Dare Me

by Jo Leigh

  “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 thi
ng 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.

  He stopped what he was doing, but not for long. He revisited the sensitive skin on her neck. After several kisses, he licked the shell of her ear. “I hope this doesn’t become a problem. It could be embarrassing if I have to share a cab with someone who isn’t you.”

  Her brain had stopped working for a while, but now she had to wonder if he was being literal about his reaction to her. He had just shifted around a bit.

  He pulled away from her, enough to look into her eyes. “Okay, I need to cool down. Tell me about tonight.”

  It took her a moment to gather her wits and realize that her racing heartbeat wasn’t entirely his fault. “I can’t decide if tonight is scarier than taking the master-sommelier exams or not.”

  “Different kind of scary, I imagine,” he said, his breathing uneven.

  “If I hadn’t passed, only a few people would have been disappointed in me. Tonight, all the bigwigs from the magazine are going to be there, and a lot of other columnists and bloggers and experts from every facet of the business. I should have called in sick. Donna could have thanked everyone for me.”

  “Donna? Editor in chief, right? The woman I need to thank profusely for introducing you to the trading cards?”

  Her jaw dropped. She’d forgotten she’d mentioned Donna to him. It was crazy how great he was. It was probably a good thing she wouldn’t be seeing him again after tonight because he really was distracting.

  She simply had to kiss him again, and this time she made sure he wasn’t so careful. When she finally had to cry uncle in order to get her breath back, his hair was messed up and his eyes looked glazed.

  “Well, damn,” he said. “How long is this banquet supposed to last?”

  “It’ll probably go pretty late, but don’t fret. We won’t stay till the bitter end because I have a class tomorrow morning. Which is a shame because you’d be hard-pressed to find a better assortment of wine in Manhattan. I mean, the whole event is about honoring writers, and the vintners want the free press.”

  “Good to know,” he said. “Uh, if you’re going to tell me who’s who, you’d better talk fast because we’re a block from the hotel.”

  She’d been nervous all day, but that was child’s play compared to what she felt now. “You know what? You’ll figure it out. Oh, God, we’re here. It’s actually happening.”

  After one last scorching kiss, he paid the fare while she panicked. Before she walked into the ballroom, she needed to get it together. For God’s sake, the world wasn’t going to end if she messed up. It would be fine. Cameron would help fill any awkward gaps. That was the whole point of him.

  She jumped when a uniformed bellman opened her door. He must have been sweltering with his fancy jacket buttoned all the way to his neck. She jumped again when Cameron put his arm around her waist. “I’ve got you,” he said, his voice soft and close.

  Behind the bellman, she saw Donna walking toward them, but she wasn’t alone.

  “Oh, God,” Molly said, gripping Cameron’s arm. “That’s Robert Parker, probably the most influential wine writer in the world. And Benjamin Spencer from American Wine Writer. And Donna and her date. They’re almost here.” Molly looked up into Cameron’s gaze. “Do me a favor? Don’t let me go, okay? Not until we’re at our table.”

  He nodded, smiled, then bent down and kissed her yet again.

  She was so shocked, she forgot to kiss him back. All she could do was hang on. Then she felt his thumb rub against the side of her mouth, and the fingers of his other hand touched the back of her chignon.

  He pulled away seconds before the others arrived. Then he winked and whispered, “Now you’re ready to knock ’em dead.”

  “Oh,” she said, touching where he’d obviously fixed her smudged lipstick. Too good to be true, maybe, but for tonight, he was perfect.

  6

  CAMERON HAD BEEN to his share of professional events, but this wine crowd was something else. It was like walking onto a movie set. Everything seemed to sparkle. There were at least twelve tables of eight, with nine wineglasses lined up in front of each place setting, like spokes in a very fancy wheel. A draped exhibition table ran
the length of the far wall, displaying bottles of reds and whites. Up front was a smallish stage set with a table of tall, vaguely wine-bottle-shaped statues, a dais and microphone, and a large overhead screen playing a slide show of people, vineyards and bottles of wine.

  Cam had taken Molly’s arm as they’d walked to the banquet itself. Introductions had been brief, and except for Donna, who reminded him of Penny Marshall, Cam wasn’t worried about forgetting any names. He’d been to plenty of events where he was expected to mingle. Few were this fancy, however. Molly’s nervousness made more sense now that he understood the atmosphere. This banquet was more Oscars than Oktoberfest.

  Molly seemed to be creating quite a stir. He noticed a lot of people looking at her—and not discreetly, either. Once they’d located their table and had accepted a glass of the premeal Champagne on offer, Donna walked up to Cameron and said, “If I’d known you’d look so good in a tux, I wouldn’t have given your trading card to Molly.”

  “I’m grateful you did,” he said. “Although I can already tell you’d have been a great date.” He put his drink down and turned to her escort. Their introduction had been interrupted earlier, so Cam held out his hand. “Wayne, is it?” he asked, and the man nodded. “Cameron Crawford. Congratulations on your good fortune.”

  “And to you, as well,” Wayne said, smiling happily. “So, you’re one of those trading-card guys, are you?”

  “Yes. My sister got me involved, and the rest is history. Have you met Molly Grainger? She’s here to collect her emerging-wine-writer-of-the-year award.”

  Molly smiled at Wayne as she pressed herself a little more closely to Cam. It wasn’t the most convenient place to chat, huddled next to the table, and with his arm around Molly, Cameron didn’t get to drink any more of his Champagne, which was a pity. But he wasn’t about to let go of her.

  As they mingled, he began to see a pattern. Someone would approach Molly and congratulate her on her award, maybe mention a specific column or her radio show, and after a few short words she would shift the ball to his court, which inevitably led to a discussion that didn’t include her at all. Not that she couldn’t have joined in. He tried including her the first few times. But she seemed far more relaxed to be listening than participating.