Ross: 7 Brides for 7 Blackthornes (Book 3)

by Lynn Raye Harris

  “Why don’t you give me a tour of the town and show me where the barrelhouses are?”

  “I…” She swallowed. This was not what she’d expected to be doing right now. She was supposed to bring Ross up to the conference room where he could meet the distillers and office staff. But apparently that’s not what he wanted, so that’s not what they were doing. “Fine, if that’s what you want.”

  “I do.” He pointed at a massive gray building with the Blackthorne logo painted on the front. “Barrel house?”

  “Yes. We have ten of them now, since your father bought our operation. We had three originally.”

  “And you lost them in a fire, right?”

  “With about forty-two thousand barrels of whisky. Yes.” The barrelhouses had been too close together and the fire spread quickly. She’d long argued for moving the stock, separating it, but her brother had argued that they didn’t have the money to build new warehouses. The more they produced, however, the more worried she’d gotten. But since he’d gotten a dual degree in chemistry and business—and since he was a man—her father and uncle had listened to him instead of her.

  “Next season, Holly,” he’d said. “We’ll have the money then.”

  Next season never came because the fire destroyed nearly all their stock. And their finances along with it. The offer from Blackthorne Enterprises was the only thing that saved them. Except it didn’t save them completely. It consumed them and brought them under the Blackthorne label.

  Which is how she found herself in a rare sports car with a handsome playboy who did what he wanted and to hell with everyone else. Anger flared deep inside. “People are waiting for you in the conference room. They’ve literally stopped what they’re doing to welcome you to the distillery and you’re making them wait while you go on a sightseeing tour.”

  He glanced at her, dark eyes widening slightly. With anger or surprise? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. Uncle Evan told her to be nice to the Blackthorne and she was blowing it.

  But he deserved it. Inconsiderate jerk.

  “You could have said so before,” he told her, and guilt pricked to life inside her.

  He was right. She could have. “You surprised me.”

  It wasn’t much of an excuse, but it was the only one she had.

  “So we’ll head back. You can show me the barrel houses later.” He pulled into the parking lot and carefully made a U-turn before driving back to the distillery. He followed her directions for where to park, then shut the car off and gripped the wheel with long fingers. “I don’t think you like me,” he said into the silence.

  She started to deny it. But it was true, so why lie? Except now she felt even guiltier. Liking him wasn’t a requirement, but she didn’t have to be so obvious about it.

  “I don’t know you,” she said truthfully.

  “No, you don’t. But you don’t like me.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t really have to.”

  “I’m sorry if I’ve given you that impression, Mr. Blackthorne. It’s my job to welcome you, not make you uncomfortable.”

  “I’m not uncomfortable. Just surprised, I guess. Most people seem to like me well enough when we meet. But I think I may have made you uncomfortable.”

  Holly frowned. “Not at all.”

  “I shouldn’t have ignored your instructions. Forgive me.”

  She swallowed. She certainly hadn’t expected an apology. “We’re here now. It’s fine.”

  “I feel like there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

  Holly turned to him, surprised. He was studying her with those smoky brown eyes. She could understand why women melted. Not that she was in danger of it, but she got why. Even if she did, he wasn’t likely to notice. She wasn’t a Barbie doll with a perfect body that turned heads. She was just herself.

  “The only thing I haven’t told you is that we’ve met before. You don’t seem to remember it.”

  It was his turn to look surprised. “That’s because I don’t. When was it?”

  “When you toured the distillery three months ago. I was in the fermentation area, checking the mash. Uncle Evan took you through.”

  She saw the moment recognition dawned. “The girl in the overalls.”

  “That’s right.” She supposed it was something that he knew that much.

  His gaze slipped over her face, down to her mouth, back up to her eyes. She hated the way her insides twisted.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But you don’t look the same as you did that day. Your hair was covered. I’m sure I’d have recognized you today by the color alone had it not been.”

  “It’s okay. I’m sure you meet so many women that they all run together in your head,” she told him with a smile.

  His eyes widened. Then he laughed. It was a rich sound. A sound that crawled inside her and made her belly warm.

  “Maybe they do,” he finally said. “But I have a feeling I’m not about to forget meeting you this time, Holly Brooks.”

  Chapter Three

  ROSS FOLLOWED Holly into the stillhouse, watching her hips swing the entire way. She was pretty and prickly and he didn’t know why that attracted him—but it did. He remembered the girl testing the mash that day. She’d had pretty eyes, a smattering of light freckles on her face, but her hair had been hidden beneath a blue bandanna. He’d said he would have recognized her by her hair color today, but the truth was he should have recognized her by her eyes.

  He just hadn’t. Probably because he’d been here under protest that day as well. His father had been making noises about him joining the company, but Ross had been determined not to. He’d come to tour the facility in order to humor everyone, but he’d had no intention of staying. He’d promptly pushed the entire visit from his mind and focused on the season and winning races.

  Ross ground his teeth together as the rich smell of fermenting corn mash invaded his nostrils. It was a smell that reminded him of home, and of his childhood. It was also, for now, a smell that represented his prison.

