“Everything, everything?”

He nodded. “I can’t wait any longer. I need you to know the truth as soon as possible. I’d tell you now if you were sober.”

“You would? Why?” I clutched the pajamas to my chest, my nerves settling back in.

The side of his lip lifted. “Because I need you to know everything about me before we do what we’re both dying to.”

“And what’s that?” I knew. Of course I knew, but I wanted to hear him say it.

A sexy smirk slipped across his lips before he rasped, “You know exactly what.”

30. Juliette

Chapter 30

Juliette

“On a scale of one to ten, how bored are you after I blabbered on about how to distill whiskey?”

Constantine and I were sitting on the bed eating. I was a little surprised he trusted me to eat pasta on top of the luxurious bedding in my current state (heck, even without alcohol) and not make a mess.

He paused mid-perfect twirl of the spaghetti noodles, eyes on me. “Oh, at least a twelve.”

“Mm.” I smiled. “Thought so.”

“It’s not every day I get to learn how bourbon is made from start to finish.” He abandoned that perfect bite and set aside his silverware, and I did the same.

I was incredibly grateful he’d had me change out of my jeans before eating so I didn’t have to unbutton the top. I was beyond stuffed.

“Well, since I can’t hold down my liquor, my dad made sure I could hold down the facts about how to distill it. I’m a walking encyclopedia about whiskey, but ask me to walk while drinking it, and we’ll have problems.”

His smile morphed into a light laugh, and that sound was bliss. “Just so you know, there’s nothing you could ever share with me about yourself I wouldn’t want to hear.” He held up his hand. “Aside from that, of course.”

“Right. Men from my past are a no-go unless I want their hands detached from their bodies.” I licked my lips, checking for marinara sauce, and he tracked the movement of my tongue. “Key word, though, past.”

“Very important distinction, you’re correct.” I wasn’t sure if that gruff hitch in his voice was because he was remembering my brother’s friend who wanted a one-nighter with me or because he wanted to kiss me. “So.”

“So,” I echoed back, smirking.

He hit me with one of his killer smiles in response, and I was on the verge of blurt-begging him (it was a thing) to go ahead and kiss me now, not when I was sober.

“Your dad.” He cleared his throat, doing his best to offer a redirect he clearly sensed we both needed. “He’s from Scotland and learned to make whiskey there, but has he ever taken you to visit?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He closed one eye briefly. “Is that a yes or a no mm-hmm?”