Lush (The King Cousins Book 1) (The King Brothers 4)

by K. D. Elizabeth

  I’m suspicious.

  Nathan grins wickedly. “What’s this? Raving about me, Miss Shaw? That’s quite a compliment.”

  “Your bourbon. Not you,” I snap.

  Northwood glances between us. “Am I missing something here?”

  The very last thing I need right now is Northwood getting suspicious about the relationship between Nathan and me. “No,” I say quickly. “I just have a headache. I apologize for the shortness, Mr. King.”

  When he doesn’t immediately reply, I glance at him beseechingly. He should know better than to feed into Northwood’s skepticism.

  After a long moment, he shrugs. “No apology necessary, Miss Shaw. I hope you feel better. Would you like me to get you some coffee? I can make some at the bar.”

  “Perhaps in a little bit,” I mumble, not wanting to be caught in a lie. I don’t yet have a headache, but if this meeting lasts much longer, it’s practically a certainty.

  “Well, you be sure to let me know if you need anything at all,” he says.

  I glare at him stealthily. He totally means sex. Any idiot could tell from the suggestive look in his eyes. It’s already hard enough to remain professional. Can’t he help a girl out?

  Tone it down, I mouth at him. His mouth twitches in a barely-restrained smile, but thankfully, he doesn’t add more innuendo.

  “Would either of you care for a glass?” he asks the suits, but they shake their heads. Not surprising. Northwood only brings them when he wants to be extra careful about a deal. They’re paid to keep clear heads.

  “So tell us how you managed to create such a crisp taste,” I ask. “I can’t imagine you would have had access to much in the way of professional-grade equipment, right? Contamination must’ve been a concern.”

  “Actually, no,” he says. “Most of what I’ve created has been distilled at a local distillery. I know the guy who owns it, and he lets me experiment whenever he has a little downtime. I’ve been making a small quantity per month or so for a couple years now. I end up consuming it pretty fast myself, but that afforded me the opportunity to create some interesting experiments while I tried to get the taste right. And of course, everything is sterilized so there are no concerns about contamination.”

  “Jude, did you ever tell me he had access to such a setup?” Northwood says. Only someone having worked for him for years would identify the annoyance in his tone, he’s so collected. “I don’t recall you ever mentioning that.”

  I drop my gaze to the table. Why is he acting like this is a bad thing? If anything, it means Nathan can scale faster.

  Sensing I’m not about to respond, Northwood adds, “Small-time distillers like yourself, Nate, usually experiment in their basement for a long time before they ever get close to a meeting with us. Frankly, we usually never set up a meeting this soon, but Jude just wouldn’t let it go when you sent in that case a month ago. But this is interesting, very interesting. That means you’ll be ready for distribution much faster than we’d anticipated.”

  Nathan’s eyes narrow. Frankly, I don’t blame him. Shouldn’t Northwood be excited about this?

  “I was hoping you could go into more detail about your process,” I say before the meeting goes completely off the rails. “Can you tell us about your mashbill? It’s spicier than I’ve seen with other bourbons.”

  Nathan nods. “Yeah. Happy to. I know many places consider it a state secret, but I don’t mind telling you that it’s currently around seventy-five percent corn, fifteen percent rye, and the remainder barley. That might change, but for now, I don’t expect it will.”

  “That’s a high percentage of rye,” I say.

  “It’s because of the peaches,” says Nathan. “I upped the amount of rye to increase the spiciness. It contrasts well with the sweetness from the fruit.”

  “Is that really peach that I’m tasting?” Northwood says, peering at his glass.

  Obviously. I’ve told him that before. Multiple times.

  “I see that mouth of yours is as talented as Charles described. Those peaches come from my own family’s farm.”

  “Remarkable. Normally I’d say you’re insane, but … it does have a distinctive flavor,” says Northwood.

  Nathan shrugs again. He’s a real shrugger, that man. This time, though, I feel like the shrug really means more than casual agreement. “I had to do something to set me apart from everyone else. Why else would they buy my label? But I’ve been swigging bourbon alongside my family’s peaches for nearly all of my life, and I can tell you, the combination works.”

