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Caught between family loyalty and their affection for one another…
Tristan
I always get my way.
Fighting is my life. In the ring, on the street, there’s no problem that can’t be solved with my fists.
When an injury puts me on the sidelines, my family sends me down South on business. They want me to take over Doyle Whiskey, a job they claim is perfect for me.
And it is, until the owner’s daughter stumbles back into my life.
Evie’s not the shy, awkward girl I knew as a kid. She’s beautiful and fierce, and she doesn’t need me.
Until she does.
Just because I can’t step into the ring, it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to fight. Especially for a girl like Evie.
Evie
Our marriage might be a sham, but our friendship isn’t.
When my father’s debts land him in hot water, there’s a lot more than just money on the line. My freedom is at risk, and if I don’t figure something out, I could end up married off as payment.
But then Tristan shows up to take over our distillery. He’s as gorgeous as ever, but he’s not the sweet, mischievous boy I crushed on as a kid. He makes deals and takes what he wants and when he sees that I’m in danger, he takes me, too. In marriage.
I know he’s protecting his own interests by protecting me, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve wanted him my whole life, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect him right back.
Because the queen’s the most powerful piece on the board.
Whiskey Kisses is a steamy, dark, Irish mob romance. Marriage of convenience, m/f, friends-to-lovers, forced proximity.
It's the second book of the Gangland Hearts trilogy, which should be read in order. Recommended for mature audiences
\Excerpt
Copyright 2024, Rochelle Allison
Warning: Language. sexual situations.
“I didn’t f*ck you last night because you were on another planet. Not because I didn’t want you.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” she says, her face still turned away. “You were being decent, and I appreciate it.”
“Obviously, I do have to explain myself because you took off this morning.”
“It’s fine, Tristan,” she says primly. “I know I’m not your type.”
“Bold of you to assume that you know my type.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Maribelle was.”
“I was fifteen,” I say with a scoff. “Every girl was my type back then.”
She shakes her head the tiniest bit. “Not me.”
“Not when you were twelve, no. But things are a little different now,” I say, pushing my semi into the cradle of her hips a little to show her what I mean.
Evie sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes finally meeting mine.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I roll to her side, giving her some room, but I don’t go far. Instead, I draw my fingertips up and down her thigh, watching her pupils dilate as goosebumps pebble across her petal-soft skin. “Why’d I have to find out from your skanky sister?”
A soft breath huffs past her parted lips. “Because I didn’t want you to know. You never should’ve found out at all.”
“Did you think I’d turn you down?” I ask quietly, unable to look away from those lips. I trail my fingers up the inside of her thigh, wondering if her other lips are the same shade of pink.
“I knew you would,” she says, breathing shallowly.
“But I told you, when we were going to get the marriage license, that we could …” I trail off, letting her fill in the blanks with her imagination.
“Be friends with benefits.” She grabs my arm as my fingers creep beneath the hem of her shorts, closing her eyes briefly before she focuses on me. “And I’m not into that.”
I can’t help the suggestive grin that takes over my face. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
She wrinkles her nose, her grip tightening on my arm. “Be serious, Tristan.”
I bite back a smile. I prefer this Evie to the self-pitying one for sure. “You don’t want to catch feelings. But it’s too late because it sounds like you’ve had them for a while.” I hover over her for a second before brushing my lips over hers. Gazing into her eyes, I see everything she’s tried to hide from me bloom in full color. Dipping down, I give her another whisper of a kiss, catching my teeth on her bottom lip as I pull away.
She draws a shaky breath when I reach her panties. “Tristan,” she whispers, her throat working as she swallows.
I run my knuckles over the warm center of her, touching her softly on the outside as we look at each other. When her breathing stutters and her eyes start to go glassy, I slip beneath the fabric and kiss her again, slowly circling my tongue around the inside of her mouth as my fingers circle the entrance to her p*ssy.
With a small moan, she gives in, sliding her fingers into my hair.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” I keep my touch surface level, rubbing up and down her soft, wet slit with my fingers. “Quite the opposite, in fact. I’m gonna make you feel so good you’re going to wish you’d told the truth a lot sooner.”
Her eyelids flutter shut, her mouth dropping into a perfect O. Desire burns through me like a hot, consuming fire and I lick into her mouth again, sucking her tongue and swallowing all the little sounds she’s making. When my thumb sweeps her clit, her hips jerk, moving to meet my hand. Sensing that she’s close, I touch her a little harder, and she kisses me hungrily, grabbing at my hair as she comes. Her roughness, her responsiveness—sh*t, I’m so hard it hurts. I’m not even inside her, but she’s pulling me in like a riptide.
“You still want to keep this platonic?” I whisper, kissing her ear. “Because I don’t.”
“I don’t know what I want,” she says after a moment, her voice shaky. She releases me from her death-grip, her arms lax around me. “And I don’t know what you want from me. From this.”
No more teasing, then. Dropping a kiss onto her throat, I pull my hand out of her shorts and bring her up so she’s sitting across from me. Post-orgasm Evie is a stunner, with her rosy cheeks and swollen lips.
“I want you to be honest with me, for one thing,” I say. “Even when it’s hard. I promise I’ll do the same.”
She nods haltingly, her eyes watchful like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I also want to see if you blush all over.”
She bites down on her lip, trying not to smile.
“I wanna know if you used to have dirty dreams about me, and if you did, I wanna act them out,” I add, smirking.
“God,” she says with a pained laugh, covering her face.
I release her hair from its messy, grass-studded bun, watching it fall around her shoulders. “We’re already married, Evie,” I say, leaning in to kiss her again. “We might as well have fun.
About Rochelle Allison
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