# Dare Me

Jo Leigh

Trading Card: Cameron CrawfordOccupation: BrewmasterMarry/Date/One-Night Stand: One night.Warning: Seriously hot and seriously unavailable.As an up-and-coming wine expert, Molly Grainger has zero room for relationships. Fortunately, the Hot Guys Trading Card in her hand is the perfect solution. One night with a tasty, hard-bodied brewmaster who she hopes will go down smooth….But Cam offers Molly more than just a taste. He offers her an arrangement: Dating of Convenience, with bonus sexy times in between! It's a perfect pairing of practicality and deliciously naughty chemistry.And nothing would ruin it more than falling in love….

Trading Card: Cameron Crawford

Occupation: Brewmaster

Marry/Date/One-Night Stand: One night.

Warning: Seriously hot and seriously unavailable.

As an up-and-coming wine expert, Molly Grainger has zero room for relationships. Fortunately, the Hot Guys Trading Card in her hand is the perfect solution. One night with a tasty, hard-bodied brewmaster who she hopes will go down smooth….

But Cam offers Molly more than just a taste. He offers her an arrangement: Dating of Convenience, with bonus sexy times in between! It’s a perfect pairing of practicality and deliciously naughty chemistry.

And nothing would ruin it more than falling in love….

Never had a man wanted her so much…

Molly couldn’t deny the thrill that shot through her when she could so clearly see the urgency in Cam’s eyes.

His gaze traveled across her face and down her body.

“I want to do everything at once.” And then he had her in his arms, pressed up close, his mouth on hers in a heartbeat.

To think they could have been tangling in the sheets long before tonight...

God, she didn’t want to part for a second. Not when it felt this good. When she’d been so afraid of having this moment.

Why had she ever thought that sex with Cam was a bad idea?

Now, though, she was lost in taste and touch. His hands on her back, holding her close, the way he teased her tongue into following his.

He broke away, gasping. “Clothes,” he said. “Bed.”

Then he stripped off his shirt in one swipe, before kissing her again.

His hands moved to her buttons, which he took care of with such alacrity she wondered if he was a pianist, or if he did card tricks.

But when he kissed the tops of her breasts as he pushed the blouse from her shoulders, she no longer cared….


Dear Reader,

Here’s a toast to Dare Me, book five in the It’s Trading Men! series.

Molly Grainger is a wine critic. Cameron Crawford is a brewmaster. Molly knows from the moment she chooses his Hot Guys Trading Card that they’re perfect for each other...as long as he doesn’t mind that her career is her first priority, and she doesn’t mind that his stay in Manhattan is almost over. No, both of them agree that having perfect no-strings-attached hotter-than-hot sex is a fantastic plan. Or it would be, if they weren’t falling madly in love!

I love to hear from readers! You can find me @Jo_Leigh, and at tumblr.com/blog/joleighwrites.

Look for my next It’s Trading Men! book, Intrigue Me, in October!

Happy reading,

Jo Leigh

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jo Leigh is from Los Angeles and always thought she’d end up living in Manhattan. So how did she end up in Utah in a tiny town with a terrible internet connection being bossed around by a house full of rescued cats and dogs? What the heck, she says, predictability is boring. Jo has written more than forty-five novels for Harlequin. Visit her website at www.joleigh.com or contact her at joleigh@joleigh.com.

Dare Me

Jo Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Becca and Tiani for the light they’ve brought

into my life.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Extract

Copyright

[1]

“OH, COME ON,” Emmy said, hands on her hips, looking disappointed when she should be looking guilty.

Cameron Crawford checked the temperature of the mash for The Four Sisters’ newest summer ale. Eric Strand, the brewery manager, and his crew were attending to the fermentation tanks and Emmy was being a pain in Cameron’s ass, so he ignored her. Until he couldn’t hold on to his temper for another second. “You’re actually surprised I’m upset that you joined some dating cult thing and used my name and picture without my permission? I know you weren’t raised by wolves but only because you’re my sister. What the hell were you thinking?”

Emmy narrowed her eyes. “So I should just tear this card up right now.”

“Yes,” he said. “Please. Do that.”

She laughed. He didn’t care for the sound of it. “You might be a brainiac chemist with a doctorate, little brother, but sometimes you’re as dumb as a box of rocks.”

That made him turn on her. “Really? A box of rocks?”

“Yes. This is a Hot Guys Trading Card,” she said, waving the evidence of her crime as if it were a victory flag. “Although why I ever considered you being a hot guy is anyone’s guess.”

He finished the temperature check, made the notes on the log, then moved on. At least it was cold in the brewery, unlike the rest of Queens. The summers continued to get hotter, which meant their utility bills were out of control, but the heat brought a ton of customers to the brewpub. “Right. Let me get this straight. I’m ugly and stupid and...”

“Selfish.”

He loved his family, he really did, but it was a lot easier when they weren’t living in the same town. All he wanted to do was finish his rounds, then get back to his lab in the back room. “Selfish.”

“You should be glad I’m not moping over my divorce. And there’s no safer way to find a decent man in this city than Hot Guys Trading Cards.”

“Go ahead. Do your trading-card thing all you want. Although, for the record, it doesn’t sound safe. But don’t make me out to be the bad guy just because I’m sick of you and everyone else playing matchmaker.”

“It is safe. Because the men are all direct referrals. Not even friends of friends. You have to know a guy, be related to a guy or work directly with a guy to submit his name. And this has nothing to do with fixing you up. I swear.”

“Right.”

She glared at him. “I wasn’t allowed to choose a card until I’d submitted two of my own.”

“First of all,” he said, after digesting that bit of information, “you should have led with that, but it still doesn’t excuse you from not asking me first.”

“I figured you’d want to help me find someone. And honestly...even though it wasn’t my intention—” holding up her hands, she backed away “—this could end up being good for you, too.”

And there it was again. The big issue. “Just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He shook his head. “Emmy, you know how I feel about setups—I don’t like them. I’ll meet the right person when it’s meant to be. It’s all a matter of chemistry, and you can’t manufacture that. I believe in serendipity. Not being auctioned off to the highest bidder.”

“It’s not an auction. You get chosen. If you’re lucky. Then she’ll call you and you can find out all about her from me, because if I don’t know her, I’ll at least know some of her friends, and it’s likely we’ll already have talked before she takes out her cell phone, so yes, it’s safe. And there’s nothing that says serendipity can’t happen via a trading card.”

“How many women are we talking about here?”

Emmy raised her I’m so superior eyebrow, making him regret the question. “At the moment, twenty-seven.”

He knew he was going to be sorry, but the prospect of twenty-seven women deserved a little more investigation. “Are they all as old as you?”

“Very funny, you bastard. Keep making comments like that and I really will tear up the card.”

With great self-control, he faced his sister head-on, deciding the quickest way out was to let her have her say. “Fine. What kind of young ladies are they?”

“Single working women. Our group meets near my office, so most of them work in the East Village. And so far, everyone’s been really nice. Mindy—you know, my friend from krav maga—she invited me.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s been to the bar plenty of times, but anyway—” Emmy took a step closer to him. “Wait a minute. She was here last Friday night and you talked to her for, like, twenty minutes. Blonde? Green eyes? Talks like she’s from Jersey?”

“You talk like you’re from Jersey.”

“I do not.”

“Wait, Mindy? I think I remember her now,” he said. “Shorter than you, right?”

“Good try. Everyone’s shorter than me.”

He shrugged. Even twenty-seven single women wasn’t worth much more of this. He’d come back six months ago to help his dad with the craft-beer business. The first four months, he’d been neck-deep in work, so his sisters had left him alone. But lately the whole meddling bunch had been trying to set him up with friends, acquaintances...bar customers... That was the worst. At least Emmy wasn’t pressing him to get married before he left Queens. Probably because she was the only one in the family to have been through a divorce.

Emmy must have realized she was losing him, because her voice got softer. “Okay, look, we’re not dummies. We know we’re throwing women at you, but you know why. It’s Dad. He lives for the day you find a woman like Mom. At least with the trading cards, you’ve got a chance of meeting someone who doesn’t live in the neighborhood.”

“I’ll only be here a few more months, and I’d really appreciate some time off from work and setups. I do just fine on my own in Syracuse, so why does everyone think I need so much help?” He frowned at the card. “What’s all that writing on the back?” he asked, holding out his hand.

She pulled the card away. “You’re gonna thank me.”

“Not feeling the gratitude yet.”

“It says you’re a brewmaster.”

