“I absolutely will. I’ll call you as soon as I know the results.”

“Well…take a few minutes to regain your strength first. Or a few hours.”

Cairo winked before heading back to the table to pass out more White Orchid magnets and pinup-girl pens. Things had quieted down, but a few men in business suits still hovered nearby. Cairo was adorable with her black pixie cut and sexy ’50s outfits. Her little red wrap dress managed to look innocent even as it showed off her fantastic rack and quite a bit of thigh.

The men looked either self-consciously amused when accepting one of the magnets, or they approached Cairo with a lascivious smile. Either way, Cairo could handle them. But Beth was more interested in the women. Women made up ninety-five percent of their clientele, just as Annabelle Mendez had planned when she’d opened The White Orchid fifteen years earlier.

Now Annabelle was off on a “soul-cleansing world tour,” and Beth was in charge of everything. Payroll, taxes, purchasing, human resources. Everything. And it felt good. She loved her job. She loved her employees. She loved that she spent her days helping women get closer to their sexual dreams. Too bad Beth couldn’t seem to get a handle on her own fantasies.

She glanced toward the guy in the polo shirt one more time and caught him looking again. Sparks zinged through her belly, and she smoothed a hand down the front of her fitted blouse.

God, he was cute. Square, clean-shaven jaw. Dark brown hair cut boardroom short. When he’d picked up that box, his biceps had flexed, stretching the arm-band of his shirt as if he were in one of those exercise-machine commercials.

He was Beth’s preppy fetish come to life. She didn’t even want to look at his ass in those khakis. It would drive her mad.

“Focus,” she scolded herself. She wasn’t here to drool after grown-up frat boys. She was here to make connections with other female-oriented business owners.

“I’m going to take a look at those two jewelry designers I scoped out earlier,” Beth said. “When I get back, you can take your lunch.”

Beth grabbed her phone so she could take notes and pictures then slipped out of the booth. She knew she’d have to walk past him, but she tried not to think about it. Still, she couldn’t stop her hips from swinging a little more fiercely as she approached. She knew the moment his eyes found her. She felt his stare like a stream of light sneaking through pine trees. As she drew even with his booth, her skin warmed.

Part of embracing your sexuality was loving your body, and Beth wasn’t modest about her ass. It was her best feature. She loved the shape of it, and this skirt loved it, too.

So she didn’t bother lying to herself. She had no doubt he was checking out her ass, and her whole body tingled as she glanced toward the booth. Donovan Brothers Brewery, the sign read. Air rushed out of her lungs. She knew that place. It was less than a mile away from The White Orchid. She dared a second look toward the table. Jamie Donovan, proprietor, read the little cardboard stand on the table.

When she let her eyes rise to him, their gazes met, and she felt her cheeks turn hot as she looked away. He was watching her as she moved on, she knew it, and she could barely hear the echoing noise of the place as she continued down the row of booths.

Jamie Donovan. The name turned through her brain for a moment. She’d heard of him, hadn’t she? He was…a bartender. Of course. A notoriously flirtatious bartender who sometimes wore a kilt. Even the girls in the shop had mentioned him on occasion, so he must be something special. But maybe those were just rumors. He didn’t strike her as a playful ladies’ man. His face was serious and his eyes were cool, and he was obviously an owner of the brewery.

But if he was a ladies’ man…

An idea took form. A ridiculous thought that she immediately dismissed. But the idea was sticky and sweet and it stuck in her head despite her attempts to bat it away.

She could have a fling. With him. She’d be just one fling among his many, after all. She’d mean nothing to him, and he might be worth the risk.

Still, he lived in her town and worked only a few minutes away from her. “Bad idea,” she murmured to herself. If her coworkers found out, she’d never live it down.

Squaring her shoulders, Beth headed toward the first jeweler she’d noticed. But thoughts of Jamie Donovan persisted. Her brain, which was normally cool and logical, was preforming excuses in anticipation of her arguments.

Yes, Boulder was a small town, but it wasn’t that small. They’d never run into each other before, after all. And Jamie Donovan clearly knew how to navigate these treacherous waters. She’d heard him called cute, funny, sexy and adorable. She’d also heard some serious compliments about what he had going on under his kilt. But she’d never heard him called a dog.

