About the book:
Undiluted desire, served straight up.
Justin Morgan would happily drown the pain of his injured leg-and the guilt he brought back from Afghanistan-in bourbon. Except, there won’t be any booze if he doesn’t rescue his family’s century-old distillery from financial ruin. The problem? Allie McGrath-youngest daughter of the distillery’s co-owners, and the one woman he can’t have.
Allie has been in love with Justin since…well, she’s always been in love with him. Now he’s home, broken up over the death of her brother, and he needs help. She can fix the distillery-she’s sure of it-but no one’s taking her or her sweet new idea seriously. Convincing Justin is her only hope.
Allie is more tempting than Justin expected, threatening a promise he swore he’d never break. If he can’t keep their attraction under control, there’s a solid chance they’ll send the whole enterprise crumbling to the ground…if he doesn’t crash and burn first.
Drunk on You by Teri Anne Stanley
Jesus, Mary, and Uncle Steve. She was on her knees in front of him, and he was wearing a damned towel. He had a moment of dream déjà vu. A strand of rich honey hair had come loose from her ponytail and curled in the steam rising from the tub. He reached out to tuck it around his finger, but then pulled up short of actually touching her. She was Dave’s kid sister. No touching.
She looked up, something like heat in her eyes that was quickly masked by humor. “Do you want some Mr. Bubble in your tub?”
He actually considered it. She was going to have to help him in and out of the tub. But he couldn’t quite figure out how he was going to casually scoop a handful of bubbles over his semi-stiffy between dropping his towel and getting into the water.
He turned a little, to maneuver his good leg into the tub. He took a breath and grabbed the side of his towel, ready to yank it off.
Allie must have realized the reality of his predicament, because her face was red. She met his eyes with a stricken expression, then dropped her gaze like his groin was an eye magnet.
“It’s just a dick, Sneezy,” Justin said, pulling the towel off Band-Aid-style—all at once, to get the agony over with. He lowered himself into the water while she cradled his damaged ankle.
She stared at his crotch. And kept staring. Justin almost reached for the towel again.
“You’re right. It’s just a dick,” she said, once he was settled. She turned to walk out. “I’m going to get started on some work. Holler when you want to get out of the tub.”
“It’s not just a dick,” he called after her. “It’s a really nice dick!”