His first instinct was to correct her, but she wasn’t wrong. Not exactly. “Why didn’t you say I’m a chemist?” he asked, his hand still sticking out, waiting. “Since that’s what I am.”

“Because women don’t think of sex when you say chemist.”

“And they do when you say brewmaster?”

She just smiled. “I also said your favorite restaurant is Prune.”

“Prune? It is not.” He made a grab for the card, but damn all six feet of her, she was quick.

“I know. But if I put down your favorite restaurant is White Castle, no one would ever want to date you.”

Not that he’d tell her, but she might have had a point. Although to be clear, White Castle burgers were only one of his favorite foods. He also loved pizza. “Is that it? That’s everything on the card?”

“Nope. I also said your secret passion was creating prizewinning beer, that you’re not nearly as nerdy as you sound, that you’re an all-around great guy, and—”

“You called me a nerd?”

“And all-around great guy.”

“Yeah. Thanks a bunch. Now can I see it?”

She smiled too quickly. “Sure,” she said, handing it over. “Good picture, huh?”

“I don’t remember this photo.”

“Because Jade took it. Stealthily.”

“Great. Now it’s not just one sister. It’s a conspiracy.”

“You might want to turn the card over, Narcissus, and take a look. At each response.”

His sigh said exactly what he thought about what she’d put down for him. Until he got to the choice of marry, date or one-night stand. Ah. Okay. So Emmy did get the only thing he was interested in. “Fine,” he said, handing back the card. “I’ll do it. But only because I’m a good brother.”

Her laughter followed him all the way across the brewery until he closed the door behind him.

* * *

“GOLDFISH,” MOLLY GRAINGER SAID, leaning slightly away from the microphone that dangled in front of her face. “I assume you mean the crackers, not the actual fish.”

Her “frequent listener, first-time caller” Andy laughed. “Yeah. The crackers. The Hot ’n Spicy Cheddar ones.”

“Give me a second.” Although she already knew the wine she’d recommend, Molly waited a few beats for dramatic effect. “Malbec,” she said. “Definitely a Malbec. And I suggest trying one from Argentina. They’ve done wonderful things with an often neglected grape.”

“Okay,” Andy said. “But what makes it good to drink with Goldfish?”

“It stands up well to strong flavors. Malbec has a jammy character, and a great blend of aromas and flavors that makes it very complex, so you’re not just putting out the fire, but adding to the dining experience. Plus there are some very good choices for under twenty-five bucks. Let me know what you think.”

“Cool. Gracias.”

“De nada,” she said, then added, “This is Molly Grainger and you’re listening to Molly’s Wine for Newbies on WNYU radio. We’ll be right back.”

She clicked off her mike and switched her attention to the card that was sitting on her console. She’d just come back from her fifth Hot Guys Trading Cards meeting, and for the first time ever she’d selected a guy. His name was Cameron Crawford. Although he was, by any standard, a very good-looking man, she’d chosen him because he was a brewmaster, a distant cousin of sorts, careerwise. That should make the small talk easier.

Fact was, while she’d worked for years to overcome her natural shyness in order to teach and speak in public, she still had a hard time with personal one-on-one conversations. Which shouldn’t have mattered, since there was no room in her life for anything but a one-night stand right now, and yet she wasn’t about to jump in the sack without at least finding out if she liked the guy first.

Her being a master sommelier and well on her way to becoming a master of wine and Cameron’s passion for brewing gave them enough in common to begin a conversation without too much flailing about. And after meeting his sister Emerald, Molly doubted he’d be horrid. Emmy seemed bright and funny and had that very enviable ability to fit in with a broad assortment of people.

Now all that was left was for Molly to call Cameron and set up a time and place for dinner. Somewhere that wasn’t Prune. She was going to foot the tab, and there was no way she wanted to pay those kinds of prices. She’d already learned that he lived in Queens, so she focused her restaurant search on the area around the Queensboro Bridge. Bistango’s, perhaps, or Tommy Bahama.

But before she dialed Cameron’s number, she called the woman who’d introduced her to the trading cards: Donna, her boss at Wine Connoisseur and her closest friend. Molly’s producer, Roxanne, would signal her a few seconds before they went back on the air.

Donna answered on the first ring. “Did you call him yet?”

“Nope.” Jeez. Donna had been with her when she’d chosen the card all of one hour ago. “But I’ve figured out where I want to meet. The problem is what happens after.”

Donna was silent for a second. “It’s a date, Mol. You’ve been on dates.”

“Yes, thank you for being so literal.” Molly studied his card again. “He lives all the way out in Queens. You think he’s going to want to come all the way to Bensonhurst for a one-off?” Donna’s laugh was so loud, Molly had to move her phone away from her ear.

“You think a guy looking for a one-night stand via a trading card is gonna balk at a train ride? You have been celibate for way too long.”

“It’s not celibacy if you don’t have time for it.”

“Were you having sex? No? That’s being celibate in my book. You’ve been so busy working I doubt you’ve seen one movie this whole year. Am I right? Of course I’m right. You need to call this man.”

“I’m calling him! Stop yelling at me. I just... I wouldn’t go to Queens for him. That’s all.”

“He won’t mind. I promise.”

“Hey, Molly. You can screw at my place.” Bobby’s voice boomed over the intercom.

Molly closed her eyes. She’d neglected to cut off the intercom between her and the booth. When she did look, it was with a glare at the engineer. “I’m one hundred percent certain you’ve hooked up your entire apartment with video cameras,” Molly said. “You’re a perv, Bobby!” Turning her attention back to Donna, she said, “I’ll call you after I set things up.”

Donna said, “Good,” then hung up just as Bobby said, “I’m a guy, Molly. Did you know we think about sex every six seconds? My interest in the subject is a biological imperative.”

“Your interest in the subject is that you can’t keep it in your pants,” Roxanne said, her voice dripping with disdain. Theirs was not a match made in heaven. Shockingly, Bobby looked a little ashamed. Not that it would last.

Molly couldn’t have been happier that Roxanne had joined their team as a producer. Molly had originally worked with a guy named Wesley, who not only didn’t understand wine, but hadn’t understood the basics of personal hygiene. University radio stations were great, but the constant revolving door of personnel was a crapshoot.

“In three...two...” Roxanne gave Molly the signal. Her next caller had obviously taken a cue from the caller before the break and wanted to know what wine to pair with popcorn.

“Buttered?”

“Why not?” the caller asked.

Again, Molly went to the base ingredients, the underlying flavors and texture of the food. Popcorn was, after all, corn. And the butter meant she needed something sharp enough to cut the coating sensation on the tongue. “There’s a nice aromatic wine called Viognier that would fit the bill.” She spelled the word, which she had to do with a number of wines. “It’s a reasonably priced white—at least, the California varieties are. Look for Cold Heaven, and make sure the bottle’s well chilled. Then enjoy the movie.”

The requests continued in that vein for the next fifteen minutes. One ridiculous pairing after another. Molly ended up pleased with the hour. They’d had a lot of calls. She was so happy that she did some extra commercial recordings before she gathered her briefcase, her phone and her notes for the following week’s show and headed out to make the all-important phone call to Mr. Crawford.

But first she borrowed Roxanne’s empty office to steal a few minutes alone with her tablet. Molly checked her messages, texted a few replies and then went to her calendar. It was a masterpiece of organization born of necessity. Every day of the month was broken down into half-hour segments, and each segment was tied to her agenda, including breaks for meals, phone conversations that might take longer than five minutes, blogging, teaching, wine tasting, writing, editing... The list went on. What she was looking for now was evenings when she was free. She usually ended up sleeping or working on her evenings off. Occasionally she’d read, but mostly for research. In the past six months, she’d met Donna for drinks three times.

Ever since she’d gone to her first trading-cards meeting—ironically in the basement at St. Marks Church—she’d been shifting her schedule just enough to clear two possible nights next week when she could meet her date, have a meal or a drink, have sex and make it back to her apartment before one the next morning.

She found them on the following Thursday and Sunday. Granted, it would have been better if she’d blocked out a Friday or Saturday night, but those tended to get booked up months in advance with wine tastings, lectures, classes. She had an all-expenses-paid four-day event coming up in the Hamptons, and she’d had to do some serious reshuffling to attend that.

She dialed the number on the card, her heart beating rapidly, her mouth dry as a desert until her call went directly to voice mail.

Cameron sounded nice. And sexy. And polite when he asked her to leave a message.

“Hi, this is Molly Grainger. I’m calling about your trading card. I’d like to talk to you about meeting for a drink next week. I’m into wine as a career, and you’re into beer, so...give me a call.” She left her phone number and cut the connection, hoping she hadn’t sounded too much as though she wanted to sell him life insurance. But at least it was done. He’d probably call. Just hopefully not while she was stuck in a sardine sandwich on the subway going home.

