In none of her possible scenarios would he calmly take another sip of his drink, and even more calmly deliver a calm, quiet response. “No.”

“Hear me out.”

“No need.”

“Sam.” Her hand found his knee, and they both froze. His eyes went first to her fingers before they moved up to meet hers.

And there was the mad. No, not mad. He was furious. “Save your sexy touches for another man, Ri.”

She snatched her hand back. “I didn’t mean … I just …”

Tell him everything.

But she couldn’t. Not when he was looking at her with complete disdain. There was no good way to tell him that she couldn’t tell a personal story about sex because she hadn’t had sex. Not in any way that counted. And she certainly couldn’t tell him that the reason she hadn’t had sex was because the only guy she’d ever wanted was him.

So she stuck with her original plan of a half-truth.

“We want each other,” she said plainly.

He stood abruptly and went back around the bar, retreating to safety. Well, that was too damn bad. Because Riley was done with safe.

She stood and followed him, feeling a thrill of triumph when he took a step backward. It was the confirmation she needed.

“Riley …” he trailed off.

“Deny it,” she said in a low voice, stopping a few feet from him.

He didn’t meet her eyes. “Your brother would kill both of us if he knew we were having this conversation.”

It was a pathetic shield—a complete chickenshit form of self-protection, but he needed something—anything—to keep him from saying yes.

Because he wanted to take her here. Now.

Badly.

“Liam’s not here,” she said, sounding entirely too rational. “And neither is anyone else in my family, and they don’t need to find out.”

“You just said you wanted us to have sex so you could write about it!” he exploded. “I’m pretty sure they’re going to figure it out then.”

“I would never mention your name,” she said quietly.

“Jesus, Riley, why me? There are a million men in New York who would jump at the chance to sleep with you and would want you to mention their name.”

I don’t want any of them. “I don’t want this to be just another meaningless how-to article.”

“What the hell headline do you have in mind? ‘I Slept with My Brother’s Best Friend and Lived to Tell About It?’ ”

“No, I want it to be about friends crossing that line,” she said evasively.

“Find another friend. One who’s actually interested in crossing the line.”

It was a little stab to her heart. One that she’d been prepared for, but one that hurt like hell all the same.

Still, his expression wasn’t matching his words. His tone told her to get lost, but his face didn’t show disgust or indifference.

No, his expression revealed terror.

Welcome to the club.

Testing her theory, she moved forward. He moved back, until his ass was against the bar. His eyes darted from side to side as though plotting his escape route.

“You don’t want me?” she asked, inching closer, although still not touching him.

Sam swallowed. “No.” He cleared his throat. “No.” Louder this time, but husky, as though the word kept getting caught in his throat.

“Want to prove it?” she asked, moving into him and letting her hands find his waist.

His hands were like brackets around her wrists as he lifted her hands away from his body, holding them safely between them so she couldn’t reach for him again.

“Find someone else.” His eyes went to her mouth before he tore his gaze away.

He released her hands then, moving around her and going back to his copper still and pulling his stupid tool out of his back pocket as though the whole exchange had never happened.

But his hands were shaky and his motions jerky where he crouched in front of his stupid whisky pot. That exchange had definitely happened. And he wasn’t nearly as unaffected as he wished.

Inspiration struck.

Maybe the way to get exactly what she wanted was to give Sam a taste of what he thought he wanted.

Find someone else, he’d said.

Using jealousy as manipulation was the oldest, lousiest trick in the book, but it was the only one she had left. She moved behind him, noting the way his shoulders tensed as he heard her approach.

When she was alongside him, she knelt very slowly, very deliberately, until her lips were even with his ear. “I think you’re right. I think I’ll find someone who knows how to use his hands on something other than a copper machine.”

“Go for it,” he muttered. “We’ve both been seeing other people for years.”

She paused for a heartbeat, letting her eyes linger on his mouth. Letting the tension build. “Have we?”

With that, she stood and marched back the way she came, her mind already scrolling through her mental black book.

Riley heard the clank of metal against cement seconds before she heard Sam utter a string of heartfelt curses.

