway, Sebastian pauses to check a clipboard of numbers, then calls over to a woman monitoring a mash tub. “Maria, these yields are exceptional. Whatever adjustments you made to the process are working beautifully.”
The woman beams. “I just implemented those efficiency improvements you suggested last month, Mr. Blackstone. The team thought you were crazy at first, investing in that new cooling system when the old one worked fine, but you were right, the better temperature control means less waste.”
“And better conditions for the team,” he adds. “The reduced humidity makes for a more comfortable work environment, doesn’t it?”
Maria nods enthusiastically. “Night and day difference. Productivity’s up across all shifts.”
I can’t help but think about Thorne’s assertion about Sebastian’s “dangerous leadership” and “visionary ideas that will destroy everything.” AllI see is careful planning, prudent improvements that benefit both production and workers. These don’t seem like the actions of someone running a family business into the ground.
Reaching the exit, Sebastian opens the door for me. The sun is beginning to set, casting a golden glow across the rolling hills and lush green grass. A gentle breeze rustles through a nearby cherry blossom tree, tickling my senses with a light and delicate floral aroma.
He tucks me into his side during the short walk, using a keycard to enter the administrative building. Inside is eerily quiet. My heels click on the gray wood flooring, echoing around us.
We pass an empty front receptionist desk. “Where is everyone?” I ask.
“The office staff usually goes home between five and six. When demand is high, those in the distillery have to work longer hours, but not usually office staff,” Sebastian explains, turning us down another hallway, then opening a door.
He flicks a switch that illuminates the desk lamp crafted from a Blackstone Bourbon bottle. I had anticipated opulence, velvet curtains, and a large, intricately designed oak desk. Instead, there is a humble, yet well-made, black workspace positioned in front of a window that nearly spans the entire wall. On the opposite side, a bookshelf is mostly filled with bourbons; some appear to be antique. Drawers line the lower shelves, with one slightly ajar, revealing overstuffed files.
The sitting area is also simple, featuring overstuffed leather couches, sleek leather accent chairs, and a round, black granite table. The sole touch of opulence is an antique grandfather clock in the corner.
“Give me two minutes,” he says, walking to a built-in cabinet.
The antique bottles lining the shelves near Sebastian catch my attention, amber liquid glinting in the soft light. The sight sends a pang of guilt and longing through my chest, a bittersweet reminder of the deal made with Thorne. Even if finding a way out is possible, I’ve still deceived Sebastian.
With a shake of my head, I push aside thoughts of that and the impossible choices looming on the horizon. The quiet of his office wraps around us like a cocoon. His capable hands move across a stack of papers, and I remember howthey teased my skin. The lamplight catches the strong line of his shoulders, and desire uncurls in my belly. My fingers find the side zipper of my dress, my pulse quickening at what I’m about to do.
With trembling hands, I slowly unzip myself, letting the rich material pool at my feet. It’s too pretty to leave on the floor, so I drape it carefully over the chair. The cool air of the office whispers against my skin, and I shiver, fighting the urge to cover myself.
I straighten my shoulders and face him, my red heels clicking on the wood floor. The sound draws his attention. He freezes and his gaze locks onto mine.
“Ready to cash in on that raincheck?” I ask.
His expression shifts from surprise to pure, unadulterated hunger. Heat floods my chest and spreads like watercolor on wet paper, bleeding into every extremity. “Yes,” he rasps.
“Do you like the bra and panties you got me as much as the dress?” I twirl in my sky-high red heels, the crimson lace of my lingerie catching the lamplight. The delicate fabric hugs me like the melody of a perfect song, all sheer panels and intricate floral patterns that leave little to the imagination.
His eyes darken. “More. Especially with those shoes.” His voice is rough as gravel. “Please, keep on the heels.” And then he’s crossing the room, his mouth crashing down on mine. I surrender to the wildfire that roars through my veins.
I kiss him back with equal force, my impatient fingers fumbling with the buttons on his vest. I need to feel his skin, need to touch him, and each button seems to take forever. He walks me backward as I work at his shirt, and when I finally slide the last button free and press my palms against the warm, firm expanse of his chest, the back of my thighs meet his desk.
He rocks against me, and pleasure shoots straight through my core.
“Please,” I breathe against his mouth.