She’d just made it out of the building when Bobby came jogging up to her. He was dressed in his regular uniform of raggedy jeans and a loud T-shirt, this one declaring his passion for zombies. To be fair, her tailored slacks and starched white blouse were her own version of a uniform. Ever since she’d set her sights on becoming a world-class wine expert, she’d dressed for the part, even back when she hadn’t had ten cents to rub together. God bless the Goodwill and consignment stores.

“Hey, Mol, this whole trading-cards thing. Can I get in on that action?”

She didn’t even hesitate. She wouldn’t wish that upon any poor woman. “Sorry, but no.”

“Seriously?” Bobby’s breath still carried the distinctive smoky notes of Cannabis sativa.

She took a step back. “Seriously.”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “See you next week.”

She stopped for a moment to watch him flirt with a young woman standing outside their building holding an armful of books before he went back inside. Had Molly ever been that relaxed, that young? Sometimes it felt as if she’d spent most of her life on a treadmill, running as fast as possible and gaining little ground. But that wasn’t completely true. At twenty-seven she’d already accomplished so much. As long as she stayed on track, there was nothing but success ahead of her.

Which reminded her...it was four-fifteen already, and she had a wine-tasting class at six, which meant she just had time to make it home for a quick shower and change before she had to be at Winesby to do her setup. She’d given the kitchen at the restaurant and wine shop the menu before the classes had begun. Tonight’s tasting was Focus on Red, which she particularly loved.

She made it onto the D train in the nick of time. Not surprisingly, she didn’t score a seat, but she wasn’t so squished that she couldn’t steal another glance at Cameron’s trading card. A brewmaster. A great-looking brewmaster with wavy dark hair, sinfully dark eyes and a mischievous smile. Okay, if he called while she was on the train, she wouldn’t answer. She’d wait. Call him back on her own time. The idea of finding someone she could actually talk to while they were in bed was proving to be very enticing. She just hoped he would be free on Sunday or Thursday, because she honestly didn’t think she could make it much longer with just her vibrator and fantasies of Benedict Cumberbatch to get her through.

[2]

AS HARD AS the air conditioner at Bistango’s tried, it couldn’t keep up with the entry area. The summer sun was still out at seven, and the heat followed everyone who walked in.

Cameron hadn’t been to the restaurant in years, but he was happy to be back. Especially when it meant meeting someone who sounded so interesting. Ever since Molly had called to set up the date, he’d become a little too invested in the outcome. Although he knew he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. One-night stand didn’t necessarily mean same-night stand.

But he hoped it would.

One more glance at the door, and there she was. She was prettier than the pictures on her website, and those had been damn good. He hadn’t realized she’d be so slim. That wasn’t even the right word. Delicate was more accurate. Five-seven or so, auburn hair that curved and swirled across her shoulders, and big dark eyes that might have captured every bit of his attention if it hadn’t been for her figure.

Online, she’d appeared trim and sophisticated. What the photographs had failed to show were her curves.

“Cameron,” she said, holding out her hand. Her handshake was firm, and her gaze roamed down to his chest before it came back up to meet his eyes. “Molly Grainger,” she said. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Nope. Just got here myself.” Neither of them had let go yet. “Nice to meet you, Molly. You can call me Cam.” She had one of those smiles that made him automatically grin in return. “Well, I guess I’ll go check on our reservation.”

He nodded toward a brunette holding menus. “The hostess is waiting for us.”

“Oh, good.”

Walking slightly behind her, he stole a glance at her round, pert bottom and slender legs. Things had gone from good to great, and they hadn’t even talked yet. After weaving their way through the dinner crowd, they were seated in a relatively private booth.

Molly stared at him for longer than he was expecting, but it wasn’t the eyes-meet-and-linger of a sexual connection. More of an oh, God, what have I done? look.

“I was impressed with your website,” Cam said, hoping to ease her discomfort. “I read some of your articles. Very interesting. Our professions dovetail in so many areas.”

“My website?” Her shoulders sagged on a sigh. “Oh.”

Cam’s grin faded. “Is that against the rules or something?”

“What? No, of course not. It’s just—” She straightened. Her shoulders were neatly squared by a white blouse that looked old-fashioned to him, but then again, he knew nothing about trends. Besides, who cared when she was so pretty. “So much for making small talk. You already know everything about me.”

“Somehow I doubt that. Unless all you do is work.”

“Basically, that is all I do, yes.”

“So that explains why someone so attractive is doing the trading-card thing.”

Her cheeks turned a little pinker. “And what’s your excuse?”

“A meddling sister.”

Molly raised her eyebrows. “So you don’t actually want to be here.”

“No, no, no. I didn’t say that. In fact, I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.” He meant it. Whether it was just nerves or something else, he could tell she was struggling to hold her reactions in check, but, in fact, she was very expressive. Fascinatingly so. Even now, the blush that had been on the apples of her cheeks was spreading to her temples. “Which doesn’t mean my sister didn’t meddle. She’s a first-class buttinsky. Her and the rest of my sisters...and, damn, I just remembered that you know her.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve met, but I wouldn’t say I know her.”

“Thank God. She’s a lot stronger than she looks.”

They exchanged smiles, and just before he was going to ask her if she’d gone on these kinds of dates before, he was interrupted by the waitress requesting their drink orders. Molly asked for a few more minutes so she could decide on her meal first, and Cam got a little excited. If she didn’t want to linger over cocktails, maybe that meant they were headed on the fast track to the bedroom. The menu suddenly seemed more interesting. Couldn’t go wrong with a steak. Good source of protein. If he was lucky, he’d need the stamina later. “Any idea what you’re going to get?”

She looked up as he set his menu aside. “I was thinking of ordering the baby-artichoke antipasti with a house salad. What would you recommend pairing with it?”

“Isn’t that your specialty?” he asked, surprised, hoping it wasn’t a test. He knew what he liked, but he was a novice when it came to wine.

“It is, yes, but I’ll be having beer tonight. I’m off the clock.”

He liked the way she’d leaned in to tell him that bit. As if being off the clock was a special treat. After seeing her work calendar on her website, he could understand why.

“Let me take a look.” He grabbed his menu again. “I haven’t been here in a while and I don’t know what they’re serving anymore.” It took him a minute to focus on the liquor selections instead of Molly. The beer list wasn’t extensive, but the offerings were excellent. “If you’re game, I’d go with the Green Flash. It’s a great India pale ale, really complex flavors and strong hops.”

The smile he got in response was a knockout. “I’m game. That’s one I’ve never tried, and it sounds excellent.”

After the waitress had taken their orders, Molly turned to him again, crossing her arms on the wooden table as she leaned in. “Now that we have that settled, I’m anxious to hear about you. You’re my first hot guy.”

Glad he hadn’t been drinking, he stifled a cough. “Uh...”

“I mean, first trading-card guy. I’ve met hot men before.”

“Well, you’re my first trading-card woman, so we’re even.”

“Fair enough,” she said, “but none of that gets you out of telling me about your life. I know you make craft beers and that you come from a tall family. Your turn.”

“You didn’t look me up?”

“I can now see my error in judgment regarding that, but no. I didn’t. I spoke briefly to Emerald and took a chance on your card.”

“All right. I have four sisters, all of them tall and athletic. My family owns a bar in Queens called, strangely enough, The Four Sisters, and you’re right. I’m into craft beers.”

He could have mentioned the job in Syracuse, but he didn’t bother. Besides, he wanted the spotlight back on her.

“Why’s it called The Four Sisters? What are you, chopped liver?”

“Ha. I’ll have to remember to mention that to Emmy. It got its name before any of my sisters were born. My dad had four sisters. So I guess he’s chopped liver, not me.”

She grew flushed again. “I just meant—”

“I know,” he said, grinning. “Personally, I think it should be changed to One Brother and Four Pains in His Butt, but that might be hard to put on the label.”

Giggles like champagne bubbles were made even better by Molly’s efforts to stem them. Man, giggles could go bad in so many ways, but hers made him want to be funny for a living.

“For what it’s worth, I’d think twice before picking up any beverage that had butts on the label. No matter what the context.”

“And that’s why I stick to creating the beers, not naming them.”

The waitress came by with the drinks, and Molly visibly relaxed as she closed her eyes and brought the mug up close.

He found himself sniffing when she did, even though his beer was still on the table. And when she parted her lips to take her first sip, he mimicked the move, hoping like hell she would use that much intensity when they were kissing.

