Chapter 1
Louisville, Kentucky
Porter Delaney felt as if he’d been clobbered on the head with a Nerf bat. It didn’t hurt, but it certainly got his attention.
The immediate attraction he felt for the vision who stood in the white wine section completely threw him for a loop. Tall and toned, she had coltish long legs that extended for miles beneath her miniskirt, topped by a perky bottom he wanted to squeeze. She was absentmindedly twirling a lock of ridiculous hair. Obviously a blonde, she’d had crazy, colorful streaks put into her long locks. He’d never before felt such an immediate attraction to anyone, but he needed to get close to this woman, or he thought he might pass out. It was as if she’d commandeered all of the oxygen in the room, leaving none for him unless he entered her space.
Then, he saw the bottle she was reaching tentatively toward and had to intervene. Kidding himself that it was all about business, he strode purposefully toward her as he ordered, “Not that one.”
Molly Drummond’s head whipped around at the deep, authoritative voice that was trying to tell her what not to buy, and her hackles went up as she nearly dropped the bottle she’d selected. “Excuse me? Why not that one? Why do you care, and who are you to tell me what to buy anyway?” she huffed as she saw he was smirking at her. What a jerk. Still—she couldn’t help but notice he had a lock of hair that seemed to want to fall into his eyes. She immediately thought covering up those vivid green eyes would be a crime against all that was holy, and her fingers itched to slide into that almost black curtain of silk to move it out of the way. His face was deeply tanned, and he suddenly grinned at her with an irresistible and blindingly white smile. He was carrying a thick wooden box of what looked like maybe four or five wine bottles as though it weighed nothing, and the defined muscles of his arms strained the confines of his t-shirt. His shirt bore the words “Taste the Pink- La Bella Vigna” across his chest, and Molly did a doubletake when she read them. She blushed faintly until she realized it was not, after all, something vulgar. Or was it?
“Are you serving fish?” he asked.
Molly blinked at him. “What?”
“That Loire Valley wine goes great with fish, but not much else, and you don’t look like a woman who cooks much fish.”
Molly blinked at him again and then looked at the label, announcing, “It’s French wine, and it’s fairly expensive. It ought to be good. And what do you know—or care—about what I cook anyway? Nothing!”
Porter set down the crate he’d been holding and moved closer to her. Suppressing her desire to back up, Molly held her ground, refusing to be intimidated by this know-it-all liquor store stock boy.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said as he gently removed the bottle from her grasp. “Let me buy that bottle and cook dinner for you. You’ll be able to see what I’m talking about. I will also provide another bottle that is better for a more general palette.” He paused and looked thoughtfully at her a moment while she gaped at him incredulously, and then he went on, “On second thought, if you’re planning to buy that rather pricey bottle of French wine to impress some jerk who’s going to be grilling overcooked steaks for you, then be my guest. Spoil his boring dinner and ruin both our lives, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Ruin…? What?” Molly was rarely speechless, but this guy had her completely tongue-tied.
“It’s up to you,” he said fishing his wallet out of the back pocket of his well-worn jeans. “Here’s my address. Come at seven.” He handed her a business card that read, “Porter Delaney, Ph.D.” It bore an address in what Molly knew was one of the nearby neighborhoods in Louisville. Then, still holding the bottle of wine, he picked up his crate and walked a few steps to the cash register.
Molly stood rooted to the spot as she watched this Porter character have a short but friendly conversation with the store’s proprietor. The man accepted the crate from Porter, looking terribly excited about it, and then waved off Porter’s offer of a credit card for the purchase of the French wine.
Turning to face Molly again, he laughed and said, “You don’t need to bring any wine to my place, so there’s no reason to stick around now. And we have plenty of time for this bottle to chill. I’m looking forward to this evening.” He stalked toward her like a predatory panther.
Molly opened her mouth to answer him with some smart-ass comeback and discovered she had no retort for this crazy man. At least now she knew he wasn’t some stock boy for the liquor store. But he sure had some serious nerve. Finally, she blurted out, “I already have plans for tonight!”
He chuckled low and rumbly and answered, “That was obvious. Now cancel them because ours are more important.”
“I can’t!” Molly frowned at him.
Porter’s black eyebrows went up as he asked, “Are you celebrating something special tonight?”
“Well, no. Um… it’s that I’m supposed to be meeting my Marketing professor.” At this point, Molly was blushing and furious with herself for admitting that to a stranger.
