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“We are.”
“But we already passed the grain silos.” She pointed in the opposite direction.
He stopped, turning to face her. “Do you know why most of the storied whiskey distilleries are based in Kentucky or here in Tennessee?”
Savannah shook her head. She’d noticed that the industry was concentrated in those two states, but hadn’t given much thought to why.
“A whiskey with a smooth finish begins with the right water source.” He pointed toward a creek and the hills that rose along the edge of the property. “See that limestone shelf? Springs deep in these limestone layers feed King’s Lake—our sole source of water. The limestone adds calcium to the water and filters out impurities like iron that would make the whiskey bitter.”
She studied the veins in the limestone shelf. “So it wouldn’t be possible to produce bourbon from another water source with the same composition and flavor?”
“Not even if you used our exact recipe.” He stood beside her, gazing reverently at the stony mountain and the waters that trickled from it. “Then there’s the matter of the yeast we use for fermentation. It’s a proprietary strain that dates back to when my great-grandfather was running his moonshine business seventy-five years ago.”
“Most distilleries openly share their grain recipe. King’s Finest doesn’t. Why?” “My grandfather tweaked the grain mixture his father used. He’s pretty territorial about it.” Blake smiled. “So we keep our mash bill and yeast strain under tight control.”
The fact that Blake’s grandfather had stolen the recipe from her grandfather was the more likely reason.
“I’m boring you, aren’t I?”
“No. This is all extremely fascinating.”
“It’s a subject I can get carried away with. Believe me, no other woman has ever used the word fascinating to describe it.”
“You still think I’m feigning interest.” Something in his stare made her cheeks warm and her chest heavy.
His lips parted and his hands clenched at his sides, but he didn’t acknowledge her statement. “We’d better head back.”
They visited the vats of corn, rye and malted barley. Next, they visited the large metal vat where the grain was cooked, creating the mash. In the fermentation room there were large, open tubs fashioned of cypress planks, filled with fermenting whiskey. The air was heavy with a scent similar to sourdough bread baking.
In the distillation room, he gave her a taste of the bourbon after it passed through the towering copper still and then again after it had made another pass through the doubler.
“It’s clear.” Savannah handed Blake back the metal cup with a long metal handle he’d used to draw a sample of the “high wine.”
Her fingers brushed his and he nearly dropped the cup, but recovered quickly.
“The rich amber color happens during the aging process.” He returned the cup to its hook, then led her through the area where the high wine was transferred to new, charred white oak barrels.
They walked through the rackhouse. Five levels of whiskey casks towered above them. Savannah fanned herself, her brow damp with perspiration, as Blake lowered his voice, speaking in a hushed, reverent tone.
“How long is the bourbon aged?”
“The signature label? Five years. Then we have the top-shelf labels aged for ten or more years.” Blake surveyed the upper racks before returning his gaze to hers. “My grandfather made so many sacrifices to create this legacy for us. I’m reminded of that whenever I come out here.”
Blake spoke of Joseph Abbott as if he were a self-sacrificing saint. But the man was a liar and a cheat. He’d sacrificed his friendship with her grandfather and deprived him of his legacy, leaving their family with nothing but hardship and pain.
Tears stung her eyes and it suddenly hurt to breathe in the overheated rackhouse. It felt as if a cask of whiskey was sitting on her chest. She gasped, the air burning her lungs.
“Are you all right?” Blake narrowed his brown eyes, stepping closer. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“I’m fine.” Her breath came in short bursts and her back was damp with sweat.
“It’s hot in here. Let’s get you back in the air-conditioning. Our last stop is the bottling area.” His hand low on her back, he guided her toward the exit.
“No.” The word came out sharper than she’d intended. “I mean, I promised your father I’d get that presentation out today.”
“You told him you’d try. Do it first thing tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”
“That’s not the first impression I want to make with the company’s CEO. Or with his wife, who’s eagerly awaiting the information.” Savannah wiped the dampness from her forehead with the back of her hand. “I gave my word, and to me, that means something.”
Five (#u2ef9d15f-5968-58a5-b903-af5c982d5c44)
It was clear Blake had offended Savannah.
But how?
He replayed the conversation in his head. Before she’d looked at him as if he’d kicked a kitten.
They’d been talking about how his grandfather had built the company. The sacrifices he’d made for their family. How could she possibly be offended by that? Especially when she’d already expressed her admiration for his grandfather’s entrepreneurial spirit.
“If sending the presentation out tonight is that important to you, I won’t stop you. All I’m saying is...no one will hold it against you if we receive it tomorrow.”
Savannah turned on her heels, caked in dry mud from their earlier walk. She headed back toward the main building.
Even with his longer strides, he had to hurry to catch up with her. “You’d tell me if I upset you?”
“You didn’t. I’m just—” Her spiked heel got caught in the gravel, and she stumbled into his arms.
He held her for a moment, his gaze studying hers, enjoying the feel of her soft curves pressed against his hard body.
Her eyes widened and she stepped out of his grasp, muttering a quick thank-you.
“I’m angry with myself for not remembering the presentation earlier.”
“You’ve been busy all day. That’s my fault.”
“It’s no one’s fault.” She seemed to force a smile. “I appreciate the deluxe tour. What I’ve learned will be useful as I prepare my presentation. It’s given me a few other ideas.”
“That’s good, then.” Blake kneaded the back of his neck. “I’ll walk you back to your office.”
“I’d like to find it on my own. Test my sense of direction.” Savannah’s tepid smile barely turned up one corner of her mouth. She headed back to the building, calling over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
When she was too far away to hear it, Blake released a noisy sigh. He returned to his office by a different route.