“Oh, yes,” she said, except it sounded way too much like something he’d hear in bed.

God, he was in trouble.

“You and I are going to get along well.” Molly looked into his eyes, her gaze rapt, a whole new kind of brightness lighting her face. “This is exactly what you promised. A big, juicy hop-forward aroma with citrus and piney hops.” Another sip, this one rolled around on her tongue before she swallowed. “Ah. Grapefruit, mango, pineapple. It’s difficult to get too much nuance with all the competing smells in the room, but the strength of the hops and pine resin really come through. Delicious.”

He wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her until morning. Instead, he picked up his lager. “To hops and grapes,” he said.

They clinked.

* * *

HALFWAY THROUGH HER SALAD, Molly put her fork down. There hadn’t been a word spoken between her and Cameron for what had to be two minutes. A completely comfortable two minutes.

On a first date.

With the best-looking man in the restaurant.

He’d worn a short-sleeved shirt, silky gray, that begged to be touched and jeans. Worn jeans. And he’d tucked that silky gray shirt into the worn jeans so that every time she thought of him in a whole-picture sense, it was all about broad shoulders tapering to tight hips and long legs.

She sighed as she took another bite of lettuce. Here was a man who not only understood winespeak, but who made her laugh, whose smile did something wicked to her insides and who’d spent a considerable amount of time asking her questions instead of talking about himself.

Huh.

“What?” Cameron’s steak-filled fork hung suspended between his plate and mouth. “Is everything okay?”

She nodded. “Everything’s fine. Surprisingly so.”

“What do you mean?”

She wondered how much to tell him. This was a very temporary situation, after all. One of the great things about the one-night-stand concept was that she didn’t have to go into detail. To think that the easiest thing in her life right now was having sex with a man whose eyes were the color of crème de cacao made her feel almost giddy. “I’m usually not so relaxed on a first date.”

He shrugged. “You’re easy to talk to.”

“You’d be surprised. It’s better with you because of what we have in common, I think.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But after seeing the kind of schedule you keep, I have a feeling you’re just grateful there won’t be a test. Is that page on your website real? I mean, how do you even have time to date? I’m busy, but your life’s insane.”

“It’s real. Well, it’s just a sample, but it’s a great visual aid when I have to turn down social engagements. On the other hand, most people I know are in the same boat. Everyone’s working ridiculous hours, handling more of the load than is feasible, and so scared to lose their jobs that they never even think of taking time off. That is, if they’re not spending all day hunting for work.”

“I know. Especially in New York. I see that every night at the bar. We have to be careful about how much we serve to people, make sure they’re not driving home. It used to be that folks came by to relax, play some pool, taste some brews. Now a lot of customers come in to get hammered. It’s a problem.”

She’d been about to ask for a second beer, but maybe water was a better option. “At least I’m in charge of my time. No one else to blame. Besides, it’ll all pay off in the end.”

“Which will be...?”

“Becoming a major player in the world of fine wines. I want to be at the top. I think I can do it, too, if I keep my priorities straight.”

“Impressive,” he said. “With your drive and ambition, I can see it happening.”

“If I don’t weaken,” she said, hearing the fierceness in her own voice.

He jerked his head back a bit, as if she’d startled him. “There’s always something tempting on the horizon. But you clearly love what you do. That’s the key. We’re lucky. We’re both working in fields we’re passionate about.”

Although he was being really nice about it, she knew she’d gone too far. Sometimes she became too strident, didn’t explain herself well. It wasn’t always easy for people to understand that she had only herself to rely upon. No sisters to bug her, no thicker-than-water blood ties. So she smiled, relaxed her shoulders. “So, tell me about your brewery.”

His eyes lit up. And there was equilibrium again. Damn if she hadn’t hit the trading-card jackpot. To celebrate, she threw caution to the wind and ordered them both refills on their beers. He told her all about the new lambic brewing he was trying. She’d never even heard of the process—something about using wild yeasts—but he made it sound fascinating. With every anecdote, every lift of excitement in his strong baritone voice, she liked him more and more.

In fact, her body was having a little fiesta all its own, complete with fireworks that lit her up from the blush on her cheeks to the pressure between her legs. Mr. Crawford had started out the evening being good-looking, but now he was attractive.

Maybe ordering more drinks had been a mistake. Still, when was the last time she’d been so caught up in a conversation? She’d hardly given a thought to the busy day she had tomorrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I get carried away talking about the brewery. I’d much rather hear about how you managed to become a master sommelier and a master of wine when you’re barely old enough to drink.”

“You charmer. I’m twenty-seven. And I’m not a master of wine yet. I still have my dissertation to finish before I can claim that title.”

“Not the point. I’m no expert, but I know what it takes to get that far. And, what, are you the youngest master sommelier ever?”

“One of. I started early. I had two terrific mentors, both deeply involved in the business, to help me along. Simone grew up at her family’s vineyard in France, and Phillip is also a master of wine and runs a very successful international wine distribution company. I happen to love the taste and I have a decent nose and palate, so they took me under their wing. With their support, I got lucky.”

“I don’t believe luck had anything to do with it. You must have worked your ass off.”

She didn’t reply, but she couldn’t hide her smile. “What about you? How did you get into beer? You mentioned the pub belongs to your dad?”

“The bar was originally my grandfather’s. He bought it in the 1960s. But you couldn’t distill and distribute alcoholic beverages in Queens until 2007, so my father was into home brewing. And yes, he sold some of that from the house, but don’t tell anyone. I got involved when I was a kid, a few years after my mom died. Brewing beer became a thing for me and my dad to do together.”

“I’m sorry about your mom, but that’s very sweet.”

“It was good. It still is. I got more into the chemistry of it all, but he understood beer on an intuitive level. He still does. We work well together.”

“So the whole family takes part?”

“Not all of us. A couple of years ago Ruby got a job as an assistant coach for the Indiana Fever women’s basketball team. But the rest of us do. You’ve met Emmy. She works at the bar part-time. There’s also Amber and Jade.”

“Nice. How come you’re not Silver or, I don’t know, Sterling?”

“Now, that’s where luck really does play a part. My sisters got to name me, and they were in love with Cameron Crowe movies. It was a close call, though. They almost named me Lloyd Dobler.”

That made her laugh. How prescient were his sisters? Cameron didn’t look like John Cusack in Say Anything..., but he possessed that same sincerity that made every girl who’d ever watched the movie fall in love with his character. “It wouldn’t have been terrible to be named Lloyd.”

“Yes, it would have. I already got enough grief for not being into sports like my sisters, all of whom are older and incredibly coordinated. I didn’t need a weirder name than I already have.”

“Cam is very butch,” she said. “Like something from a car.”

He flexed his arm, showing off a good-sized bulge. “That’s me, all right. I wear only muscle shirts to work, even when it’s ten below outside.”

Laughing again, Molly was surprised to find they were both finished with their meals. Which meant she’d get to drag him to her apartment and ravish him until neither of them could move.

He raised his hand to signal the waitress, and that was when it hit her. She couldn’t have sex with Cameron Crawford.

It would ruin everything.

[3]

LETTING MOLLY PAY the bill wasn’t easy. He’d been raised by fiercely independent women, strong in all kinds of ways and highly opinionated. But in the back of his mind, he heard his father’s voice telling him that there was nothing wrong with a little chivalry.

“Are you sure?” he asked before the waitress returned. “You had to do the scary part, so I should pay.”

“Are you saying that every time you’ve asked a woman out, she’s footed the bill?”

He grinned. “You’re too clever for your own good. You could have made out like a bandit.”

Molly shook her head. “You’ll notice we didn’t go to your favorite restaurant. Besides, I don’t think the rules are so set anymore. Not like they used to be.”

The waitress took the bill folder and his last chance to pay. At least for this meal. “Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t I get the cab?”

Molly’s lips parted and she blinked. “Um...”

“Oh. Damn. Sorry. I didn’t mean... That was presumptuous, but not intentional. The cab could just be for you. Even if you live in Connecticut, I don’t mind.” He folded his napkin again, this time putting it on top of his plate instead of on the table. But he had to look at her eventually. When he did, she was smiling. Kind of. Not that big infectious grin he’d seen earlier, but something tighter.

“It’s okay. I was thinking about inviting you over for coffee, but I live all the way in Bensonhurst, and I have a terrible apartment and no milk, in case you like milk. In your coffee.”

He congratulated himself on turning what had been a relaxed and easy conversation into an awkward mess. “I don’t take milk in my coffee, thanks, so we’re good. So, Bensonhurst, huh? I haven’t been to Little Italy, but I have gone to Chinatown. Do you live near there?”

