My laughter was interrupted by an annoying hiccup. “A yes, he’s from Scotland. A no, I’ve never been there to visit.”

Ugh, that flirty look from him was going to send me back into that feeling of lust, especially when he followed it up with a teasing, “That mm-hmm makes perfect sense now, my apologies.”

“Well, you should be sorry.” I leaned forward, poking his hard chest.

He lowered his chin to where I kept my finger firmly connected with his pectoral muscle.

I know, I know. Hands to myself. I sighed as if that’d help compel my heart, mind, and body to behave. “My, um, dad refused to take me because of a falling out he had with his father.” Curling my fingers into my palm, I slowly returned my hand to my lap.

“Let me guess, was it because of whiskey?” He cleared our plates, setting them on the floor by the bed. Great, now nothing was separating me from temptation itself.

“Mm-hmm.” I teasingly rolled my eyes in response to his smile at my use of syllables as a response. “Yesss, you’re correct. Granddaddy owned a Scotch business in the Highlands. They disagreed on the aging process, and I’m sure a few other things, and one day, they had a blowout. I’m pretty sure Daddy moved to Kentucky to make bourbon just to spite him.” I slapped a hand over my mouth, realizing I’d gone full Southern on him there.

He clasped my palm, letting our locked hands rest between our legs. “I love it when you let your accent slip out. Why do you hide it?”

“I don’t, not really. Kind of fizzled and went away when I lived in Florida. I become all Kentucky when back home, though.”

“Or drinking.” He smoothed his thumb in small circles over my hand as he held on to me.

“Thankfully, I get to hear yours, bourbon or not. But it thickens when you’re upset or passionate about something.”

“It does, does it?”

“Mm-hmm.” Crap. I chuckled. “I’m not saying that on purpose, I swear.”

He echoed those syllables back at me, arching his brow.

My stomach became all fluttery as he stared at me as if he could will away the effects of the alcohol so he could forge ahead with that much-needed kiss.

Silence filled the air for the first time in nearly an hour of eating and talking.

My gaze slipped to his arm. More specifically, to his scars there. I wanted to bring my lips to one particular one I’d seen earlier on the inside of his wrist.

“Not self-inflicted,” he said in a gravelly voice.

I bent my head and brought my lips to the light white line marking his skin there.