Read Blended (Redemption #1) for Free Online

more, and that’s a promise,” he says as he settles down in the seat next to me.
    Oh yes. Fancy-asses.
    “We’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”
    Owen speaks before Holden has a chance to reply. “Hadley, would you like some wine?”
    “Oh, no, I’m all set with whiskey. Thank you, though.”
    “Are you an avid whiskey drinker?”
    “I am, and I have been for years. It’s something that I’ve gotten to know intimately. I enjoy the taste of warmth, sweet, and smoke—it’s like its own campfire. And I like the smooth burn that it provides. It straddles the line between pleasure and pain.”
    “It’s the first time I’ve heard a woman speak so well of the stuff.”
    I laugh and take a bite of the filet before speaking again. “There’s a lot to know about it, and it definitely is an acquired taste.”
    Owen smiles, and Lo watches us closely as if I’m going to crawl under the table and give him head for conversing with me. Silly girl. I don’t need to have a conversation with someone to sleep with him, but as tempting as it is, I would never hurt her.
    “Since you like the stuff so much, has Lo taken you to the whiskey library? It’s on the Magnificent Mile.”
    “A whiskey library?” My interest is piqued. I’ve heard of something like it before, but I’ve never been lucky enough to stumble across one.
    “Oh yeah, isn’t it rather new? I’ve never been, but I’ve heard great things about it from those who enjoy that foul stuff. No offense, Hads,” Lo says.
    “None taken. What’s it called? I’d like to stop by and take a look for myself.”
    “If I remember correctly it’s called Blended,” Owen says with a smile as he sets his glass down on the tabletop.
    “Huh . . . thank you, Owen.”
    “No problem. Let me know if you need any more suggestions of places to go in the city. I’m sure Hold wouldn’t mind showing you around either.”
    “Nah, I wouldn’t mind one bit, but I’ll need your number for that,” he says as if his ploy isn’t obvious. Just in case his meaning is not clear, his eyes let me know that it’s more than just a line that he’s throwing out.
    “Smooth,” Owen adds to the awkward silence before the four of us laugh at how ridiculous Holden is—sexy as hell, but preposterous nonetheless.
    We all settle into a comfortable conversation while the apex of my thighs aches for relief. I’ve been deprived for over twenty-four hours, and my libido won’t allow me to forget it.

I unwind in a dark leather wingback chair in my office as I page through a file involving my latest venture here in Chicago. I’ve been impressed with my staff and its outcome thus far, given that it’s one of the smaller venues that I own at the moment. It seems to be thriving.
    I place the folder down on the coffee table in front of me before reaching for my tumbler of 1937 Glenfiddich; the hints of cedar, cinnamon, cloves, and toffee fill my mouth as I take a sip of the rare bottle. A total of sixty-one bottles were made, and I happen to own another four.
    I breathe out and find comfort in this particular whiskey. The tradition, feel, and aesthetics in drinking whiskey have been enjoyable to me since I can remember. Each bottle in my collection comes with its own history, sharing its tales by taste and scent rather than words. If a drink could restore memories from the past, then whiskey would be the answer. I roll the tumbler between my fingers as the walnut liquid slides from side to side.
    I take another sip as the flavors emerge across my palate, groaning as the warm sensation makes its way down my throat and through my body. Unable to sit for much longer, I get up and walk across the span of my office to the windows, glancing down at the people walking around on the sidewalk below. At this moment, I wonder what it would be like to be one of them—to consider myself average .
    I’ve managed to keep my life to myself; I wouldn’t call myself an introvert, but I’ve been