She nodded, but he was reasonably sure she was still troubled by his assumption. “I have cookies, too. They’re just packaged, nothing fancy.”

Maybe not that troubled. “I’m not fancy, either. You ready to go?”

She led him through the restaurant as he tried to figure out his next move. He wanted to go to her place. But he’d misconstrued what he’d thought had been a solid green light. Coffee could mean coffee or it could mean sex. He didn’t think cookies meant anything but cookies. The only thing to do was let things play out. By the time they got to her place, he’d know what to do.

At almost nine, the August heat was still oppressive. The humid air settled over him like a wet dishrag. There were so many people on the street who looked as if they were partially melted. But not Molly.

It had to be starch that kept her blouse from wilting. He’d never given starch a thought, outside of its chemical properties, but now he wanted to touch her shirt, see if it felt stiff or soft.

Instead, he stepped off the curb and threw his arm up. He wasn’t the only one. Despite the subway station nearby, people wanted cabs, preferably with air-conditioning.

A brush of fingers on his bare arm startled him. He leaned toward her so he could hear her against all the traffic noise.

“Sorry,” she said.

He dropped his arm. “Oh—”

“No, not like that. I was going to say something, but I lost the thread. It’ll come back to me.”

“Sure. Okay.”

She smiled. Then she lifted her arm as she turned her attention to the stream of traffic. Not five seconds later, a yellow taxi stopped.

Inside, the cab smelled fresh and felt cool. Molly gave the driver her address, and they both settled in the back, close but not touching.

“I noticed you do a lot of teaching,” he said, hoping to recapture the mood from dinner. “Have you ever done that on a wine-tasting cruise?”

Her short laugh was answer enough. “What made you think of that?”

“I saw a commercial. Seven days to Paris and Normandy. It showed a table full of guests with five or six glasses of wine in front of them. It sounded great...until I thought of rough seas.”

Molly coughed and laughed at the same time, and he thought she might even be choking. All he could do was pat her back until she held up her hand to stop him. She took a couple of deep, clear breaths before she sat back and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

“That was horrible,” she said.

“I have no excuse. It was wine related, and my mind just went there, and I can’t do anything but apologize.”

“I don’t think one apology is nearly enough.” She shivered. “God, what a picture.”

But instead of telling the cabbie to pull over so she could shove him out the door, she giggled. That same light-as-air laugh that he’d heard in the restaurant. For his next trick, he hoped to inspire another wide grin.

“I thought this would be the easiest date in the history of dates,” she said.

“Me, too.”

“In some ways, it has been.” She was staring intently at him. The humor of a minute ago had been replaced with a hint of confusion that Cam didn’t understand.

“And not just because of our jobs. Okay, some of it is because of our similar careers, but there was—”

“A connection.”

“Yeah.”

He’d moved closer to her when she was coughing. His thigh pressed against hers, the top of his arm touched her shoulder. Her eyes widened as he leaned in to press his lips against hers.

She gasped.

He didn’t move or breathe.

Until she made it a kiss.

* * *

MOLLY INHALED THE SCENT of toasty-rich caramel malt layered with a hint of citrus and spice as she brushed her lips against Cam’s. With her eyes closed it was easy to concentrate on the aromas as they spread across the length of her soft palate. But it would take more than scent to reveal the man underneath. At least the air-conditioning wasn’t so loud that it blocked the sound of his breath, the click of his swallow.

He pressed forward, opening her mouth, eager for more, but her hand on his jaw slowed him down long enough for her to run the tip of her tongue across his bottom lip.

She’d studied his mouth in the restaurant. Not in a creepy way, but that plump bottom lip of his was very enticing. He tasted lightly sweet.

He moaned when she slid her tongue past his teeth to where the echo of hops and grains was strongest, but when he pressed back, her train of thought snapped and all she could do was surrender to the far more primal thrust and parry.

This was exactly what she’d hoped for. To find a man to turn off her brain, let her forget the mountain of work that waited on the other side of her front door, the pressure to find time, any kind of time, to sleep without her to-do list jolting her awake.

The way he kissed her, firm and hungry and sure, promised a fantastic vacation of a night, the kind she would remember for weeks when she needed a coma-inducing orgasm after a stressful day.

His hand, large and warm, roamed down her back as he pulled away from the kiss, only to tilt his head to the right, finding an angle that let him pull her body tight against his chest.

The cab’s sharp turn parted them too soon.

“You okay?”

Cameron had whispered the words as he stared without blinking. His breathing had morphed into rapid panting, as if he’d run a great distance. She liked knowing that she’d done that to him.

“Good.”

She closed her eyes seconds before he kissed her again. They were both leaning now, and in this position she felt smaller. She was normally an expert at making herself disappear in uncomfortable situations, but this was entirely different. Cam was tall. Six-two? Six-three? With his broad chest pressing against her front and his big hands on her back, she felt petite. And petite felt safe. At least with Cameron.

She couldn’t hold back a whimper when he stopped, but instead of pulling away his lips went to the sensitive spot behind her ear. He nibbled at her skin, giving her goose bumps, and when he took her earlobe between his teeth, she trembled.

“We need to give the driver a very big tip,” she said, her voice high and airy and not like her at all.

“I’ll double it if she slows down.” He continued kissing her, prompting more whimpers and breathy moans from her, louder now.

Loud enough, evidently.

The taxi decelerated as Molly’s heart sped up.

Even if they slowed to a crawl, they were going to get to her place eventually. Tonight could be perfect. Seriously perfect. She even had a bottle of Pinot chilling in the fridge and a new box of condoms in the bathroom cabinet.

God. His hand. His left hand. It wasn’t on her back anymore. It was on her breast. Not under her blouse or bra, just resting on top. Way more casual than his rush back to her lips.

For a few seconds, the thrill of the kiss sidetracked her, but then they went over a bump and her hard, sensitive nipple felt the pressure of his hand.

Still. His hand was still. Not squeezing, not doing much of anything. Needing more, she arched her torso.

“There we go,” he whispered. “That’s what I was waiting for.”

“Why?” she asked, seconds before he stole her ability to speak. Not just with his mouth, but the way he touched her. A slow squeeze followed by just his palm circling the tip of her nipple.

The goose bumps came back. Shivers arrived with his low groan.

She caught a peek of orange sky as they stopped, but it was a red light, not home base.

Picturing him in her minuscule apartment made her remember the dress that was hanging in her closet, still covered in plastic. She’d spent too much money on it, even though it was secondhand. But it was for a very special occasion, and as much as Cameron’s kisses had reminded her how much she wanted to have mind-boggling sex with him, it was much more important to her to have him escort her to the awards banquet.

But how could she stop this runaway train of sexual exploration? It would be horrible to put the brakes on now.

It wasn’t that she felt obligated to have sex with him, even when they were both this aroused. She wanted him. He wanted her. Ever since the first touch of his lips, her body had been giving her an enthusiastic green light. On the other hand... As the cab inched into traffic, Molly pulled back. Not away, not like that, but enough.

“What’s wrong?” Cam asked.

“Nothing.”

His eyes narrowed. “Uh...”

“I mean, it’s something. But nothing’s technically wrong.”

His left hand dropped away as he sat up, helping her up as he did so. Which was just more proof that he’d be the most perfect date ever for one of the most important nights of her life. Since her neighbor Eddie had moved to Ohio, she didn’t have anyone she could count on to be her plus-one.

“Molly?”

When she met Cam’s gaze, her uncertainty grew. They were just two blocks away from her place now, and dammit, she wasn’t sure.

She wanted to be sure.

Especially because he’d made it very clear he had one goal in mind, and if they both went upstairs, he’d get his wish and walk away. And while she’d be left sexually satisfied, she would lose a golden opportunity. Getting the award, making the speech, being in the company of so many people she admired terrified her.

Her only option was to move the goal line.

Fully aware that she was being manipulative and selfish, she plunged ahead. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry. I know my timing is terrible, but please, could I have a rain check?”

His shocked expression almost convinced her to change her mind.

“I have to admit I was not expecting that,” he said. “Did I get my signals crossed?”

“No. Everything you did was great. Perfect. I didn’t know until just now that I wasn’t sure. About the rest of it. About moving so fast. This has been a fantastic night, but...”

“You need to be certain.”

She nodded.

He looked at her with his dark eyes. “Okay. Rain check it is.”

Her sigh didn’t ease her guilt, but it did help her relax enough to grab her purse. “I’ll call you,” she said, just as they turned onto her block. “Soon. Very soon. I hope you’ll want to see me again.”