Despite what Savannah said, he’d clearly upset her. He couldn’t shake the gnawing need to learn why. Or the deep-seated desire to fix it so he could see the genuine smile that lit her lovely eyes, illuminating the flecks of gold.
Blake gritted his teeth.
You do not feel anything for her.
He said the words over and over in his head as he trekked back inside, past her office and straight to his.
You’re full of shit, and you know it.
Why couldn’t his stupid subconscious just cooperate and buy into the load of crock he was trying to sell himself?
There were a million reasons why he shouldn’t be thinking of Savannah Carlisle right now. Long-legged, smooth-skinned, caramel-complexioned goddess that she was.
He shouldn’t be thinking of her throaty voice. Her husky laugh. Her penetrating stare. Or the way she sank her teeth into her lower lip while in deep thought.
Blake shut his office door and loosened his tie. He dropped into the chair behind his desk, trying not to focus on the tension in his gut and the tightening of his shaft at the thought of Savannah Carlisle...naked. Sprawled across his desk.
He opened his laptop and studied spreadsheets and graphs, ignoring the most disconcerting aspect of his growing attraction for Savannah. What scared him...what was terrifying...was how Savannah Carlisle made him feel. That she’d made him feel anything at all.
Especially the kind of feelings he’d carefully avoided in the two years since Gavrilla had walked out of his life.
Since then he’d satisfied his urges with the occasional one-night stand while traveling for business. Far away from this too-small town, where every single person knew the private affairs of every other damned person.
In painful detail.
He hadn’t been looking for anything serious. Just a couple of nights in the sack. No feelings. No obligations beyond having safe, responsible sex and being gentlemanly enough never to speak of it.
But from their first meeting, he’d been drawn to Savannah. She was bold and confident. And she hadn’t begged for a shot with the company. She’d simply laid out a solid case.
He would’ve been a fool to not hire her.
Her indomitable spirit and latent sex appeal called to something deep inside him. In a way that felt significant. The feelings were completely foreign and yet deeply familiar.
He didn’t believe in love at first sight or soul mates. But if he had, he’d have sworn that Cupid had shot him the second Savannah Carlisle sashayed her curvy ass into his office.
Blake loosened the top two buttons of his shirt. Parker’s admonition played on a loop in his head. It could be summed up in five words: Don’t think with your dick.
If Parker recognized how perilous Blake’s attraction to Savannah was, he was in big trouble. He needed to slam the lid on those feelings. Seal them in an indestructible steel box fastened with iron rivets and guarded by flaming swords and a den of rattlesnakes.
Because he could never go back there again. To the pain he’d felt two years ago when Gavrilla had walked out. She’d left him for someone else. Without warning or the slightest indication she’d been unhappy.
Without giving him a chance to fix things.
In retrospect, she’d done him a favor. Their stark differences—so exciting in the beginning—had been flashing red lights warning of their incompatibility.
Blake sighed. It’d been a while since he’d taken a business-meets-pleasure excursion. Experienced the adrenaline of tumbling into bed with a stranger.
He’d have Daisy schedule a meeting with a vendor in Nashville or maybe Atlanta. Somewhere he could blend in with the nameless, faceless masses.
Anywhere but Magnolia Lake.
* * *
Blake hit Send on his final email of the night—a response to a vendor in the UK. He checked his watch. It was well after seven and Savannah’s proposal hadn’t pinged his inbox.
She’d been determined to send it before she left for the night. That meant she was still in her office working on it.
Blake rubbed his unshaved chin. Perhaps she’d encountered a problem. After all, it was her first day. He should see if she needed help.
Blake packed up his laptop, locked his office door and headed down the hall. He almost kept walking. Almost pretended he didn’t hear the tapping of computer keys.
He groaned, knowing he was acting against his better judgment.
“Hey.” He gently knocked on Savannah’s open office door. “Still at it?”
“Finished just now.” Her earlier uneasiness appeared to be gone. “You didn’t wait for me, did you?” She seemed perturbed by the possibility.
“No. Just finished up myself. But since I’m here, I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I thought small towns like Magnolia Lake were idyllic bastions of safety and neighborliness.” Savannah barely contained a sarcastic grin as she grabbed her bags.
“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t practice courtesy and good old-fashioned common sense.” He opened the door wider to let her out, then locked it behind them.
They made the trip to her small car in near silence. She stopped abruptly, just shy of her door.
“About earlier.” She turned to him, but her eyes didn’t meet his. “Sorry if I seemed rude. I wasn’t trying to be. I just...” She shook her head. “It wasn’t anything you did.”
“But it was something I said.” He hiked his computer bag higher on his shoulder when her eyes widened.
“It won’t happen again.”
“Good night, Savannah.” Blake opened her car door. He wouldn’t press, if she didn’t want to talk about it.
They weren’t lovers, and they needn’t be friends. As long as Savannah did her job well and played nice with others, everything would be just fine.
He stepped away from the car and she drove away.
Blake made his way back to his truck, thankful Savannah Carlisle had saved him from himself.
* * *
Savannah let herself into her apartment, glad the day was finally over.
When she got to the bedroom, she pulled a black leather journal from her nightstand. It held her notes about the Abbotts.
Savannah did a quick review of what she’d learned on the job today and jotted down everything she could remember.
Their processes. The grains used in their bourbon composition with a question mark and percentage sign by each one. The industry jargon she’d learned. Next, she outlined her impressions of each member of the Abbott family—starting with Blake.
Finished with the brain dump, she was starving and mentally exhausted. She scarfed down a frozen dinner while watching TV.
Her cell phone rang. Laney.
“Hey, sis.” Savannah smiled. “How’s my niece? And how is Granddad doing?”