She smiled. He was right where she wanted him.

Chapter Seven

Sam thought she’d been joking.

No. He hoped she’d been joking.

He sure as hell hadn’t been prepared for her to show up at her nephew’s First Communion party with another man on her arm two days after she’d propositioned him.

And just what had she meant by her implication that they hadn’t been seeing other people over the years? He certainly had. Not that any of them had mattered. Not that any of the other women had ever gotten under his skin the way Riley McKenna did.

But there had been women. Plenty of them. Just like she’d had plenty of dates.

So just what the hell had she meant?

Riley thought Sam didn’t know how to use his hands? Wrong. Because he was thinking of plenty of ways to use them right now. Strangling her was at the top of the list.

Right after he punched the toothpaste-model smile off her new boyfriend.

He tuned in half an ear as Riley introduced the guy to her aunt. Brent Barry. What the hell kind of name was that anyway?

Sam’s fingers tightened around the neck of his beer bottle as he tilted it up to his mouth and very intentionally dragged his eyes away from Riley and Mr. Hollywood Good Looks.

Sam joined Liam at the food table. Plucking a corn chip from a bowl, he dunked it into a seven-layer bean dip that had mercifully been spared Erin’s special touch with potatoes.

“So whaddya think?” he asked his best friend.

Liam scanned the room for his mother before flicking a black olive into the sink. He’d never been able to stomach the things. “What do I think about what?”

“Riley’s new boyfriend.”

Liam grunted. “What does any brother think about his little sister’s new guy? Douche bag.”

“That’s what I thought,” Sam said, moving on to the onion dip and chips. Ah, there were the potatoes.

Liam shot him a curious look. “Really? Because you haven’t even met him yet. I get to say he’s a douche bag because I had to listen to him talk to me about my Roth IRAs for a good fifteen minutes before you showed up. But … the guy seems to know his shit. I guess I’ll take that over a go-nowhere loser.”

Sam kept his face perfectly blank, reminding himself that Liam was not talking about Sam. Sam who’d once upon a time been able to talk corporate finance lingo with the best of them, only to quit on a whim, to do what? Start a distillery that had yet to make any money?

Once a quitter, always a quitter, his mother liked to remind him. Often.

But his best friend made a good point. Sam didn’t have to know women’s fashion to know that Riley’s tastes were expensive. And he didn’t have to live in Manhattan to know that Riley’s West Village apartment was in one of the most in-demand neighborhoods in the city.

If she was looking for someone to keep up with her lifestyle, Brent Barry was perfect.

But if she was looking for someone to sleep with for her story …

Don’t even go there.

“Shit,” Liam said, shooting a glance over his shoulder. “They’re coming this way. Your turn.”

Sam reached out in an attempt to grab his friend’s shirtsleeve, but Liam was already on his way, scooping his nephew into the air and accusing him of taking more than his fair share of the church wine.

It was just Sam and Riley.

And the other guy.

“Sam, let me introduce you to my date.”

Sam fished another beer out of the cooler, rolling his shoulders in hopes of summoning up indifference.

He turned around.

Making eye contact with Riley for the first time since she’d suggested they hump like a couple of casual rabbits did something non-family-friendly to the front of his jeans, so instead he took in her date.

That cooled him down.

The man looked like he belonged in a cologne commercial. He had those exotic looks that send women into a tizzy. Bronzed skin, slick, dark hair, and eyes that were looking at Riley as though he couldn’t wait to get her alone.

Asshole.

“Brent, this is Sam Compton. Longtime family friend. He’s practically like another brother to me.”

Except one doesn’t sexually proposition a brother, he thought irritably.

“Nice to meet you,” Brent said, all white smile and smooth handshake.

Sam gave the universal male chin tilt in acknowledgment. “So, how long you guys been dating?”

His eyes never left Riley’s as he asked, and although her eyes were all innocence, her small cat smile revealed her game.

He let his own gaze answer back. Don’t even bother. I’m not playing.