  “That it does. Truly remarkable. I never would have thought of it, just throwing an old peach in there.”

  “Well, it’s a bit more involved than that. I don’t use any old peach. They need to be overripe, so their sugar content is higher. It increases the alcohol content during fermentation, too.”

  “Yes, I imagine it would,” Northwood muses. “Well, Nate, I have to admit I like what you’re doing. The more I get of Old Abe’s, the more I enjoy it.”

  “Then it seems like we could help each other out, sir.”

  “Oh, now, Nathan, I can’t go jumping into any old partnership with the first person who walks in off the street. Even if my Jude loves your sauce.”

  Nathan coughs as his sip goes down the wrong pipe. He glances from me to my boss, but I’ve got nothing. I’m too busy staring at Northwood in embarrassed fury. That was highly inappropriate. And Northwood is not one for being inappropriate during an important business meeting.

  He knows. Or at least, he suspects, and is testing Nathan’s reaction.

  “Uh,” Nathan mumbles. He looks at me again. I shrug, more than a little helplessly.

  Northwood suddenly laughs. “Well, now, that was a joke, my boy.”

  “Oh.” Nathan frowns, irritated. Is he angry on my behalf? Interesting. He needn’t worry; I’ll rip Northwood a new one for that little remark later.

  Charles rubs his hands together gleefully like he’s just thought of something brilliant. Foreboding floods me. “Tell you what. I can’t quite say that I’m ready to sign any particular agreement, but I do believe there’s something special here. So how about this. You agree to letting us look behind the curtain, so to speak, and if we feel you have what it takes, we might see if we can come to an arrangement.”

  “What exactly are you proposing?” Nathan says slowly.

  This is so not okay. “Charles—”

  “Now, Jude, I don’t want to hear it. You know as well as I do that this is an excellent idea.”

  “No. I really disagree—”

  “Sorry, am I missing something here?” Nathan asks.

  “No, you’re not missing a single thing,” I say, glaring at Northwood.

  “Jude, just give it a rest. You know there’s no one I could trust more.”

  “Okay, I’m definitely missing something,” says Nathan.

  Northwood slams his empty glass down on the table and fixes me with a cold smile. My dangled promotion flashes through my mind.

  And I thought this deal would be simple.

  “What I mean, Nathan, is that Miss Shaw is going to spend the next month here in little old Ovid. During that time, you’re going to show her every aspect of your business. If at the end of that time, I think you have a solid plan, then you and I will strike a deal.”

  Chapter Ten

  Nathan

  “You know, Mr. King, I think I’ll take you up on that cup of coffee, after all. You said you could make it out at the bar?” Jude suddenly says.

  My eyes snap to hers in the sudden loaded silence. “What? Oh, yeah.”

  Jude gets to her feet. “Perfect. Why don’t you show me where that is, and then you can get back to ironing out any details with Charles while I make myself a cup.”

  “If you like. Come with me.”

  She follows right on my heels as I lead her out of the back room. The instant we enter the bar, I spin around say, “and I meant that literally, by the way.”

/>   “What?” Jude says, momentarily distracted from the tirade she’s clearly winding up to give me.

  I lean closer, getting all up in her iciness just to see if my own desire will thaw her out enough for me to have a little taste.

  Jude Shaw staying here for a month? Yes, please.

  “When I said come with me, sweetheart, I meant that literally.”

  Jude rolls her eyes. “If you think I’ll ever sleep with you again, you are officially out of your mind. You know we can’t do that.”

  I just smirk. “True, but a lot can happen in a month, Miss Shaw. We’re bound to slip up. Just once or twice. We’ll need to be constantly vigilant. A lot is at stake. And we already know how much you like my cock inside you. You even moaned it in my ear while you came. This might be a losing endeavor entirely. Perhaps we should just throw in the towel right now and hop into bed straight away. For our own mental well-being, naturally. Don’t try to pretend you don’t want me as much as I want you.”

