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    Kane set it down on the coffee table, then retrieved from behind the bar two glasses, rounded at the bottom and slightly smaller at the top.
    “These are Glencairn whiskey glasses,” said Kane, holding one up to the light. “They’re crafted to enhance the specific flavor of scotch whiskey. You could drink scotch from a regular glass, but when you are drinking an especially fine or rare variety, you want a glass as perfect as possible.”
    Shit . Bella felt like she was in a horror movie or a bad dream, but she was trapped. The only way to end this would be to tell the truth. Right now. But she couldn’t. Words were stuck in her throat.
    “Mortlach,” he said, picking up the bottle, and Bella swore she heard a slight Scottish brogue in his voice. “In 1938 my grandfather worked at the Mortlach distillery. That year he helped fill cask number 2656. At the time it was just a number. But for three generations, through wars and upsets and famines, that cask stayed untouched. For seventy years. And then it was decanted, poured into fifty-four bottles this size and some smaller ones as well. It is the world’s oldest scotch, Bella. And it is, as I’m sure you can guess, quite rare. I was given this bottle by my grandfather, who spent his life as a master taster in Scotland, a highly revered and respected position.”
    “We should drink something else,” said Bella. She was sweating, her palms clammy and warm. This sucked. “This is much too valuable. You should save it.”
    “I have been,” Kane responded, opening the bottle. “My grandfather and I had a drink together every time we saw each other. We would drink the finest scotch available to us, wherever we were at the time. He was fond of the belief that you shouldn’t save things for too long or it might be too late. You’re a long time deid , he always said.”
    That accent! When Kane slipped into the Scottish brogue, it was so sexy that Bella could almost forget about the fact that right now, she was totally and completely screwed. The way the words flowed off his tongue, so naturally, was swoon-worthy. If she wasn’t in so much trouble right now, she’d enjoy it more. But now he was pouring from the bottle into the glasses.
    He handed a glass to her, and Bella took it in shaking fingers. She watched while Kane picked his up, swirling it around and watching the liquid inside cling to the sides of the glass, then run down. She felt even worse knowing the history of Mortlach and what it meant to Kane and his grandfather.
    “Taste it,” he said, like he was giving her an order.
    “Oh, I don’t know…”
    “It would be rude to refuse, don’t you think, Bella? And how many chances in your life will you have to taste a drink this rare?” The intensity in his eyes brooked no argument. Bella felt pinned to her seat, as though it were impossible to get up and leave.
    “Yes,” she whispered, bringing the glass to her lips. She tilted the glass so a tiny bit of the scotch ran into her mouth, burning her lips and tongue with its cheap harshness. She bit back a grimace.
    “Do you like it?” Kane leaned forward, one corner of his mouth raised in a smirk, but his eyes hard and cold.
    “Um, I guess?”
    “Bella. One doesn’t guess about liking one of the finest scotches in the entire world. Tell me. Did that sip you just took taste expensive? Did it taste like what you’re holding in that glass is worth a thousand dollars?”
    He knows. He knows, and he’s fucking with me . The realization hit Bella as she stared into Kane’s dark brown eyes and saw anger in their depths. His jaw was tight, his teeth practically bared.
    “Look, Kane,” she began, unsure of what exactly she was going to say but knowing she needed to say something.
    “The problem,” he interrupted her, bringing his glass to his lips and sipping, “is that this doesn’t taste like seventy-eight-year-old scotch, does it? It doesn’t taste like a rare drink. What it tastes like to