  He forced that thought away. He couldn’t remember the first time he’d ever smelled the mash, but it brought memories crowding into his mind. Memories like running through the distillery until his dad yelled at him to stop. He’d been playing with his brothers and not paying attention. They’d all gotten in trouble, and they’d gotten a lecture. He remembered taking a girl inside once, trying to impress her when they’d been on a date. He also remembered his dad sweating in the fermentation room, beaming with pride over the process that made Blackthorne Gold, their most famous and expensive whisky. People paid a premium for Blackthorne Gold, and Ross was thankful they did.

  Gleaming copper tanks perched at regular intervals throughout the room Holly led him through. The wooden floors gleamed. The Blackthorne logo had been painted onto the oak floors as well. The entire place was spotless and beautiful.

  Holly Brooks strode through the room like she owned it and led him up a set of stairs. Then they entered a room with a window that looked out over the copper stills below.

  A group of men and women sat at the large conference table. Evan Brooks, the master distiller, rose when Ross walked in. “Hello, Mr. Blackthorne. Welcome to the distillery.”

  Ross shook his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Brooks. You can call me Ross. It’s good to see you again.”

  Evan Brooks nodded. “You too. And call me Evan. Most everyone here does anyway.” The man beamed at Holly, who was standing quietly by and looking sweetly accommodating. As if she hadn’t basically implied to Ross that he was shallow and she didn’t like him. “You’ve met my niece, Holly. She’s going to be your mentor for the next few weeks.”

  Holly didn’t bat an eyelash, but he was pretty sure her eyes hardened to diamond chips. Great. “Holly has been nothing but welcoming,” Ross said with a smile.

  Evan Brooks cleared his throat. Almost as if he’d been worried that Holly might not have been. “That’s terrific. Nobody knows th
is place like Holly. Not even me.” Evan gestured to the others standing around the table. “These people are the ones responsible for the day to day work of making the whisky. I thought you might like to meet everyone, and then perhaps another tour to refresh your mind.”

  “Sounds great.”

  It didn’t sound great, not really, but no way would Ross offend this man who was being so nice to him. All Ross wanted was to get back to the garage and work on his racecar with the team, but that wasn’t happening. He had to go through the motions here, like Devlin had said, and then he could go back to doing what he loved.

  Or so he hoped. He didn’t want to contemplate what would happen if his dad stayed stubborn about this. A vision of himself in an office, wearing a suit, made him shudder. But he kept the smile pasted on his face and shook hands with every person Evan introduced. After the introductions, Evan took Ross on another tour of the distillery. Holly followed along behind for a while and then she excused herself.

  By the time the tour was done, Ross’s head was swimming with details. He wanted nothing more than to walk out into the parking lot, get into his car, and speed away. Holly reappeared then, coming down the hallway toward them like a breath of fresh air. He focused on her, willing away the despair trying to choke him.

  Everyone at the distillery treated him like a rock star. Hell, everyone in general did. Here it was because he was a Blackthorne. Out there it was because he drove a racecar.

  But not her. Holly’s eyes snapped with dislike. Oddly enough, it grounded him. Everyone else acted like he was supposed to love working in the business, but Holly’s eyes said she knew. She knew he wasn’t cut out for it. That he was going to fail.

  He grinned at her and she hesitated for a second. But then she set that look of cool dislike back onto her face and lifted her chin. Her uncle was oblivious to the undercurrents as he greeted her. “Ah, Holly. Can you take Ross and show him some of what you do?”

  “Of course.”

  Evan glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a meeting with a customer this afternoon. I’ll see you both later.”

  Evan walked away and Ross found himself face to face with Holly. Or face to top of head, more like. She didn’t even come up to his chin. She tilted her head up and stared at him. “Having fun?”

  He thought about lying. But he decided he wasn’t going to. Not to her. She already saw through him, so why bother? “Not particularly.”

  Her lips thinned.

  “I appreciate what you do here,” he added. “But I’ve never wanted to work in the whisky business.”

  “Fair enough, I suppose.”

  “It’s not my thing.”

  She held up a hand. “Say no more. You prefer to burn money driving souped up stock cars and setting yourself on fire. I get it. We’re boring in comparison.”

  He felt a pinprick of annoyance. And admiration because, damn, nobody ever talked to him that way. “Everybody needs a hobby,” he said with a smile. Because he knew it would only make her madder.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Some of us have to work for a living, Mr. Blackthorne. We don’t have the luxury of expensive hobbies.”

  “I think you do have a hobby, Miss Brooks,” he said lightly. “And you excel at it.”

  “Oh really? What’s that?”

  He smiled. “Riding your high horse.”

  HOLLY HEARD Uncle Evan in her head, telling her this was her opportunity to impress the Blackthornes—and she was blowing it. Piss off Ross Blackthorne and she’d be lucky to even have a job when she was through, much less ever take over the distillery as master distiller.

  It was more than that, however. She’d lashed out at him about things that were none of her business. Spoken in anger just because he wasn’t interested in the whisky business and dared to say so. It didn’t matter if he was whisky royalty. He didn’t have to be interested in being a part of the business, and she had no right to get mad at him about it.