  “The only thing I want is for you to shut up,” she snaps, but heat still leaps to her eyes. “Now, I need you to do something useful for once in your life—”

  “It’s my understanding that I’ve already been very, very useful to you, Miss Shaw.”

  “—and listen to me real carefully. I don’t care what you have to do, I don’t care what you say, but you need to walk in there and convince Charles that I can’t stay here for a month.”

  “Yeah, no.”

  Jude continues like she hasn’t heard me. “Tell him it isn’t a good time. Tell him the bar will be too busy to show me around. Tell him you’ve just been drafted into the Martian Army and will be leaving Earth on Friday. I don’t care; just convince him that when his jet takes off in a few hours, I need to be on it.”

  “Well, damn. I’m fresh out of Martian spacesuits, so regrettably, I’m going to be earthbound for the foreseeable future. Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

  “Nate!”

  We both freeze. That’s the first time she’s ever called me by my nickname. Hell, that’s the first time she’s even called me by my first name at all. I like it. I like it a hell of a lot, actually. Almost as much as I’d enjoy her lips around my cock, but beggars can’t be choosers.

  “I don’t see what the big deal is,” I say. “This is the only way I’ll get this partnership. You do realize that would mean achieving everything I want, don’t you? Why the hell would I tell him no?”

  “I’m well aware of what this partnership means to you.”

  “Then you understand why I have to take him up on his offer. Besides,” I lean closer, slowly trailing a finger up her arm until she swats it away, “maybe I like the idea of spending a month with you.”

  “Yeah? Well, I don’t,” she snaps, but her voice goes all breathy. “So sorry to disappoint, but I have far better things to do than help you act out your adolescent fantasies.”

  I back her into the bar, trailing my nose up the column of her neck before whispering right in her ear, “Oh, I took care of all my fantasies long ago, sweetheart. Now I just fulfill them for women.”

  Jude actually shoves me away. “God, you’re impossible.”

  “No, I’m not. I am delightfully amusing and terribly witty. That’s why you like me.”

  She remains silent, refusing to meet my gaze. My eyes widen in sudden understanding.

  “You do! You do like me. Despite how much you wish you didn’t. And it just annoys the hell out of you. Admit it.”

  “No,” she says quickly, still refusing to look at me. “I don’t like you. I just like your body and how you used it to fuck me. But the physical attraction has absolutely nothing to do with any actual respect I might have for you as a person.”

  My hand flies over my chest. “You wound me. And just when I thought you no longer regretted our night together.”

  Her head snaps up. “We didn’t spend the night together. It wasn’t even half an hour. Don’t go making it more than it was.”

  I trail a wicked gaze down her body. “Now that is a very excellent point, Miss Shaw. We haven’t spent a night together. How about you stay with me this month, and tonight we can get a jump on righting this terrible wrong?”

  “Hard pass. I’d rather wash my mouth out with bleach. In any case, I’ll be 35,000 feet in the air at that time, so it’ll be a little hard for you to do any lasting damage.”

  “You know, it sucks to witness a woman in denial. Blows real hard.”

  “Listen, you,” she says, fisting her hands in my shirt and jerking me closer, “I’m telling you that I don’t want to be stuck here with you for four weeks. I’d much rather never see you again in my life. But unfortunately, I can’t make demands of my boss. Northwood expects his employees to follow his orders, which is why you need to be the one to object.”

  I lean toward her. We’re so close our bodies touch. I stare right into her eyes, our mouths inches apart, and whisper, “Liar.”

  “W-what?”

  My arms slide around her, bringing her flush against my hard length. Jude moans softly, her fingers loosening their grasp on my shirt.

  “You’re a little liar, Miss Shaw. Everything about you, from your heaving chest, to your wild eyes, to the way your body clings to mine, screams that you want another go with me. And you just can’t stand how much that’s true.”

  “Oh yeah? Maybe I’m just afraid of contracting something disgusting. Oh, wait. Too late.”