Cam leaned over and kissed her. Lightly. On the lips, and then on her cheek. “I had a great time,” he said. “Almost all the way to the end.”

She winced, even though he was teasing. “Thank you.” She found his hand and squeezed it before she opened her purse to pull out her wallet. “I’m sorry about the coffee.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he said, stopping her from getting money out. “Can you wait for me?” he asked the cabbie. “Five minutes?”

“I’m on the clock. Take your time.”

“You don’t need to walk me up,” Molly said. “Honestly. I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine. I’ve only got a few steps to go before I’m inside.”

Nodding, he got out of the cab and held his hand out to help her. Once they were standing on the sidewalk, she had the urge to ask him up anyway, but she held back. She wanted him to be the perfect ending to her big awards night. Then, when they said their goodbyes, she’d have no regrets at all.

* * *

THE RIDE BACK to Manhattan was as surreal as it was uncomfortable. Cam had been completely blindsided by Molly’s request. The conversation had been stellar. She was amazing to touch, to kiss, and the way she’d kissed him back—

Dammit, there’d been chemistry between them.

Not the forever kind. But it had been easy and sexy. Naturally, he’d pictured them in bed together. Halfway to her place, he’d been calculating how early they’d have to get up to have morning sex.

And then...ice water.

At least the physical discomfort had eased up. Not totally. That wouldn’t happen until he got back to his place and did some manual labor. But at least his balls weren’t blue anymore.

Even though he’d moved to the side of the bench seat, he knew the cabbie was still sneaking glimpses at him. A woman behind the wheel was a rarity in New York. He’d have liked to ask her opinion about what had happened, but that would be admitting he’d been making out in the backseat like a teenage horndog. Of course, she knew that. No way she couldn’t, but pretending that it hadn’t happened was the best way to handle things like this.

Besides, Cam was pretty certain Molly had meant what she’d said. That she would call him, and they’d have another go, and she’d have quelled her doubts. Huh. She’d probably gone directly to the internet to check out his story. She’d met Emmy, but when it came down to taking a man into her bed, she probably wanted to be completely confident he wasn’t a bastard.

He’d checked her out. Why wouldn’t she do the same?

Right. It wasn’t complicated, and it wasn’t about him. Maybe he should have insisted on paying the dinner tab.

No. She’d been very clear, and his sisters had taught him to listen to things like that. Ignoring the express wishes of a lady, even if he thought he knew better, was dismissive and a dick move.

That she’d postponed things meant nothing. Sex tonight hadn’t been cut in stone. The next move was hers. He hoped she’d call. If she didn’t? No need to go there. He hadn’t even gotten back to the city yet. He’d give it a few days. She’d call.

She would.

[4]

FOUR A.M. As he stared at the ceiling, thoughts of Molly and what they could have been doing kept Cam up, pissed that he couldn’t turn off his brain.

Since the date had ended earlier than he’d expected, he’d gone down to the bar to help out after his shower. The plan had been to get some relief then hit the sack, but that hadn’t worked out, either.

Sunday through Thursday, they were open till two. As soon as their last customer left, Cam had helped the Sunday night crew clean everything. He’d made an excellent favor swap with Solomon, their senior bartender. Solomon now owed him a weekend night off for scrubbing the floors in the kitchen and subbing in behind the bar. The physical exercise and focus had been a good distraction from thinking about Molly. Unfortunately, the distraction had stopped working as soon as he had.

He’d tried to convince himself he was tired enough to sleep. After lying in bed as the minutes marched on, he went for one more round with his right hand. It didn’t take long to get hard, not when he could picture her so clearly. Shit, he could still practically feel her breast under his palm.

If this didn’t do the trick, he’d get out his notebook and work some calculus problems. Those had always put him to sleep.

* * *

MOLLY SQUIRMED IN her bed, unable to find a comfortable position. She wouldn’t look at the clock. Not again. Every time she did, she was compelled to figure out how many hours she had until her alarm went off if she immediately fell asleep.

The last reading had been at two-fifteen. Her alarm would go off at five-thirty.

All because she was the most horrible person in all of New York. And New Jersey, and probably Connecticut and, what the hell, Rhode Island, too.

The look on Cameron’s face when she’d pulled the emergency cord. She might as well have slapped him across the face. What she’d actually done was probably worse for a guy.

She’d been having this internal debate since she’d walked into her apartment and turned on her computer. She’d gone straight to The Four Sisters Brewpub’s website. It was an impressive site with lots of history about the place, including how many blue ribbons Cameron’s beer had won in the past. But none in the past five years.

They’d barely scratched the surface of each other’s lives. She had questions. Far too many for a brief encounter of the sexual kind. Where had he gone to school? What did he do when he wasn’t crafting beers, or was he like her, obsessed and never truly away from his career?

The world of wine was very competitive. Very few made any kind of splash at all, and barely a trickle became internationally noted.

She wished Phillip and Simone had planned on coming to New York for Friday’s ceremony. But it was understandable that they couldn’t just drop everything for one banquet. Bordeaux to New York was a major trip, and they were so busy with the vineyard and the business. Simone had mentioned a possible visit in the fall, so that was something to look forward to.

In the meantime, if Molly had Cam on her arm, no one would wonder where her parents were. Of course, Phillip and Simone weren’t her real parents; she’d known them for only twelve years. But they’d brought her into their incredible home, into their lives. It had been a rebirth, the only one that mattered to her.

She’d have liked to introduce them to Cameron. He’d have gotten on well with Phillip especially. Phillip enjoyed a cold beer from time to time, although you would never guess it. But he’d have liked that Cameron was the brains behind his brews.

And now here Molly was, unable to sleep, her mind still chock-full of Cameron. Which wasn’t wise. She barely knew him, and best-case scenario, she’d be with him from Friday evening through Saturday morning. If she was very lucky, maybe they’d have breakfast together, but that thought, that hope, was already crossing a line.

She’d lived on fantasies most of her life. Only one had ever come true. Phillip and Simone hadn’t actually adopted her, but that was okay. Just the odds of finding an amazing foster family as a teenager were off the charts.

Her thoughts veered back to the most vivid of tonight’s fantasies. Cameron, taking off her clothes. Slowly. Kissing all the places he uncovered. Calling her beautiful, even though she knew she wasn’t quite. It was easy to picture him without his shirt. Not so easy to imagine what was under his jeans. At least in the front. She’d already gotten a great look at his butt with the way the denim hugged him.

He did have big hands, so... That didn’t necessarily mean he was well-endowed, but for now, she’d go with it. What the heck, right? In for a penny. Having already used her vibrator once, she let her fingers do the work this time. Once they were underneath her panties, she knew exactly what to do. Her imagination was vivid and well practiced. He’d be on this very bed, the covers tossed aside. His kisses were easy to recall in perfect detail. From there, she could extrapolate what his lips would feel like on her nipples. How he’d lick his way down until he reached her button.

She winced at the word, the old word that she’d learned from the other kids. When they’d whispered after lights-out. The button. It had taken her years to figure out what they meant. She’d thought it was a real button.

She’d learned, of course, that it was her clitoris. But some habits were harder to break than others, and dammit, she didn’t want to think about anything but Cameron and how he’d know just what she liked. How he’d go slowly until she couldn’t stand it, and how he would care more about making her happy than just taking for himself. Hey, it was her fantasy, so she didn’t care that men like that didn’t exist in real life.

She’d call him on Tuesday. Give him enough time to rent a tuxedo, if he didn’t own one. Would he be insulted if she offered to pay for the rental?

Pulling her hand out of her pants, she gave up. She was never going to get to sleep if she didn’t stop projecting wildly about a man she barely knew.

All she had was a feeling.

Cameron Crawford would come through for her. For one perfect night. Was that too much to hope for?

Sighing, she avoided answering her own question and started counting the seconds, determined to get to five hundred or fall asleep trying.

She reached eight hundred and nine.

* * *

“I’M GONNA CALL HER.” It was Tuesday afternoon and Emmy was prepping condiments while Cameron worked at the small table in the corner of the bar’s kitchen. “As a friend,” he said. “Just, you know, make sure she’s okay.”

Emmy was quiet for so long, Cam looked up. She wasn’t looking at him. In fact, she was standing at the sink washing limes, but there was no doubt she was judging him.