Porter looked angry and mildly disgusted when he asked, “Have you ever met with him before, or is this something new?”
“Well, I asked him a question after class yesterday. He said he had to run, and that my question required an in-depth conversation. Then, he proposed a ‘get-together’ at his place so we could really cover it. So, no. I haven’t met with him before. I just started his class.”
“And you didn’t find it odd that he couldn’t discuss it with you during office hours at the university? It somehow would be better to have a private get-together at his house on a Saturday night?” He glared at her for a second. “Are you attracted to him?”
Molly shuddered visibly and then blurted, “Ugh. No!” She was definitely not attracted to her professor who was twenty years too old and at least twenty pounds too paunchy. Plus—the man had a comb-over, and he was her professor! She just hadn’t wanted to make a bad impression, so she hadn’t argued with the man.
Sighing, Porter said, “So it’s safe to say you would rather not go to his house?”
“I would not,” she said looking down. “I just didn’t know how to get out of it. He told me to bring a bottle of wine, we traded contact information, and then he left in a hurry. I figured if he tried anything funny, I can take care of myself.”
“What a jerk—as well as a cheapskate. Want me to fix that for you?”
Molly just gaped at him, so Porter asked, “What’s his name? Give me your phone.” He held out his hand to her.
“Bottomley.” Molly couldn’t believe she’d answered this guy’s question, but as if her mouth had a mind of its own, she continued, “Byron Bottomley.” She rolled her eyes and then astonished herself by handing Porter her phone.
Porter smirked and then quickly scrolled through her contacts and dialed. After a pause, his eyes smiled at Molly as he said, “Hello, professor, no, this is not Molly. My name is Dr. Delaney, and I’m calling in Molly’s behalf. She won’t be meeting you this evening. She’s fallen and can’t make it, I’m afraid.”
Molly furrowed her eyebrows and mouthed, Fallen?
There was a brief pause, and then Porter went on as Molly gawked at him, “Yes. I’m her doctor.” He winked at her.
Molly gasped.
“Yes, she’ll be fine, and I’m sure she’ll be able to meet you later next week during your regular office hours. As a matter of fact, let’s make an appointment for that right now, shall we?” Another pause. “That sounds fine, professor. Molly will be there on Wednesday at 2:00 p.m. I’m sure she’s anxious to discuss her marketing questions with you—unless she figures out the answers herself in the meantime. And since she’s a smart young woman, I think there’s a good chance of that.” Porter smiled into the phone. “Thank you. Have a nice day.”
Porter disconnected the phone just as Molly spluttered, “What? You aren’t my doctor, and what are you talking about that I’ve ‘fallen?’”
“Oh, Molly.” He shook his head slightly. “Pretty name, by the way. Very wholesome-sounding. I like it.” Porter looked directly into her lovely brown eyes and declared, “You just don’t know it yet, but you have fallen head over heels. Of course, I’m not your doctor; I’m your new boyfriend, but we didn’t have to tell that stronzo, Soggy Bottom, the truth. I’ll see you tonight.” And with that, he carefully took hold of her hand and bent to kiss it. His beautiful green eyes sparkled as he wiggled his eyebrows at her with a satisfied smirk.
Molly gasped, and her brain completely short-circuited. His lips and his hand were so warm and gentle, she felt a jolt of arousal at his simple touch. She immediately wanted to feel those lips and hands in more places than her fingers, and the thought made her blush.
He pulled away, looked deeply into her eyes and said, “Don’t be late, beautiful.” Then he strode out the door singing “La Marseillaise” in French, punctuating the beat by swinging the bottle of wine in his hand like a conductor’s baton.
Molly was too dumbfounded to move for a moment and then heard a man clearing his throat behind her. It was the shopkeeper who had apparently witnessed the entire confounding exchange.
“He’s a great guy, miss. I’ve known him for a while now. Porter travels all over Italy and France and imports the most exquisite wines from tiny, unknown vineyards a lot of people ignore. The guy knows quality, I can tell you that. Give him a chance.”
Molly swung around to gape at the man. “What is this? Boss Molly Around Day or something? Does everyone think they can tell me what to do? Sheesh!” She threw up her hands and stomped out the door; cheery laughter followed her out.
He called me beautiful, she thought to herself. And that was some pick-up line.
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