But he wanted to. Badly. The thought of this guy taking his place in her bed …

Except Sam had said no. He’d had to say no. Even if it’s all he’d been able to think about since she’d left his place on Friday.

“Brent and I have known each other for years,” she replied smoothly.

Sam refused to let his eyes linger on the spot where Riley’s fingers touched Brent’s arm, and he scrunched his face up in an expression of mock confusion. “Have you mentioned him before?”

Riley’s eyes narrowed, but Brent gave an easy laugh. “Probably not. I’ve been trying to get her to go out with me for years, but she’s always been seeing someone else.”

“Oh, is that what the kids are calling sex these days. Seeing someone?”

You’re being a jerk. Didn’t you just walk out on your own mother for making those same inferences about Riley?

Unperturbed, Riley gave him a sympathetic smile before turning her attention to Brent. “Sam here’s a bit of a … oh, what’s the polite word … recluse? You know, I don’t think he’s actually seen a woman’s breast up close and personal since the Reagan administration.”

Brent gave a nervous laugh as Sam choked on his beer.

Recovering quickly, Sam turned back to Riley’s new “boyfriend.” “So, how’d she talk you into coming to her nephew’s First Communion party? A little tame for a first date, isn’t it?”

Riley opened her mouth, but Brent beat her to it. “Tame is fine with me. Especially since I have no intention of letting the first date be the last.”

Really? Because I have every intention of ensuring that this is your last date.

It was a damn good thing that this was a kid-centric party, because the appearance of Riley’s niece in a puffy purple dress was just about the only thing that would have stopped Sam from forcefully escorting Brent to the nearest train home.

“Uncle Sam, do you want to see my new Barbie car?”

He tore his eyes away from Riley to glance down at the little girl who looked just like her. Big blue eyes blinked up at him, and he couldn’t resist. This one had him wrapped around her finger.

Just like her aunt.

“A new Barbie car, huh? Did you have a birthday I missed?” he asked, setting his beer aside and scooping her up even though she was about a year too old for it. She squealed in delight and looped her skinny arms around his neck.

“Not my birthday, but my daddy bought it for me because I was good when I went to the hardware store with him.”

“Your daddy’s a sucker, and you can tell him I said that,” Sam said. Although he had to hand it to Brian. Bribing your daughter with Barbie crap so you could get your Home Depot fix was genius.

“Let’s go see this car, then. What kind of engine are we talking about on this thing?”

Lily laughed a little-girl laugh. “It’s pink!”

“Of course it is,” he said, edging by Brent and Riley.

He felt Riley’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look back as he listened to Lily ramble about how Barbie was a better driver than Ken.

Twenty minutes later, Megan came to coax Lily into eating something besides cake, and Sam was able to escape the makeshift playroom Erin and Josh had set up for their grandchildren and rejoin the adult party.

“Where’d you disappear to?” Liam asked, never taking his eyes off the football game.

Sam flopped down next to Liam and Brian. “Barbie and Ken were getting married.”

Brian shifted his sleeping infant son to his other shoulder. “Lily got to you, huh?”

“I didn’t mind.”

Liam’s dad entered, plopping into the ancient recliner that his wife hated but that was as much a part of the house as the man himself. Sam could still remember the first time he’d stepped into the McKenna home. The warm, motherly welcome from Liam’s mom practically had him reeling, to say nothing of the jolt to his hormones delivered by his first look at Riley. Then Liam had led him into the living room, where Josh was sitting in that very chair, looking completely unruffled by Sam’s most recent tattoo and surly smirk.

“Whisky?” Josh had asked.

“Joshua, he’s a minor,” said Riley’s mother.

Sam jumped in. “I’ve had whisky before.”

“Good enough for me.” Josh had poured them a couple of fingers of Jameson’s. Liam, being several months younger than Sam, had been offered lemonade. Sam had never admitted it to anyone, but he often wondered if his seemingly spontaneous decision to start a whisky distillery hadn’t been born out of that long-ago moment when Josh McKenna had taken a fatherless kid under his wing, no questions asked.

“Where have you been?” Josh asked Sam, jerking him back to the present. “You missed cake.”