  Yeah, she’d lost her family business and missed it every day. But that wasn’t Ross Blackthorne’s problem or fault.

  Holly sucked in a breath. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Which part?”

  “Any of it. It’s none of my business what you do with your time or your money.”

  “No, it’s not,” he said. “But maybe you aren’t wrong about me.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He shrugged. “I respect the whisky, Holly. Without it, I wouldn’t have the opportunities I’ve had. But I’m not in love with it, not like you and your uncle and everyone here. Not like my dad. I’ve never wanted to make whisky. I’m a gear head at heart. I want to get my hands dirty tinkering with engines, not cleaning out fermentation tanks. One of those things excites me. The other bores me to tears.”

  It was an honest answer and she could respect it. Even if she was still determined not to like him. “But the choice isn’t yours right now, is it?”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s not. I crashed on the last lap of a televised race a week ago. It was pretty brutal to look at, I’ll admit that. Apparently it made my dad decide I need to give up racing and learn the whisky business.”

  “Neither of which you want to do.”

  “No, I don’t.” He spread his hands. “But I don’t have much of a choice in the matter. I’m here and you’re stuck with me—at least until my dad will listen to reason.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  Ross’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Then I guess you’ll be stuck with me for a lot longer than either of us wants.”

  Holly drew herself up. “Okay then. So you’re here now and I’m tasked with teaching you how to run this place. I’m not going to pretend to do it while you pretend to pay attention. Therefore, I’d appreciate it if you’d take this seriously for the time being. I have to do the job I’ve been asked to do.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said softly, his gaze intent on hers.

  Holly’s heart skipped. Her belly tightened. Why did he have to be so damned good looking? And why did he have to affect her when she knew he was nothing more than a serial womanizer? She thought back to the photos on the internet. Ross surrounded by gorgeous women. He sometimes dated one, but it didn’t last long. A handful of photos and then it was over. Models, actresses, debutantes. None of them lasted.

  Holly took a step backward, putting space between them. So she could think without a current of heat swirling around her. “See that you do. I’m a busy woman, Ross Blackthorne. I don’t have time for games.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Are you always so direct? Or is it just me who brings out the best in you?”

  Fresh heat flooded her. She hoped like hell she wasn’t blushing but she knew it was probably a futile hope with her coloring. “I try to be as direct as possible. I’ve found it saves a lot of time when people know where they stand.”

  “And I stand somewhere between a headache and a pain in the ass, right?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.” He cocked his head as he studied her. “Are you married, Holly?”

  Her belly flipped. “What does that have to do with learning how to run a distillery?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing at all. Just curious. If I have to spend time with you, I want to know if there’s a mister out there who might get pissed about it.”

  Holly stiffened. “No, I’m not married. Even if I was, it’s my damned job to train you—and you need to worry about me being pissed off, not some man. I’m in control of my own life, thanks.”

  “Okay, no husband. Boyfriend?”

  “Does it matter?” she asked, grinding her teeth together. “I’ve already told you I’m the one who makes decisions for me.”

  “That may be true, but I’ve found that boyfriends and husbands tend to get a little extra annoyed when I’m around.”

  “Extra annoyed. Like I am right now? It’s probably because you’re irritating.”

  He laughed. “Hey, I’m jus
t reporting the facts. I prefer not to have some guy come at me because you’re mad and you complain about me when you get home.”

  “Oh for goodness sake. Look, even if I did complain about you when I got home, any man who took that as a sign I needed him to come after you would not be a man I’d be with. I can take care of my own problems, thank you. Now are you ready to get started or do you want to stand here and irritate me some more?”

  He shook his head, laughing softly. “Fine, let’s get started. But know this, Holly Brooks—I’m going to make you like me before this is over. Guaranteed.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t dislike you. I’m just not as impressed with you as you’d like me to be.”

  “What does that mean exactly?”

  “It means I don’t care if you’re a racecar driver, or rich, or the rightful owner of this distillery. You’re just another guy—and I’m not treating you like you’re special. You have enough people like that in your life, I’m sure.”

  “I think I figured that out about you by now,” he said, grinning.

  She hated when he grinned. He was far too appealing then. “If you’re done chatting, let’s get to work.”

  “One condition.”

  “Do you really think you’re in a position to set conditions?”

  “Yeah, I do,” he told her somewhat arrogantly.

  Holly managed not to roll her eyes a second time. Barely. She folded her arms over her chest. “Okay, shoot.”

  “If I have to learn about running a distillery, I want you to come to my garage and see the cars. Learn something about them.”

  She stared at him. “Did I mention I was busy?”

  “You mentioned it. But it won’t take as much time as teaching me about the distillery will. Just come once.”

  She didn’t know why he cared so much but apparently he did. And even though she didn’t much like him, in spite of what she’d said about it earlier, if a couple of hours in a garage made him easier to work with, then why not? The more he paid attention, the faster she could go. Then she could be rid of him while he sat in his office and did whatever it was executive vice presidents did.