A flush took her face as she honestly considered the idea of flirting with him, testing the waters. But that felt dangerous. Anytime it got beyond flirting, Beth was lost. When you worked at an erotic boutique, men expected something more. Something better. And there was nothing more or better about Beth the way there was about Cairo or Annabelle or any of the other bold women she worked with.

Beth was just…regular.

But if it was a fling, it wouldn’t matter if he ended up disappointed, not as it did during real dating. There’d be no awkwardness. No breakup. No painful winding down until they “decided to see other people.” It would happen and it would be done.

And maybe, just maybe, it would be the sexual adventure she’d been waiting her whole life for.

But surely that was a lot to pin on one poor preppy bartender. Her smile widened with amusement as she waved at the designer she’d come to hunt down. A little sexual fantasy was good for a woman’s soul. At least Beth knew her soul would be getting some great fortification tonight.

Chapter two

ERIC WAS STUFFED FROM the ten courses of so-called small-bite plates he’d been served at the tasting dinner, but he made himself finish the salted caramel torte that had been set in front him. One, because it was only polite, and two, because it was the most delicious damn thing he’d ever tasted. The only thing missing from the meal had been a good lager, but wine had been a nice change. Not that he’d ever admit that to the person who’d invited him.

“Thank you, Andrés,” he said, standing to shake his friend’s hand. “Amazing. But next time, don’t forget the beer.”

“Beer is for peasants,” Andrés replied with a wide smile. Eric might have taken offense if he hadn’t raised so many pints with him.

“I’ll remind you of that next time you stop by the tasting room.”

Andrés handed him a little box wrapped with a gold bow. “A torte for your brother. I know how much he enjoys sweets.”

“Thanks. Stop by the brewery in a week. We’ve got an apricot hefeweizen that’s almost ready.”

“That’s a deal, my friend.”

Andrés moved on to the next table, and Eric took a last look around. He’d already schmoozed with everyone at the dinner, and he still had a younger brother to yell at, not to mention invoices to review back at his office. So he said his goodbyes and escaped to the quiet of the hallway. He was scrolling through his BlackBerry when he walked around the corner, sparing a glance down the hallway as he did. This part of the hotel was packed with meeting rooms and suites, and the hall was a jumble of corners and alcoves. The hallway jagged to the right about twenty feet ahead, and beyond the corner of the wall, Eric caught a glimpse of one green high-heeled shoe.

The tip of the dark green shoe tapped the floor in a languid rhythm. He watched it closely. His pace slowed.

As he drew closer, Eric saw a delicate ankle, then the curve of a smooth calf. And then he caught sight of the brown skirt.

It was her.

Despite his certainty, he was still surprised when he passed the corner and saw her profile. Her hair was down now, a sexy fall of sable brown that shone beneath the floodlight above her.

She leaned against a glass railing, staring down into the hotel atrium. Her arms rested on the railing, and one knee was bent, the foot still tapping out a secret rhythm against the floor.

Christ, those heels.

She turned her head then, and her gaze met his. For a moment, she looked just as shocked as he felt. Her lips parted. Her brown eyes went wide.

Eric’s focus fell to her red lipstick as she recovered herself and smiled.

“Hi,” she said, her voice just slightly husky at the edges. “You’re Jamie Donovan, right?”

“I—” His fingers twitched as he started to reach out to her. “Actually—”

“I’m Beth,” she continued. “Beth Cantrell.” Her hand slid into his, distracting him from correcting her.

“Nice to meet you, Beth.”

She laughed a little, and his stomach tightened at the sound. “In case you’re wondering if I’m a stalker, I saw the sign on your table. That’s how I know your name. And you’re a little notorious.”

“I am?”

She raised one shoulder in a shrug, and her fingers tightened for just a second before she drew her hand away. “Just a little,” she answered, her eyes twinkling.

She thought he was Jamie, which was kind of a surprise. He would’ve expected Jamie to be well-known at a place like The White Orchid. Still, she’d heard about his brother, and her grin was for Jamie, not Eric.

He meant to correct her. He really did. But he hesitated. Eric wouldn’t flirt with a woman who worked at a sex shop. He was responsible, careful and risk-averse. But Jamie? Jamie would do way more than flirt with her.