by Jo Leigh
He was almost there. Not quite. He was still too large to fit into the box. In fact, she couldn’t even open the box. What was wrong? She’d never had to pull and tug at the lid before. It was a stupid little box with a hinge opening. The same one she always visualized. It wasn’t even locked. Or real. And now Cameron was getting bigger. He was still naked, and he wasn’t the only thing growing.
Wonderful. Now he was life-size, stark naked and smiling. She could see the smattering of chest hair that became more sparse as it drew her gaze down to his treasure trail, and holy crap, he was hard, and aching, and all she had to do was reach out her—
“Molly!”
She jerked up and opened her eyes to find Roxanne standing in the doorway.
“You’re on the air,” Roxanne said, her stage whisper as fierce as her glare.
Molly flipped the switches that would bring her back on live and said, “Sorry about that. A bit of a technical issue. We’re all good now. Who’s our next caller, Bobby?”
“It’s Heather from the Bronx, and she wants to know what wine would go well with Vietnamese cuisine.”
“Hi, Heather,” Molly said, trying to get the afterimage of Cam out of her brain. “Any dish in particular?”
“Hey, hi, Molly. Love the show. I’m making red rice salad with mint. I was going to go with Thai iced tea or Sapporo, but I want to try something different.”
Molly smiled. Not because she was happy, but because it would make her sound happy. Another trick she’d learned from her therapist. “I like it. Thinking outside the box—” she winced at her unfortunate choice of words “—is a great idea when you’re planning a daring meal. I’d say Sauvignon Blanc, Viognier and white Burgundies are all great choices. There are a lot of pungent fresh herbs you’re dealing with, like mint, cilantro and parsley, and many experts swear that they’re made for a decent Sauv Blanc. Which also goes with the cool cucumber in the salad. Or you could try a dry Rosé, sparkling wine or a Frascati. All of those are great picnic drinks that pair well with salads.”
“I like Sauvignon Blanc,” Heather said. “Any personal favorites?”
“Give the Sterling Vineyards a try. It’s only around twelve dollars a bottle.”
“Sounds great. Thanks. And keep up the good work!”
“You’re welcome,” Molly said, holding on to her smile for dear life because she was not only distracted but filled with regret. The whole concept of not sleeping with Cameron was idiotic. He was gorgeous and wonderful. Besides, those last words he’d said to her had been following her like a shadow, taunting her, and sounding more appealing by the hour. She’d avoided danger all her life, so why did it sound so exciting now?
“Next up, we’ve got George from NYU’s Broome Street residence hall,” Bobby said.
Molly listened with her eyes on the clock as George meandered through his question. She could be enthusiastic about a wine pairing for Frito pie. She could. Ten more minutes, and the program would be over. Frito pie was like a tamale, and tamales were spicy. “I’d recommend a German Riesling, which is amazing with spicy foods because the sugar in the wine helps to counteract the spice. The wine’s fruit flavors are set off by the corn and pork filling of the tamale.” She went on, giving him other choices and prices and everything she could pull from her memory bank, because this was important.
Because if she couldn’t get her eye back on the prize, Cameron would have to go. Completely.
* * *
HE WAS SUPPOSED to be working on the cream ale. Or having lunch. Or both. Instead, Cam was sitting at his lab table staring at the ceiling. It was more of a storage closet than a lab, but he supposed the place where he made small batches of what were basically home-brew experiments could be considered a lab. Today, however, he hadn’t done a single experiment. In fact, the only thing he’d accomplished was returning his tuxedo to the rental place. And thinking about Molly.
Jesus. He’d been so close. Moments away from having a perfect night. He should have just kissed her. Swept her into his arms and led her to the bed. Chased away all that logic and fear by making her wet and aching and... God, he was shallow. Sex wasn’t that important. Shouldn’t be. But with Molly? It seemed vital. Like the need for oxygen or gravity.
He groaned as his head dropped into his hands. Shallow, horny, confused. That was him in a nutshell. He’d been horny since puberty, so that wasn’t a surprise, and he was confused more often than not when it came to women. But he’d always considered himself someone his sisters would approve of. That his current thoughts were nothing more than a loop of increasingly filthy images of him and Molly ruining the sheets was troubling.
He pulled out his cell, but instead of calling Molly, he dialed his boss. Ex-boss. Future boss. Dr. Inaba was the senior biochemist in charge of Cam’s team at Protean Pharmaceuticals. She’d been his thesis adviser at MIT and she’d asked him to work with her on finding something that would crack the biochemical code for resistant antibiotics.
“Cam. I was going to call you.”
“Have you heard anything?”
“Nothing concrete, no. But the government task force is moving at a steady, albeit achingly slow, pace. Unless something dramatic happens, I’m thinking three, four months before it goes to committee. With the new reports coming out from the World Health Organization, things should be scary enough to stop politicizing the issue, and it should move quickly through a vote.”
“Wow, what a thing to hope for.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Frankly, I can’t wait to get back to it. I’m buried in paperwork and I miss the team.”
“So do I.”
“At least you get to do fun things like make beer while you’re gone.”
