Ross: 7 Brides for 7 Blackthornes (Book 3)

by Lynn Raye Harris

  “Thanks,” Ross replied.

  “You smoked us back there. That was awesome. Can you do it again? Love the way that engine sounds.”

  “It’s good and growly, right?” Ross asked. “Can’t do it again though. Scares my lady too much.”

  “Aw, man. Okay. Seriously cool though.”

  After Ross powered the window up again, he turned to her. “Before you get mad at me for calling you my lady, it was the simplest way to tell them I wasn’t stomping it again.”

  Holly’s heart was busy pitter-pattering in her chest. Not only from the speed but yes, from the fact he’d called her his lady—and she’d liked the way it sounded. Which was seriously worrisome because she knew better. Ross Blackthorne wasn’t going to settle for one woman when his money and good looks got him as many as he wanted—and even if he was, it wouldn’t be her. It’d be some gorgeous actress or model, not a woman who smelled like fermenting corn mash half the time.

  “It’s okay. I get it. But, Ross, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why are you so nice to everyone? I mean I understand letting the kids sit in your car. But those men weren’t kids and you don’t owe them a thing. You could have ignored them entirely.”

  “You think I shouldn’t be nice?”

  “That’s not what I mean. I just mean that whenever people want a piece of your time, you seem to give it to them with no reservations.”

  He looked serious. “I’ve had a lot of advantages in this life. Things I didn’t work for or earn. Of course I’ve worked hard to be a race driver, and I’ve worked hard to build my team and grow it into something worthy of winning the Cup.” He made the turn that would eventually take them to Ted’s and then the distillery. “But I was born into wealth and privilege, and those guys weren’t. If gunning this engine makes them happy, then it doesn’t cost me anything to do it. If talking to me about the truck makes them happy, again, doesn’t cost me anything but a little bit of time. I can afford that.”

  His phone rang before she could say anything. Probably a good thing because she didn’t know what to say.

  She stared at the rolling bluegrass fields dotted with sleek, shiny horses. She hadn’t wanted to like this man. Not at all.

  But she did. And it was vital she didn’t let him know it.

  FOR THE SECOND time in twenty-four hours, Ross found himself eating a meal with Holly. He didn’t know why he’d called her up so early and told her he wanted to go to breakfast, but the truth was that he’d spent half the night thinking about her long red hair, her freckles, and her blue-gray eyes that snapped fire at him no matter how hard he tried to flirt with her.

  Holly Brooks was an anomaly in his world. And he was like one of those monkeys in an experiment where he just kept pressing the button, never knowing whether he’d get a shock or a treat. She was addicting in a way—and she didn’t even know it.

  Right now, she was busy delicately cutting a piece off her ham and cheese omelet. She lifted the chunk to her mouth and blew on it. He focused on those pink lips, the way they puckered, and felt the ache all the way into his groin.

  “Good?” he asked as she slipped the food into her mouth.

  She blinked at him like she’d forgotten he was there. “Yes, of course. How about yours?”

  He’d ordered a big stack of pancakes with bacon and scrambled eggs. He could hear his mother in his head, warning him about cholesterol, but he wasn’t too worried about it. He usually ate pretty well, mostly because he had a chef who cooked for him, but when left to his own devices on the road or during dinner meetings with Martin Temple, he liked to eat the fattiest, worst food in the world for his arteries.

  And this artery-clogging food was delicious.

  “It’s every bit as good as you said.”

  She smiled, and his groin tightened again. Seriously? Cozying up to a hornet nest would probably be easier. And yet he couldn’t help his reaction. Holly Brooks was doing it for him. Big time.

  “It is good. But I can’t keep eating like this or I’m going to gain twenty pounds.”

  “You’d still be pretty if you did.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. Then she frowned. Ah, there was the Holly he knew. Hornet nest was putting it mildly.

  “Don’t you dare flatter me, Ross Blackthorne. I’m not some skinny model you’re seeing. You don’t have to stroke my ego.”

