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