He grinned. Dr. Inaba was a major beer fan. They’d originally met when she’d come to his dorm room at MIT to try one of his small brews. “I’ll ship you a case or two to hold you over.”
“Excellent news. I’ll let you know when I hear anything at all.”
Cameron hung up, glad that things were moving forward. Three, four months had to be enough time for Molly to come to her senses. Good God, he’d never live through one month, let alone four.
He jotted down a note to send Dr. Inaba a case of the new lambic and one of Irish red. He knew she liked the latter and was pretty certain the lambic would hit the spot.
Molly had really liked the Cabernet Sauvignon at the banquet. He had, as well, but she’d been downright excited about it. And she’d said something that had been niggling at him, at least when he took a second to think of anything else but having sex with her. She’d said she’d liked the astringent mouthfeel. Huh. He wondered if she liked Indian pale ales. The American double, in particular.
He’d have to ask. Or better yet, give her some. He thought of their India pale ales, and while they were great, they weren’t exactly what he was thinking of.
He turned the page in his notebook and started listing what he’d need to make a perfect India pale ale for Molly. He’d have to do some research on Cabernet Sauvignon, make sure he could mimic as much as possible what she liked about the wine. It would have to be bold, with black currant notes, mint, a smoky aroma and some oak.
When he looked up again, it was almost seven o’clock and he had a basic recipe outlined, complete with the hop percentage and the kind of malt he figured would give him the best result.
It would take a while to lock it down and at least a few weeks to make it. If they hadn’t slept with each other by then, he could always use the fermentation tank to drown himself.
Until then, his stomach required food but, more important, he needed something physical to do. He’d been sleeping like crap, and he’d be damned if he was going to go through another lousy night. Luckily, The Four Sisters served food.
About three minutes later he was in the kitchen of their taproom, and while
they didn’t have a large menu, the stuff they had was excellent. Especially the bratwurst and sauerkraut. And the pulled-pork sandwich. Hell, maybe he’d even get some mac and cheese to go with his newest porter. He made himself a combo platter and ate it too quickly in the manager’s office.
“Stealing food again?”
Cam looked up, his mouth full and still chewing, as his dad walked in. He was wearing a green Four Sisters T-shirt, as always, with his jeans and his steel-toed boots. He looked tired. Nothing unusual there.
When he was able to talk, Cam gave a nod toward the taproom. “It’s like the old days. I don’t think there’s an open seat.”
Gordon sank onto the small couch that rested under a shuttered window. “I don’t know why we bothered. It’s damn hard work when there are actual customers.”
“Yeah. What were we thinking?”
They shared a smile that went all the way back to the very first time the two of them brewed beer together. Cameron had been too young to add anything but enthusiasm to the process, but home brewing had been their thing. Still was. No girls were allowed, and for Cam, that was huge. Almost as big a deal as the fact that they’d grown close over those home brews. Stayed close. It also happened to be where Cameron had first fallen in love with chemistry.
Which was just the kind of thing he’d end up telling Molly, if he went through with this crazy plan of hers.
“I’m thinking we need to increase our growlers,” his dad said. “We ran out last Friday.”
“I don’t know,” Cam replied, taking the last bite of his pulled-pork sandwich. “Maybe running out’s a good thing.”
Gordon and Cam tossed the notion around, the pros and cons, and when they’d worn that topic down to the nub, they moved on to the brewery’s equipment and whether they really needed to replace the old finishing tank.
When Amber came in, it was already ten-thirty. Long past when he could comfortably call Molly. It didn’t matter. He’d already decided he was going to talk to her tomorrow, ask her to come to Queens to hold up her part of their bargain. For now, he’d enjoy the time with his dad. Nothing beat face-to-face time with Gordon.
“Have there ever been two lazier men in this world?” Amber asked, shaking her head. “I highly doubt it. There’s karaoke suicide being committed out there, and here you two are, gabbing away as if you’re on vacation.”
Cam rolled his eyes, but he forced himself to get up and face the music—an excellent punishment for slacking off on his duties, especially when Kelly Tobin was torturing the soul out of a Rod Stewart ballad.
The rest of the night went by in a beer-scented blur. On nights he worked till closing, he was always immensely grateful for the apartment above the bar. On nights he needed to go to sleep early, he cursed the location and the inadequacy of soundproofing. He used earplugs, but that didn’t stop the walls from shaking.
Still, the apartment was private and free and it meant he didn’t have to stay at his dad’s house. Not that he had a problem with his dad. But Amber lived there now, and for some reason his other sisters and the neighbors felt the need to drop by at random whenever Gordon was home. It drove Cam crazy. He was sociable, but there were limits.
Here, at least most of the time, he could think. And dream.
Before he went to bed he thought about Molly coming to the bar. His old man would like her, and he was pretty sure, if they could get to talking about spirits, Molly would like him right back.
And maybe, just maybe, she’d like Cam’s bed, too.
* * *
MOLLY STOOD ON the sidewalk outside The Four Sisters. It was almost eight o’clock and she’d had to ask a friend to take over her Thursday evening wine class. Something she’d done only twice before, both times when she’d been sick and contagious. Considering Cameron’s willingness to escort her to a tasting Saturday afternoon, she had no business resenting this trip to Queens.
