Читать книгу Dare Me - Jo Leigh - Страница 11

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.