The way she asked made him assume there was a correct answer, and his competitive streak wanted to get it right. “Mostly, yes. On the rocks.”
“Hmm. Okay. Do you ever drink gin neat, or always with a mixer?”
He’d obviously failed the first one. “A splash of mixer, unless I’m considering doing business with the producer. Then I’ll try samples without.”
Emerson bit her lip. “Okay.” The words were drawn out slowly…every syllable sounded out.
He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing each of her fingertips. “You going to tell me where I’m going wrong?”
She studied where his lips touched her skin. He put the tip of her finger into his mouth and sucked on it, watching her bite her lip.
“Emerson?”
“Urgh, you’re distracting me. Focus, Finch.” She whipped her hand out of his and turned to select a gin. He could see her thought process as she worked, her fingers tapping, reaching for, and then discarding bottle after bottle before she settled on one.
“This is a classic London Dry Gin, which, as you probably already know, is a type of gin which originated in London but can be made anywhere. It’s all about the juniper berries. This glass,” she said, holding up the wide-bowled wine glass, “is a Copa de Balon-style glass from Spain.” She ran her fingers down the stem gently, and he could only imagine her caressing his dick in the same way. “It gives the gin room to simply be.”
He placed his fingers over hers and raised an eyebrow to let her know he knew she was teasing him. When she bit her lip in response, he almost tugged her over the bar so he could enjoy the taste of her again.
Emerson poured a splash of gin in each wine glass and offered a glass to him. “Swirl it gently and then put your nose to the glass. Sniff it, but don’t inhale aggressively. It’s easy to lose the differentiation of the scents with gin, so you need to breathe easy.”
Connor followed her lead. He’d been to tastings before, but not any conducted in the altogether sultry manner that Emerson was carrying out this one.
She closed her eyes and inhaled gently, letting out a small moan of appreciation. Then her eyes snapped forward. “Go ahead,” she instructed, and Connor was suddenly aware that Emerson had mesmerized him into inaction.
He did as he’d been instructed, inhaling gently. The fresh piney, almost sappy scent of juniper hit him first. But with the slower, shorter inhale, he could pick out something else. “What’s the earthier scent?”
“Angelica. Juniper and angelica can often be difficult to separate, but we have a secret way of distilling them that allows both flavors to come through. Now the fun part. Take a sip, and before you swallow, let it roll right around your mouth. Over your tongue. Under it. Coat the inside of your mouth with it.”
Fuck. The words from her mouth, from those full lips. Swallowing. Tongues. Coating their mouths. She looked at him from beneath long eyelashes. Prolonged foreplay had never felt so damn satisfying.
Connor took a sip and let the bite of ethanol and burst of flavors swish around his mouth, watching as Emerson did the same.
Lemons, maybe…dear god, the way her lips pursed and cheeks moved…no, maybe orange, definitely citrus…and the moan she made when she swallowed.
He swallowed, too. The gin was great, the foreplay better.
Connor wished the bar wasn’t between them. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he settled for leaning across the bar, sliding his hands into her hair, and pulling him to her. When they kissed, he could taste the gin on her lips. Her tongue met his as boldly as the gin had done, bursting with life and flavor.
Her hand went around his neck, tugging him toward her, and he had half a mind to take her on the bar. Only the recollection that they were in her workplace stopped him from acting upon it.
When they finally broke for air, Emerson grinned. “When I said let it roll over the tongue, I meant yours, not mine.”
“It tasted better on yours,” he said. “I needed a second opinion on the citrus.”
Emerson laughed, a sound he’d already come to adore. “You could have just asked. Citrus aurantium, bitter orange peel.”
“And where would the fun be in that?” He reached for her hand again, seemingly unable to stop touching her. “I look forward to doing that again many more times this evening.”
They were silent for a moment, eyes fixed on each other.
“I’d like that, too,” she said at last. “Ready for another?” she said, tilting her head in the direction of the bottles of gin behind the bar.
Connor nodded discretely and adjusted himself below the bar. The woman was effervescent as tonic and as deep as gin. And there was no place he would rather be—no matter how much it would anger his father—than right here with Emerson.
“I’d love one.”
Chapter Five
Three days after her wonderful evening at the distillery with Connor, Emerson unbuttoned her overcoat, ran her palms along the flare of her dress, and stood straight.
It was fine. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She wasn’t committing to anything by investigating loan options. Her father had hated the idea of a loan so badly, it felt as though she were going behind his back somehow. And there was the nagging concern that Olivia or Jake may feel the same way. But she needed to know what their options were before she presented the idea to them. After learning more details on repayment costs, she might be able to persuade them.
She’d resisted the urge to run her presentation by Connor. Lying in bed that morning, she’d concluded that in the absence of her father, she simply wanted someone credible, someone with industry experience, to tell her that it was a solid proposal she planned to share with the bank. She had to consider why she felt she needed someone’s approval other than her own, and