  He’d like to stroke something else. He didn’t say it though. “You know what, Holly B, I’m not flattering you. I don’t have to flatter you—and I like that. You say what you mean and you don’t care what I think. So I’m saying it back. You’re pretty and you’d still be pretty even if you gained twenty pounds.”

  She gaped at him. He could see the moment the blush happened. It spread from her slender throat like a flower in bloom, opening up over her cheeks and unfurling across her nose. Her gaze dropped. She looked flustered.

  Interesting. And good for him.

  “Well,” she said, spearing more of her omelet as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Thank you. But then I’d have to buy new clothes, so I’m going to have to go back to watching what I eat.”

  “Maybe we can eat here once a week. Breakfast meetings.” He grinned as he forked up a bite of fluffy pancakes.

  “Breakfast meetings? About what?”

  “Business—barrels. Invoices. Corn. I don’t know. Whatever we need to talk about.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Speaking of corn, what are the chances of us getting some of that sugar gold from Maine?”

  He felt everything inside him cool. He was flirting with her. Hard core flirting with her—and she was thinking about whisky. Of course.

  “I don’t know. I’d have to call Dad. Or maybe Trey. Though Dad still makes all the decisions, much to Trey’s frustration.”

  “Trey?”

  “My brother. He’s the oldest. Graham Wallace Blackthorne III, also known as Trey. He’s the one who’ll take over the business someday. If Dad lets go, that is.” He took a bite of bacon. “I wouldn’t get too hopeful, though. Sugar gold is what we use to make our premier whisky, and they probably won’t want to let any go. Blackthorne Gold is exclusive for a reason.”

  Holly made a disappointed face. “I just wanted to experiment a little. Not make Gold. I know we aren’t meant to do that. Yet.”

  “Or ever,” Ross said. “I don’t know the plans for Blackthorne Kentucky, not in their entirety, but I doubt my father or brother will ever turn over the production of our finest whisky to anyone but our distillery in Maine. Tradition you can taste is more than just a slogan. It’s everything to my family.”

  “I’m aware. I’ve worked for Blackthorne for nearly three years. We had to watch videos, you know. About your great-grandfather and how the distillery started. About the traditions being carried on from generation to generation. And about how the Kentucky site would fit into the Blackthorne brand. We are solidly Blackthorne, believe me.”

  She didn’t say it with malice or regret. He was glad for that. He knew that losing her family distillery had been difficult. “How does our whisky process differ from Brooks Creek?”

  She sighed as she picked up her coffee. “It mostly doesn’t. Bourbon is bourbon, though there are of course subtle flavor differences between distilleries or why would we all be doing this? But your Blackthorne Gold—now that is something very fine. It’s the corn—and the water and the location. Our water comes from our spring-fed creek that filters through limestone rock. Your water up there is different.”

  He nodded. “I’ve heard my dad talk about the water. We distill it ourselves from various sources. The water is clear and cold and pure.”

  “So even if we attempted Blackthorne Gold here, there would be subtle differences. But who knows, those differences might be worthwhile. And I’d certainly like to try one of these days. We could call it Blackthorne Kentucky Gold.”

  “It’s an interesting idea.” Ross stabbed more pancakes. “How abo
ut that, we’ve just had our first breakfast meeting.”

  Holly laughed. “Okay, fine. So does that mean I get to claim this as a business expense?”

  “Oh no,” he told her, shaking his head. “I’m buying breakfast on the business account.”

  “But it’s my turn.”

  “Nope, you still owe me a meal. If you hadn’t asked about the corn, this wouldn’t have gone off the rails. But you did, so here we are.”

  She stared at him. Then she laughed, a soft giggly sound that he wanted to hear more of. “You’re a nut, you know that? In fact, I don’t think you ever intended to let me buy breakfast. You want to keep me on the hook for a meal so you can get me to show you all the best food places in Lexington and Bourbon County.”

  “Maybe I do. I like food.”

  “I like food too. But I’m about to start taking you to the healthy restaurants for the sake of my buttons.” In spite of that statement, she ate another bite of her omelet. It was a huge thing, fluffy, and there were hash browns too.

