Irish whiskey royalty has no place in Northern California, but that isn’t going to stop Iain Brennan, the black sheep of Brennan Family Distillers, from giving it a shot. Wine Country is an unlikely place to launch a whiskey empire, but Iain’s just reckless enough to make it work. And being out from under the watchful eye of his disapproving father back home in Dublin? Even better.

Naomi Klein has spent the last ten years ignoring her society family as much as possible while building a career as a renowned sculptor. She’s found a home in River Hill, but has no interest in dipping her toes into the commitment pool. Just the idea of forever gives her hives. Which makes a rootless Irish wanderer the perfect fling. And shocking her mother? Just a bonus.

But as cozy autumn nights turn into lazy winter mornings, Naomi and Iain realize that they’re getting close to something neither of them wants: love. When Naomi discovers Iain’s not quite as rootless as he seems, she’ll have to make some tough decisions. And when the Brennans and the Kleins descend en masse to collect their prodigal children, River Hill may never be the same.

Review:

Adorable, romantic, and fun!

The Distiller’s Darling is a passionate, lighthearted tale that takes us back to River Hill and into the lives of the spirited, artistic Naomi who may have finally discovered that one person who inspires her to feel and create, and Iain, the determined, sexy Irishman who may have found himself not only a new career but a new home.

The prose is steamy and witty. The characters are charming, independent, and loyal. And the story is an uplifting tale about life, love, familial pressure, friendship, saucy banter, perseverance, community, happiness, sizzling romance, delicious food, and good whiskey.  

The Distiller’s Darling is an engaging, heartwarming novel with a sweet storyline, amusing characters, and an idyllic setting that highlights that sometimes all you need for the happy ever after you never thought you were looking for is one more night.

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EXCERPT:

“Thank you for doing this,” Iain said, the pad of his index finger tracing over the design Naomi had created for Whitman’s Revival. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure I’d hear from you again. You kind of ghosted me.”

He glanced up in time to catch her looking away guiltily. “Yeah, about that—”

“I’m not asking you to explain yourself. I get it. We had some fun, and now it’s time to move on.”

Naomi’s eyes came back around, the guilt replaced with what Iain thought looked a whole lot like contemplation. “Funny you should mention that.”

“Funny how?”

“I was thinking,” she said, her finger swirling a pattern on the table that separated them. “You’re leaving in two months, and it would be a shame if we didn’t spend that time … hanging out.” Her eyes bored into his, as if daring him to misunderstand.

His lips quirked up into a smirk. “Why, Miss Klein, are you asking me to fuck you senseless until I board a plane back to Ireland?”

She tossed him a wicked smile full of promise. “You have to admit; we’re pretty damn good at it.”

“The best,” he agreed.

He felt his chest sawing in and out as his breathing became deeper and more labored. Iain couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such heady anticipation. Oh, wait, yes, he could. It was that night in San Francisco when he and Naomi had practically run from that dive bar to his hotel. He’d been so ready for her that he’d ripped her dress off before the door to his room had locked behind them.

“So, what do you say, Brennan? You want to spend the next sixty days seeing how many orgasms we can give each other?”

That was all the invitation Iain needed. Abruptly, he stood, his chair scraping over the black-and-white-checked linoleum and then crashing to the floor. He stalked around the fifties-style diner table and fisted his hands in Naomi’s hair. He bent at the waist and let his lips hover scant centimeters from her parted ones. He could feel the warmth of her breath mingling with his own. “What do you say we get started on that now?”

She licked her lips. “Yes, let’s.”

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