Okay, it wasn’t so much resentment as terror. Not only because she’d be meeting his family and pretending to be his girlfriend, which was intimidating enough, but she’d never been able to shrink Cameron to a size she could handle. He continued to loom large in her thoughts, making her life increasingly difficult.
“Be brave,” she whispered, hoping the thought would take root. She’d been to scarier things than a brewpub. For heaven’s sake, she’d gone to six different schools by the time she was fifteen.
The whole trip over, she’d tried convincing herself that this was going to be excellent practice, both in improving her interpersonal skills and in testing her ability to control herself. Because, naturally, there would be kissing involved.
Kissing with an eye toward convincing people who had literally grown up with Cam that they were getting serious.
A couple of guys wearing bandannas around their foreheads and black Harley-Davidson T-shirts headed into the bar. As the door swung open, Molly heard the murmur of the crowd and the high-pitched climax to a Journey song.
This had disaster written all over it.
She’d call him, make up some kind of excuse. Her train had broken down. It happened all the time. Anyone would believe that, especially in this heat wave.
Or she could tell him the deal was off. That would ensure that she’d never have to come back here again. Never meet his sisters. His father. Never kiss him again or lean against his broad chest with his arm keeping her close. Never smell his masculine scent with its hint of hops that made her mouth water. Never see his smile or the way he looked at her as if she was the best thing he’d seen in ages.
The door opened again, and Molly decided she’d take a quick walk. Get focused. Cameron knew her shortcomings. He wasn’t the kind of man to ignore them. He’d never throw her into a situation she couldn’t handle. He had a lot riding on tonight. The man most definitely didn’t want a committed relationship if he was willing to go to these lengths. And marriage? No way.
His trading card had given her all the information she needed about Cam. His passion was beer. She liked beer. The whole family worked in the industry. They’d talk about beer.
She realized she hadn’t moved at all in five minutes. Time to fix that. She hated being late.
After two deep breaths, she pulled open the heavy green door and stepped inside Cameron’s world.
9
CAMERON HADN’T TRULY believed she would come until he saw her. He’d given this plan a great deal of thought. He wanted her to see the pub, how big it was. How crowded and noisy. But he didn’t want her meeting anyone yet.
Since he’d been hovering near the entrance for the past ten minutes, he was at her side in seconds, had her hand in his a moment later and steered her outside before she could catch her breath.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you up to my apartment.”
She stopped. “Why?”
“Prep work. I wanted you to see the environment first.”
“Oh, God.”
When he started walking again she followed, thank goodness, but not quickly enough. “It’s not going to be that bad. Promise.” By the time they reached his place, she was flushed, and he didn’t think it was because of the heat.
“Cold drink?”
She nodded.
“Beer? Soda?”
“I’ll save the alcohol for the bar.”
“Good idea.” He split a can of cola, which was all he had. She didn’t seem to mind.
Within a minute her color softened and her breathing had returned to normal as she scoped out the apartment. “It’s big,” she said.
“Only compared to your shoebox.”
She turned her face up to him. “That’s true.”
“You done with that soda?” he asked, not giving her a chance to answer before he put both their glasses on the counter. Then he pulled her c
lose, finally getting to kiss her.
For a second, she stiffened. But only for a second. Then she was melting against him, kissing him back with the same eagerness she’d exhibited the night of the banquet. The thrust of her tongue made him ache for so much more, he actually considered backing off.
But the hell with that. Not when her hand was running down his back, when the feel of her body lit him up like a neon sign blinking YES. He’d imagined this and so much more, and now that he had her, he didn’t want to share. Not with his family, not with the bar. If he could, he’d lock her inside his apartment for the rest of the night.
She pulled away, catching her breath, and smiled, and even through her unmistakable desire, he could see her nervousness.
He longed to comfort her, preferably in bed, but he had to be on point, at least for a while. Long enough for them to face the three sisters who were currently downstairs working. The good part was that Emmy already knew about Molly, so he wouldn’t have to exaggerate too much about their relationship—which was also, now that he thought about it, the bad part.
“Don’t look like that,” she said. “I’m worried enough on my own.”
There would be more kissing. Later. Touching, sooner. If they could pull this thing off. “Right,” he said, letting her go. “The family.”
Her arms dropped slowly, stopping first to line up the buttons on her pale green blouse. She’d worn jeans, and he hadn’t seen her in anything that casual yet. It was nice. In fact, he’d love to get her into a Four Sisters T-shirt. Everything about her looked as put together as she’d been on their first date. A far cry from the little flowered sundress he remembered so vividly.
“So, do you call your sister Emerald or Emmy?” she asked.
“Emmy,” he said, getting his head into the game. “Then there’s Ruby, my oldest sister. She won’t be here tonight. She’s the one who lives in Indiana. She’s married, and they have a little boy, Trevor, who is the coolest two-year-old on the planet. Anyway, you will be meeting Amber, who lives at our old house with my dad, and Jade, who manages the business. They all know who you are, and that we met via the trading-card thing, but they don’t know anything about our relationship. Emmy knows I went with you to the banquet. That’s it.”