  “You could eat healthy here if you really wanted. They had egg whites on the menu. Spinach. Hell, maybe they even have quinoa. You could have a quinoa omelet.”

  She made a face. “Oh God, that sounds awful. No.”

  “Guess you aren’t all that dedicated,” he teased.

  “Not if it involves quinoa omelets. I can tolerate a lot of things, but I don’t think that’s one of them.”

  “You’re tolerating me,” he pointed out.

  “Barely.” She smiled when she said it though. He liked her smile. It was a little crooked, one corner of her mouth higher than the other. Her lips were lush, and her teeth were small and straight.

  He’d like to kiss that mouth. Coax it open so he could slip his tongue between her lips, see if she tasted as sweet as she looked.

  “Admit it,” he said, “I’m not so bad.”

  Her gaze dropped to her plate for a second. She pushed her hash browns around. “No,” she finally said. “You aren’t.”

  It wasn’t much of a statement—but coming from Holly it was a lot.

  Ross stabbed another forkful of pancakes, feeling suddenly buoyant inside. “Told you you’re going to like me. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “It’s only been a few days,” she said wryly. “I’m going to need more time than that.”

  “Lucky for you, I’ve got nothing but time.”

  At least until he could get his father to agree that the racing team needed him back. Once that happened, there’d be no more breakfast meetings with Holly Brooks. He’d be back to racing—and Holly would be nothing more than a pleasant memory.

  That thought ought to cheer him up. Somehow, it didn’t.

  Chapter Seven

  HOLLY’S CELL phone rang right before lunch. It was Mel. “Hey, girlie,” her bestie said when she answered. “How’s it going with that sexy racecar driver?”

  Holly leaned back in her chair and smiled. She didn’t mean to smile but damned if it didn’t happen anyway. “It’s going,” she replied.

  It was definitely going. She’d been to dinner and breakfast with the man, and she’d spent most of the past week with him. He was in his office now—the office the staff had cleared out for him at Uncle Evan’s direction—and she could finally breathe again.

  Ross Blackthorne sucked all the air out of the room when he was around. He was just so there. His presence was becoming more overwhelming to her, not less. She didn’t know why that was. Or why she wanted more of the same.

  Thank God today was the last day of work for the weekend. Blackthorne Kentucky worked four-day weeks every other week in summer. It was good for morale and it gave the employees time off for errands and family events.

  “What does that mean, Hols? Going good? Going bad? Going oohlala?”

  Holly laughed. “It means he’s here and I have to train him. It also means my Jeep died yesterday and Ross took me to dinner and home. Then he picked me up this morning and took me to breakfast.”

  “You. Are. Kidding me! Dinner and breakfast with Mr. Sexy Racy Pants? What’s he like? Is he really as hot in person as he is in pictures? Is he a total jerk or what?”

  “Geez, Mel, slow down. I barely know him.” She studied the wall across the room. There was a calendar on it with dates marked for production schedules. Of course it was online too, but she really liked having a visual so she could look up and see the entire schedule whenever she wanted. “He’s not a total jerk. He seems nice enough, though he’s also a Blackthorne and that means he’s got a lot of money. We went to dinner in a two million dollar Ferrari, for heaven’s sake! He’s not as hot as the pictures.”

  “Aw, boo. That sucks.”

  Holly snickered. “He’s hotter, Mel. Seriously, unbelievably, gorgeously hot. If he were anybody else, oh lord, I might just be tempted into misbehaving very badly…”

  As if she’d misbehaved badly in forever. Her love life had been non-existent lately. Her last date hadn’t gone so well. Mel had set her up with an attorney who’d spent most of the date on his phone and then interrogated her like she was one of his clients. In short, it’d been a long time since she’d had sex—and Ross made her think about it more than she should.

  “So misbehave! Who cares? Does he seem interested in you?”

  “I doubt it,” she said truthfully. “I mean he’s flirtatious, but I think he’s that way naturally.”

  “He took you out for two meals. He didn’t have to do that.”

  “No, but the Jeep’s dead. He took me to dinner because I didn’t have a way home.”

