Page 32 of Curvy Alpha Bride
“Aged brandy. Ivan makes it.”
“I’ve never been a fan of brandy.”
“Me either, but I’m prepared to give it a go.”
He twists off the top and takes a sip, then hands the bottle to me. I expect it to be bitter and completely burn my mouth, but after the initial rush of heat on my tongue, it leaves a lingering, sweet taste that makes me crave another sip.
“Okay,” I admit. “That’s good stuff.”
“I think it’s made from cherries,” Xavier says. “But I’m not sure.”
He takes another long sip, and I reach out for the bottle, giggling. “Don’t guzzle it all, you pig!”
“Oink-oink,” he grunts. “Sorry, pigs don’t speak English.”
“Fine!” I laugh, sticking my fingers into his ribs. “I’ll just have to manhandle you!”
“Oh no,” he begs, putting the bottle down before he fully succumbs to my tickling. “Not the claws, anything but the claws!”
Xavier writhes under my hands, laughing so hard he quickly loses his breath. I feel lightheaded from the brandy, relaxed and bold—better than I have in months. It takes a few minutes for me to realize I’ve stopped tickling him and am just running my hands across his soft sweater, feeling his hard body underneath it, and imagining his skin under my fingers.
I jump back a little, feeling a flash of shock ripple through me. My reaction isn’t a big one, but I do put a bit of space between us. When I look up at Xavier’s face, his big, blue eyes are like wide-open pools, still as empty ponds just waiting for me to dive in and drown.
Please don’t look at me like that.
I lean over and grab the bottle, making a little crow of triumph.
“Ah-ha! Got it. You’re too easy to distract.”
“By you, yes. Anyone else, not so much.”
“Don’t even,” I mutter, shoving him. “You resisted me for years.”
“Excuse me? I was practically jumping up and down like a cheerleader soaked in Red Bull, and you just yawned every time I walked past.”
Little alarm bells start to go off deep inside me, as if warning me I should change the course of this conversation—and fast. But the combination of brandy, warmth, and a cessation of the stress I’ve felt since I entered this town has dulled my good sense.
“Here,” I say, handing him the bottle. “I’ll be generous and let you have a little more.”
“Very kind of you,” he retorts, taking a sip. “I get the feeling this stuff is in short supply. I imagine it’s not easy to make.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have drunk the whole bottle, then,” I giggle.
“Yeah,” Xavier says, draining the last gulp. “To be fair, though, it is a small bottle.”
I pick up my hot chocolate and take a sip, the rich taste mixing beautifully with the leftover cherry brandy on my tongue. “I’ll say one thing for this place—their food is spectacular.”
“So is the craftsmanship,” Xavier says. “Houses, furniture, clothes—all homemade, unique and sturdy.”
“And yet, every single person seems to be their own special brand of crazy,” I mutter.
Xavier gives me a look. “You noticed that, huh?”
“How could I not? From the young girls almost my age that act like they have head trauma to the scary, secretive elders—and the lack of children—this place is built for giving the creeps.”
“I know what you mean,” Xavier says, looking out the window thoughtfully.
There’s nothing out there but complete, impenetrable darkness. Without even a sliver of moon for illumination, the stars fail to describe any details, and the impossibility of that dense blackness seems to capture Xavier’s soul.