“I’m not going to make a big deal out of it. Besides, I’ll hear it in her voice if she doesn’t want to talk to me.” Hell, she probably wouldn’t even answer. Stupid caller ID. There weren’t any surprises left in life.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

He glanced down at his newest recipe for a cream ale. Although he hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep last night, at least he’d come up with what he thought was a viable design for a unique brew. But his mind wasn’t on the new ale. It was stuck on all the things he wished he’d said to Molly.

What the hell? Last time he’d checked, he wasn’t a teenage girl.

Closing his eyes, he let his chin drop to his chest. “I should go back to bed. Fifteen minutes is all I need. I read an article. Fifteen, twenty minutes is supposed to leave me refreshed but not groggy.” He looked at his sister again. “It sounds like torture. Maybe that’s why it works. I’ll end up so pissed off that I couldn’t enjoy my nap, it’ll knock that groggy shit right out.”

Emmy laughed. Turned off the water. “What’s gotten into you? You must have really liked Molly, because you never mention women you go out with. Even the ones that keep you out all night.”

He wasn’t about to tell Emmy how the date had actually ended. Way too much information, and just...no. “We didn’t really finish our conversation, that’s all. She was nice. Interesting.”

“Your conversation. Uh-huh.”

“I’m tired. Leave me alone. Actually, talk to Jade. She’s trying to set me up with someone from her gym. I told her about the trading cards, but I could tell she’s got something cooking.”

“Fine. I’ll talk to her. Just do me a favor. Don’t call Molly. You sound pathetic.”

“Thanks a lot.” He was supposed to finish writing this damn recipe, then go help pitch the yeast into the wort. Eric was running the floor in back, and the crew would do just fine without him, but an extra hand was never turned away. They’d all helped him with his small-brew experiments. Yeah, that was part of what they got paid to do, but it never felt like that, not in the brewery or the bar. You made the payroll, you became part of The Four Sisters family.

“Don’t forget to talk to Jade.”

“Yes, sir.” Emmy turned back to her prepping, and Cam left the kitchen. Left the bar. Only to go upstairs to his apartment.

His dad had had this addition built. There’d been plenty of times that a place to crash had been a blessing, and Cam was sure everyone would be relieved when he went back to Syracuse. Fridays and Saturdays the bar was open until four in the morning. A lot of people had crashed in the bed upstairs.

It wasn’t even that noisy. The contractor had previously worked on sound booths and editing facilities, and he’d made sure not much noise bled upstairs. Nothing they could do about the vibrations, but Cam was used to the pulse of the jukebox.

Halfway up, his cell phone rang, and when he saw it was Molly, he hurried up the rest of the stairs. He didn’t answer until he was inside the apartment with the door shut behind him.

“Hi. It’s Molly.”

“I know. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Good. I mean, I’m completely stuck on this column I’m writing, but other than that, everything’s fine.”

“I’m glad. Not about being stuck. About...” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He could do better. “I was impressed when I saw that you blocked out time on your calendar for writing and stuff.”

“I just wanted people to know that I have office hours. That it would be better not to call when I was working.”

“Do they anyway?”

She laughed. “All the time.”

“It was worth a try, though, huh?”

“Yeah.”

He could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m still awfully sorry for how I left things,” she said, using her serious voice again. “It wasn’t very nice of me.”

“It’s okay. It really is. Especially now that you’ve called back.”

“Right. About that rain check.”

“Say when.”

She was silent for several beats—enough time for him to realize he’d jumped the gun again. Why couldn’t he wait for the punch line with her?

“Well, actually, I was thinking about Friday night. Except there’s a catch.”

He sat down on the one really comfortable chair in the apartment. The place wasn’t big. A round table and chairs next to a tiny kitchen that wasn’t much more than a cooktop, a dorm fridge, a microwave and a sink. There was also a bathroom—shower only, no tub—and a queen-size bed. The good chair wasn’t huge, just comfortable. “I’m listening,” he said, wondering what the catch could possibly be.

“There’s a thing I need to go to. A banquet, actually. It’s a wine thing, so there’ll be fantastic drinks and food. But it’s formal, so yeah, a tux would help, and there’ll be some speeches, so that won’t be fun. Except when I say there’ll be great wine, I mean it. All the top vineyards send their best stuff.”

“A banquet?”

“Yeah. For the industry. Wine writers. It’s an international association, and people come from all over to attend. I don’t think you’ll be too bored. There’ll be nice people at our table. Really nice people. Like Donna. My editor. She’s the editor in chief of the magazine, and she’s hilarious. She’s completely New York and doesn’t give a damn who likes her or not, so she never holds back. I know she’d like you, too.”

Cam should stop her. He’d already decided to go. Hell, if she’d asked him to accompany her to the moon, he’d have rented an astronaut suit. A tuxedo was nothing.

“It sounds great and the tux isn’t a problem. You just tell me what time and where to show up.”

“Really?’

He grinned and stretched out in his chair, putting his free hand behind his head. “Really. So, is this a mandatory work thing, or is this something you like doing?”

“I’m always amazed I get to go, although they usually charge for a place at the table.”

“What’s unusual about this time?”

She cleared her throat, although it was muted, as if she’d moved the phone away from her mouth. “Well, I’m getting an award.”

“No kidding? What for?”

“Emerging wine writer of the year.” He could picture her so easily, the way she’d look down, then back up at him through her lashes.

Now he was even more pleased that he’d said yes. “That’s very impressive. I imagine there was a lot of competition for that award. I’m going to have to read all of your columns now. I only sampled a few, but they were excellent. Huh. It’ll be like going to the Oscars with Jennifer Lawrence.”

She laughed. “It’s so not. Not by a mile.”

“You can have your fantasies and I’ll have mine. At the very least, I’ll be with the prettiest woman there.”

“You make me blush. But I’ll give you a hint. You don’t have to do that.”

“What?”

“Compliment me so lavishly.”

He shook his head. “I’m not. I mean what I say.”

“Right.”

“Next time you see Emmy, you ask her what I’m like. I’m not prone to exaggeration. Honest to a fault, and I mean that literally. I say too much, too often. Probably because I had four older sisters to compete with. But how come you know you’ve won? Aren’t these things supposed to be a surprise?”

“Not really. Some of the recipients live far away, so they let them know in advance.”

“I wish they’d do that in beer competitions, but I suppose they can’t. I hate the nerves that come before they announce the winners.”

“I really want to talk to you about beer,” she said. “I want to know about the brewing processes and the subculture and what the politics are like.”

It was clear she meant it, and he loved that she was interested, although it was such a huge topic that he had no idea where to start. “But I can’t. Not right now. I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes. I sort of planned it this way. I wanted an excuse to end the conversation quickly in case you said no.”

“You could have made something up,” he said, wishing she didn’t have a meeting.

“I’m honest to a fault, too. Although not as a statement or a philosophy. I’m just a lousy liar.”

“Another reason to look forward to Friday night.”

She sighed, and he wanted to kiss her. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

“Great.” After the call ended, he thought about what Emmy had said and wondered what it was about Molly that had him so wound up. Probably the fact that she didn’t want a relationship. He’d hated those family setups. The only thing he was looking for while he was in Queens was a good time. No strings, no complications. Luckily, that appeared to be all that Molly wanted, as well.

[5]

IT WAS CAMERON. On her cell. Molly straightened her hair and mashed her lips together to spread her berry lip balm as if he could see her on Skype. After taking a couple of full breaths, the way she did before each broadcast, she answered the call. “Hello?”

“You’re working. I don’t want to bother you. But then I figured if you were too busy, you’d let it go to voice mail. Are you too busy?”

“Nope.” And she’d said she didn’t lie well. “What’s up?”

“I need your opinion.”

Molly heard some muffled noises, nothing she could really interpret, then her phone beeped. She pulled it away from her ear to see who it was, only to discover it was Cam. She clicked on his message and a picture started to load.

Hers wasn’t one of the latest smartphones on the market, but it was decent enough to display a clear photo. Her grin grew as she realized he’d sent her a selfie—and not a good one because of the flash flaring in the mirror. She could barely make out Cam in a black tuxedo.

A faint “Hey” made her click on the speaker. “Molly! Did I lose you?”

“No, I’m here,” she said. “And I’ve turned on the speaker. So, I assume you’re picking out your tux.”

“No, I’m having lunch at Prune. This is how I always dress.”

“Ha. I like a man with a subtle sense of humor. I can’t actually see what the tux looks like. Is there someone in the shop who could get a better shot of you?”

“Yeah, I think so. The guy running the place probably wouldn’t mind. Hold on. I only put on the jacket.”

The sounds that followed painted another picture entirely. First his phone clunked on something hard, and then there was the unmistakable swoosh of fabric on fabric. Was he taking off his own clothes to try on the tux pants? Or had he called her wearing no pants at all?