  “The only thing you have any risk of contracting is my tongue down your throat.”

  Her gaze lands on my mouth. Dear God, that mouth. Lust zaps through me. I want her so badly I’m actually considering giving up everything I’ve dreamed of for just one taste. Pure lunacy.

  I whisper, “When you say no more fucking, that doesn’t mean kissing is off-limits, does it? Because that would be a terrible shame.”

  Jude shoves me away, shaking her head fiercely to clear it. I back away, my own dazed expression surely matching hers. “You stop that,” she says. “I consider myself a nonviolent person and it would be a terrible shame if that had to change.”

  I laugh. “Well, we certainly can’t have that. I’d much rather prefer to corrupt you in some other fashion. Now, if you’re done trying to convince me to make Northwood bring you back with him—which I’m definitely not going to do—can we head back to the meeting? He’s going to start wondering what’s taking us so long.”

  Jude opens her mouth to reply but pauses when the front door suddenly flies open, and Noah strides into the bar.

  “I’d forgotten about him,” Jude muses.

  I make a shooing motion. “Hey, man. It’s nice to see my twin and all, but if you’re here to tell me about the party at Axel’s over the weekend, I can’t talk. I’m in the middle of an important meeting that I really do need to return to. Come back later.”

  “Nathan, why haven’t you been answering your phone? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all weekend.”

  “Whoa, take it easy,” I say as I finally get a good look at him. Noah’s face is haggard, a few days’ growth of beard lines his jaw, and even his clothing is decidedly unkempt—a first.

  I reluctantly pour him a glass of Old Abe’s since the man clearly needs a drink. Even though Northwood’s waiting, I can’t just throw my own brother out when he’s so upset. “The party couldn’t have been that bad. You were just supposed to accompany Andrea to the party and make Axel jealous. I never thought you’d puss out. I knew I should’ve been the one to fake-date her. We both know I would have sealed the deal.”

  Noah mutters something under his breath and downs the double shot of bourbon in one go. Oh, shit. Noah doesn’t throw back shots—certainly not a double. He’s not really much of a drinker at all, really. He’s more of a reluctant sipper than anything else.

  I fold my arms over my chest. “What’s wrong?”

  Noah slams his glass down on the bar, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then braces himself against the bar as
he looks me straight in the eye and says, “Alice Danforth died on Saturday.”

  “W-what … that’s not … you must … she can’t be dead!”

  I slump onto a bar stool, running my fingers through my hair and resisting the urge to tear it out. Alice Danforth was our grandmother’s friend and our babysitter after our mother died when we were young. After her death, our father became inconsolable and practically neglected us. By that point, our own grandparents had already died. We were older then, most of us in high school, but Alice still watched us while Dad worked. In many ways, she raised us. Just the idea that she’s dead is so incomprehensible that my brain simply refuses to believe it.

  She just can’t be.

  “Who’s Alice?”

  Tears spring to my eyes. Wiping at them viciously, I grab Noah’s empty glass and refill it to the brim. I throw the shot back, then deposit the glass onto the bar and stare at it like it might tell me how the fuck this could’ve happened.

  “How did she die?” I ask quietly, shoulders slumped.

  Noah sits on the stool next to me. “Massive stroke. She … it’s my understanding that she went peacefully.”

  “That’s good,” I manage, my voice strangled.

  Noah sighs, rubbing his temple like he has another one of his migraines. “It’s a real shit show. Nate, man. Griffin’s in a bad place. A real bad place.”

  “Oh, God.” I didn’t even think of that. Griffin treats everyone in this town. He’s our only doctor now, but he was Ovid’s junior doctor for a while before taking over the practice himself. So Alice has been Griffin’s patient for years. Griffin loves—loved—Alice as much as the rest of us. And he takes responsibility for everything. I have every confidence in the world that he’s blaming himself for her death.

  “Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?”

  I just look at her. Jude flinches and turns away.

  “Are those my lying eyes, or are there two of you, King?”