  “That doesn’t explain breakfast. Also, he’s rich—he’s heard of Uber. Which means he wanted to take you to dinner and breakfast instead of letting you call for a ride.”

  Holly sighed. “Maybe so. But it doesn’t change the fact he’s a Blackthorne. They own this place—and I am not about to jeopardize my job by getting involved with one of the heirs to the throne. Especially one who soaks scantily clad women in champagne when he wins a race.”

  She had her sister to think of. If Emily needed something and insurance didn’t cover it, Holly would have to come up with the money, which was why she socked away as much as she could. Oh, she could call Ricky—and she would—but her brother had never been super reliable with that kind of thing. He’d promise to pay her back. And then he’d conveniently forget. Uncle Evan and Aunt Brenda would help, but Holly didn’t like to ask them. She wanted them to have a nice retirement, and since they were getting closer to that day all the time, she didn’t want them raiding their 401k for her and Emily.

  “Okay, so I understand not wanting to lose your job. Totally. But you aren’t unemployable, Holly. You’re a Brooks! A third generation whisky maker. There’s any number of distilleries who’d snap you up if they could. And I’m not saying that because I think you need to bang Ross Blackthorne—though I totally do. I’m saying it because I don’t want you thinking that’s the only job you can get. You’d be an asset to any distillery.”

  “I know. But I don’t want to leave Uncle Evan, or this place where I’ve worked since I left college.”

  She was certainly employable. But at what cost? She hated to think about starting over somewhere else. Everything about Blackthorne Kentucky was new and state of the art, though they’d incorporated the old stillhouse into the design. Blackthorne wasn’t Brooks Creek. It was bigger and better.

  But it was all that was left of Brooks Creek, and that meant she wanted to stay right here. Besides, she got paid fairly well. If she went somewhere else, she might have to start at a lower salary.

  “Do you really think Ross Blackthorne would hold it against you if you dated him and it didn’t work out?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to risk it. But Mel, we’re speculating here, because it doesn’t mean he’s interested.”

  Mel snorted. “Honey, I’m not even there and I know he’s interested. You’re gorgeous and fun, and he’s taken you out to eat twice. He didn
’t have to do that. Even if he was just being nice, he could have dropped you off without the meal last night. And this morning? He could have let you take that Uber in and not thought twice about it.”

  “You’re hopelessly romantic, you know that? Ross Blackthorne is not interested in me. He’s a nice guy, that’s all. Do you know he lets kids sit in his two million dollar car and takes pictures of them? And he rolls down his window to talk to people who want to talk to him?”

  “Makes sense. He’s a racecar driver. He must like the attention.”

  “I thought that too—but it’s more than that. He feels like he needs to give back. It’s admirable.”

  “So you admire him?”

  Holly frowned as she considered it. But she couldn’t deny the truth. “Yeah, I think I do. A little bit anyway. I mean he’s been nice to me even though I was curt with him all week.”

  “Nothing wrong with admiring him.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t want to admire him. I didn’t even want to like him!”

  “Do you like him?”

  Holly dropped her forehead to her palm. “Unfortunately. I was all set to dislike him for being spoiled and rich, not to mention getting in my way, but he’s kinda hard to dislike.”

  “That’s not a big deal, Holly. So you like him. It’s okay.”

  “It would be easier not to. I mean there’s still the champagne thing, right?”

  Mel made a noise. “Okay, look here, missy. I was calling in the first place to see if you wanted to go to the Boot tonight. Do a little dancing, a little flirting. Let down our hair. Amy and Becca are going. And I really think you need it now that I’ve heard all this. Ross Blackthorne is there being all sexy and admirable and you like him but you don’t want to, right?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Then you need to come to the Boot and have a good time.”

  “I don’t know, Mel…”

  “Oh come on. It’s ladies’ night. And it’s a three-day weekend for you. What do you have to lose?”

  Holly thought about it. She liked to dance, and she liked going out with her friends. They got dressed up, went to dinner, and had a good time. It was a way to let off steam—and a way to meet men. Not that she’d met any men on those outings worth spending time with, but you never knew. Couldn’t meet people if you didn’t go out.