“Okay,” he said, and his voice got louder. “Let’s go find a photographer.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to all this trouble.”

“This is important,” he said. “I’m going with one of the honorees. She’s the emerging wine writer of the year. The event’s very classy. And so is she.”

Now she was grinning like a lunatic. She should get up, lock her door. Two students had appointments starting about five minutes ago. Not at the same time. Back-to-back. But Tanya was late, so her loss. By the time Molly did turn the lock, there was another voice coming from her Android. He had a pretty thick accent. Spanish, she thought, although there was noise filtering in from the street.

Soon enough, her phone beeped again. This time she could clearly make out the tux and Cam. He looked gorgeous. The lapels on his tux were wide enough to fly him cross-country, but everything else was perfect.

“Yes?” he asked. “No?”

“Not sure about the lapels,” she told him, hoping there was an alternative.

“Okay. Stay right there. I’ll be right back.”

She wished she could see it all. Be there while he tried things on. But the fact that he was going to so much effort for her? All her doubts about inviting him had left the building and she no longer felt even a smidgen of guilt. He was the perfect escort, and she couldn’t wait for Friday. Only two more days to go.

She’d tried to convince him to meet her at the hotel, but he’d insisted on picking her up at her apartment.

“You there?” He was yelling again.

“Yes!”

“Hold on.”

The beep came and this time he’d posed like a movie star, turned slightly to the right, with his eyes looking directly into the camera. It took a few seconds for her to remember to check out the suit.

“Much better,” she said. “You look wonderful. Very handsome.”

“Yeah?” he asked, sounding pleased.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll take it,” he said. Then a moment later, “Molly? Thank you. I’m glad I called. Talk to you later, okay?”

She nodded. “More than okay.”

When her first student knocked, she was still holding her phone. Smiling.

* * *

IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN dark by the time Cam arrived at Molly’s apartment. It felt weird to be decked out in his rented tux when it was still daylight as he walked from the cab to the entrance of the five-story building. There wasn’t a doorman, just an intercom. He pressed number 403 and she buzzed him in.

The lobby was nothing flashy, but it was clean, which was something in this part of New York. As the elevator rose, it occurred to him that he was nervous again. Why she brought out the teenager in him, he wasn’t sure. She wasn’t that much younger than he was. Jesus, he’d been dating for eighteen years. Not continuously. He’d had girlfriends, but the only one who had lasted had been Robin. They’d been together three years after meeting at MIT. Still, even fifteen years of dating seemed like a lot.

But right now Molly was the only person on his radar. It might be all about the sex, but he was also looking forward to spending time with her again.

Finally, the elevator made it to the fourth floor, and it was only a few steps to her door. He knocked, glad to see she had a peephole. There was some unpleasantly aggressive noise coming from an apartment down the hall.

Molly opened the door and he forgot all about the neighbors. “You look beautiful.”

She’d been worrying her lower lip, but at his words, she gave him a spectacular smile. “Thank you. I put this on and immediately hated it. I’ve changed four times, but I don’t have anything else nearly as nice. If you’d looked at me funny, I probably would have broken down in tears.”

He didn’t wait for an invitation. He just walked right in, took her hand and had her twirl around in her body-hugging white dress. It was strapless and deeply sexy. He’d thought of her as delicate, but that didn’t describe her now. Not with her thick hair pulled up, baring her long, pale neck, her lips full and pink, and the way the dress skimmed over her body like his hands ached to do. “So unnecessary,” he said. “The worry, I mean. You really look stunning.”

She blinked fast. Waved her hands in front of her eyes. “Don’t you dare make me cry. I went to Macy’s and had the manager of the cosmetics department put all this on.”

Well, there went his plans to kiss her until they both couldn’t breathe. “All this? What, mascara? Pink lipstick? You’re too pretty to cover your face with makeup.”

She sighed. “You couldn’t have given me a better compliment.”

He didn’t understand her reaction, but he wasn’t going to argue. “You ready? I’m not sure about the traffic from here.”

“I’ll get my bag.”

While she went to her bedside table, he glanced around the apartment. It was about half the size of his. Everything was in one room, except for the bathroom. Which must have just been a toilet and sink, because the bathtub was in what would have been called a kitchen, if someone felt generous. She could easily lean out from behind the circular shower curtain to pour herself a cup of coffee. The microwave was too small for a Hungry-Man dinner. The bed was going to be a tight fit later that night, and, weirdly, there were what looked like built-in storage cupboards above the headboard.

In addition, there was a dresser, a mirror, two chairs, a small table covered with books, a laptop and a stack of magazines. That was it. But she’d definitely made it her own. There were wine charts on the wall, maps of the different vineyards in France, Napa Valley and Italy, and a large whiteboard hanging near the bathroom. It had a more detailed schedule written on it, along with a to-do list. The other big item was a wine-cooler fridge, and that was plugged in next to the bed instead of the eating area. Ah, and how had he missed the wine rack on top of the dorm-sized refrigerator?

“I’m all set,” she said, holding a tiny red purse. “But first, may I say you look amazingly handsome in that tuxedo. I can’t thank you enough for being such a good sport about this.”

“Good sport, nothing. I’m looking forward to it. Especially now that I’m going to make every guy in the place jealous.”

She shook her head, leading his gaze to the stretch of bare skin from her chin to the tops of her breasts. The evening couldn’t go fast enough for him.

“Let’s go. I’ve got a thing about being on time.”

He bent at the waist and held out his hand. “I’m at your service.”

“Oh, you’re going to be a big hit with all the ladies tonight.”

He appreciated the compliment, but the only one he cared about impressing was her.

* * *

GETTING INTO THE TAXI in her dress wasn’t easy. She’d thought that perhaps Simone and Phillip would have sent a car, but she hadn’t heard a word from them. Which was fine. She was sure they’d surprise her with something special to mark the occasion, and that whatever it was would be perfect.

People from her building were standing on the stoop, staring at Cameron, mostly, but that wasn’t an issue. She barely knew any of her neighbors. Mrs. Waverley lived next door in 401, and they exchanged favors from time to time. Accepting a package, getting mail. One Christmas, she’d given Molly a loaf of her special-recipe banana bread.

Molly arranged her dress so it wouldn’t wrinkle too badly and tried to get comfortable, pleased that Cameron had held the cab, with the meter running, because the air-conditioning felt great. It would have sucked to arrive at the hotel drenched in sweat.

The ride was going to cost a fortune, though. She had enough room on her credit card to cover a number of catastrophes, everything from having to spend the night at the hotel to emergency clothing replacements. But she had the feeling Cam wouldn’t let her pay even half.

While he spoke to the driver, her discomfort reared its head again. Excited as she was to be given the award, she dreaded these social gatherings. They were never easy for her no matter what the circumstance. She opened her purse, which was just big enough to hold her folded notes, lipstick, key and money.

“All right?” Cam asked as he touched the back of her hand.

“Nervous. But I’ve got my speech in my purse.”

“Ah, I wondered if you’d have to give one.”

“I don’t mind. It’s mostly thank-you stuff. The magazine took a chance with me. One that’s made a big difference in my life. The wine world is big on accolades and prizes. I imagine it’s the same thing with beer.”

He nodded slowly, as if she’d said something he needed to consider. “Especially with craft beers. Yeah. But here’s something that’s been bothering me since you opened the door. That lipstick you’re wearing—is it difficult to put on?”

“Not particularly.”

“So it wouldn’t ruin anything if I kissed you? A lot? Perhaps all the way to the banquet?”

Molly smiled, feeling a bit of that giddiness he seemed to inspire, not sure if he was teasing or not. “I might need to breathe from time to time. Oh, and I wanted to fill you in on who’s going to be at our table—”

“Other than that?” he asked, his mouth so close, the scent of wintergreen made her want to taste him.

“Other than that, I don’t see any problem at—”

He stole the last word, but she didn’t mind. She’d wanted to kiss him, too, and would have if she hadn’t been so focused on getting out the door. Since their date, they’d spoken on the phone four times, and those conversations had fueled her libido way more than any of the men she’d actually been with.

Cam was being so careful, it made her heart swell. His palm was on the nape of her neck, his other hand on her waist, touching her lightly, as if she were made of spun glass.

“I’ve been thinking about kissing you since Sunday’s taxi ride,” he whispered, nuzzling her ear.

His lips moved down her neck, then lower still, to just above her bodice. His breath was warm and shivery, and she touched the back of his head to keep him right there, but when the taxi stopped for a red light, she let him go.