WineBar’s townhouse seems perfect to me, even for Russian Hill. It’s a classic Edwardian-style house on a fairly flat, easy-to-walk block. In my experience, the area is also nice and quiet without too much traffic.

For whatever reason, that’s not the case as my taxi pulls up to the front of Kirk’s building—or as close as we can get to it. It looks like all the street parking is taken, and there’s a small crowd of people lingering idly in front of Kirk’s front door. I feel my stomach churn faintly, probably from stress.

What the hell is going on?

I step out of the taxi and begin walking toward the townhouse. Everybody outside the front of the building is mingling in groups. Most of them turn to look—or glare—at me as I approach.

This is already a lot different than my expectations. Instead of a small, intimate gathering of loved ones, this is clearly a full-fledged shindig with half the city in attendance. Instead of feeling self-conscious about meeting Kirk’s family, I’m strangely self-conscious about walking in alone at a giant party filled with strangers.

What’s that even about? I can run a room, command all the attention at a party. But right now I’m off-kilter. This whole meeting the family business has thrown me for a loop.

Whatever. Maybe it’s possible that, for business reasons, WineBar can hardly plan any event without a huge guest list. Maybe everyone’s out here and there aren’t actully that many people inside.

I keep my head up, eyes scanning the area as I saunter through the crowd and let myself through the front door.

Okay, yeah, it’s fucking packed.

Even with little open space, Kirk’s house seems larger than ever with hordes of people—strangers—milling around, their loud conversations echoing off the high ceilings.

The air is pungent with the combined scents of midmarket perfume, cologne, fancy beer, and liquors of all kinds. It’s like some hotel bar in Union Square on a Friday night, only with less tourists.

I need a fucking drink.

I point myself toward the rear entrance with determination. I know that WineBar has to be outside, no doubt at the center of the action. I’m almost ready to yell at him, but I fight the urge.

This is his barbecue, after all, and I’m ready to see where this is all going. Without having the floorplan of this place memorized, I find a quick route to the huge wrought-iron doors leading outside.

The crowd’s a bit thinner outside, but the setup’s still elaborate with tables, string lanterns, and downtempo electronica playing quietly from somewhere. There’s also the sound and smell of sizzling food…and there’s the grill.

More importantly, there’s WineBar with his back facing me.

And yes, of course, there are three women flocked around him, all wearing awfully unconservative dresses.

What. The. Fuck.

Maybe I should embrace that urge to yell.

I see WineBar’s face in profile as he turns and says something to the chestnut-haired girl in the black minidress on his left. All three women erupt in laughter, and Kirk has a stupid, fake little smile on his face.

I find myself almost stomping to the grill, ready to let WineBar have it. Why did he even invite me to this thing? All the stress, and the time, and the taxi…I need to know just what in the hell he was thinking.

I’m almost there, maybe a few feet away, when Kirk turns his head around and notices me. The recognition hits his face, and Kirk’s phony smirk instantly transforms into a grin of genuine delight. And surprise. And relief.

I can feel the warmth in his eyes, and my anger melts and evaporates just like that. Kinda like how that smile is making my panties melt, too.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Kirk turns around to face me entirely. He’s still smiling, and his eyes stay locked on mine.

“Hey, Tad,” Kirk calls out while still focused on me. And like magic, some dude runs over and takes the barbecue fork that Kirk is holding out.

“I’m glad you finally trust me,” the guy declares jokingly. He seems thrilled to take over the grill, even as the women gathered around it start to look around for other things to do.

I feel speechless as Kirk approaches me. And a little bit lightheaded. And a whole lot horny.

Kirk softly brushes his fingertips against my left arm. Right now, it feels better than any embrace, especially since it seems to carry the promise of much more.

My whole body responds with a shiver that races over my skin and finally settles right there at my clit. As usual, WineBar has me wet and ready to go with nothing more than a look.

“Big party.” I find my voice at last. It sounds a bit hoarse right now, but Kirk doesn’t seem to mind as his smile broadens.

“Yeah, it’s just a little thing I threw together.”

Our eyes are still locked, but by now Kirk is so close that I’m almost looking straight up at him.

“What did you call this on the phone? A small get-together or something? Modesty makes me so fucking hot.” There’s my voice, loud and clear.

“In that case, we should head back into my tiny cottage soon.”

“Oh, nice downplaying,” I tease. “I would like to see your tiny cottage very much. Maybe it has, I don’t know, a bed we could enjoy? If there’s enough room?”

Kirk’s fingertips are moving up and down my arm with just a slight bit more intensity now.

“Barely. My bed is pretty much a fold-out cot.”

I throw my head back, groaning dramatically. “Oh! You’re so modest! I can’t take it!”

I’m sure people are staring at us, but I don’t give a fuck, and neither does Kirk. He’s still looking only at me, and he’s laughing.

“We can see the cottage soon enough. But there are still people here I want you to meet. You at least have to say hi to my brother. He’s almost here.”

I back up a little and look down at the pastel paving stones under my feet. The music suddenly sounds a bit louder, and my stomach’s churning again.

“Okay.”

Kirk recloses the gap between us and starts rubbing my arm.

“This is so not like you, Emily. Tell me what’s wrong.”

I bite my lip. “I’m…actually a little nervous about this whole thing. You know, meeting your family. I guess I can’t hide it.”

I look up to see Kirk’s gaze meeting mine once more.

“No, you can’t.”

The time that it takes for Kirk to bring his lips to mine feels like an instant, but it also feels like an eternity, since I know the kiss is about to happen, and I want the moment to just last and last.

Kirk kisses me, deeply, hungrily, yet also tenderly, and I feel the last day and a half of angst and apprehension dissipate.

“I’m glad to get that off my chest,” I utter quietly.

“I’m so happy you’re here, and I want you to enjoy yourself. I’m going to do whatever it takes to calm your nerves.”

Well, that sounds promising.

“And just what would that be?”

While I like where this is going, I want Kirk to be specific. In fact, I really like the idea of Kirk being extremely specific about this.

“Let’s go check out the cottage.”

Thank. Fuck.

Just what I wanted to hear.

Kirk’s hand grips mine smoothly, and he pulls me tightly against him as we share another kiss, this time staying in the moment a little longer, our kiss getting close to indecent for a family event.

I just can’t help it. Being pressed up against his sexy body makes me lose all reason. Or even remember why I should be reasonable in the first place.

All I can think about right now is getting out of these fucking conservative clothes and letting Kirk do his thing to ‘calm my nerves.’

With my hand in his, Kirk leads me through the path of partygoers back into his house.