“My apologies for earlier, miss,” the man said shakily, and her head finally popped up.
“What did you do?” She was looking—glaring—at Evan while the other man continued to proffer mea culpas and scrambled to pull a card out of his pocket.
“What’s your name?” Evan barked.
“Johnston, William Johnston.” Evan bared his teeth at the man who looked like he was on the verge of tears. Not so fucking brash now, was he?
“Mr. Johnston has reconsidered the way in which he conducts himself with you.” Johnston’s face paled, but the man managed to nod.
“I’d be happy to assist you with your shipments, Miss...”
“Heith-Benzan,” Evan snarled, and the man shook like a leaf. Luz sent him an unfriendly look, then nodded at the shipping merchant, a fresh card in her hand.
“If you are truly interested in speaking about a shipping contract for my rum, I would gladly contact you in the morning.” She looked down at the card the man was offering but did not take it. “I don’t want you to do it if he’s forcing you.” Her voice shook slightly, and Evan wished he’d just taken the man outside and thrashed him.
“His Lordship has made me aware that you have a legitimate business.” Evan could only narrow his eyes at the shipper’s lies.
“His Lordship did, did he?” she said, thoroughly unimpressed, and sent Evan what could only be considered a withering look. “I’ll take you up on your offer, then, Mr. Johnston,” she said with a polite nod and plucked the card from between his fingers. The man turned to Evan, likely to slather him with insincere compliments.
“Get out of my sight before I make good on my threats.” The man removed himself with impressive alacrity. Evan never took his eyes off Luz Alana, who looked ready to strangle him.
“Am I supposed to be impressed by what you just did?” Her arms were crossed under her breasts, which pushed them up and out. Between that and the sweet little growl in her voice, his cock throbbed in his trousers. Her eyes were another story. Evan was quite certain that if one could incinerate a man with their glare, he’d be a pile of ashes.
“And here I thought I was helping a fellow distiller.”
She scoffed at that. He threw his hands up in defeat, aware that he’d somehow cocked things up...again.
“Let’s start over.” She only narrowed her eyes at his suggestion. “I should’ve asked you first before intervening. I just loathed seeing him ignore you like that.” She thawed minimally at the apology.
“Yes, you should have.” He could tell she was considering what else to say, but after a moment only bit her bottom lip.
“You ran from me. I’ve been looking for you since I arrived,” he finally said.
“And I wasavoidingyou since you arrived.” Now he was the one biting his lip, but only to keep from grinning. There was likely something very wrong with him, but he found the way she let him know exactly how she felt extremely arousing.
“And here I was thinking we’d made strides this afternoon. You certainly seemed to be warming up to me when I...” She growled at that, and stepped up closer to him, likely so she could insult him without having to yell. His cock throbbed again.
“Do you lie to all your friends about who you are?” she demanded. “It didn’t occur to you to mention that you’re an earl the first or second time we met?” He’d received a variety of reactions from women the moment they learned about his title over the years, though fury was a new one. No fawning or adulation from this woman.
“It’s more of a third-meeting thing, really,” he said jokingly. She scowled, unamused by his attempt at humor. “Besides, my title wasn’t exactly relevant during our previous interactions. My father is a duke, and so I am an earl.” He knew he sounded like a heel, but he abhorred ever speaking about his connection to that blasted title.
“Arrogante pendejo.”
He caught the wordarrogantand was quite certain whatever else she said was not apt for the surge of arousal that coursed through him.
“I am fully aware I’m not supposed to enjoy the verbal abuse,” he said, coming a bit closer while she sent him vicious looks. “But whenever you speak Spanish I become thoroughly galvanized with the idea of ravishing you in a dark corner.”
“Dominican Spanish,” she corrected.
“Tell me more.” She looked poised to give him an earful and he was positively riveted.
“It’s the same as Scots English,” she explained. “It’s not your tongue, it was forced on you, and like your whisky you’ve blended it into something that’s your own. Anyone who hears a Scotsman speak recognizes the sound. We’ve made this language that was imposed on us ours too. When I speak, West Africa is on my tongue, Taino is on my tongue. Castilians havetheirSpanish, and we have our own.”
She was a bit winded by the time she finished, and he found that his own breathing was coming faster. Seeing the world through Luz Alana’s eyes was an utterly transformative experience.
“Is this what it’s like to be a man? Constantly out of breath from being allowed to speak your mind without being interrupted?” He wasn’t certain she’d meant to say that out loud, but he could not help the delighted laugh that escaped him.
“You are the most alluring thing in all of Paris, as is yourDominicanSpanish. I particularly enjoy hearing it against my ear when I kiss you.”
