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She laughed with a tinge of self-consciousness. “Oh, anything. Bass, trout… There are plenty of lakes where I grew up in western Pennsylvania. My father and grandfather taught me how to bait and cast a line—as well as ride a horse and, uh, m-milk a cow.”

She couldn’t believe she’d admitted to milking cows. How would he ever think of her as an urban sophisticate now? She ought to have quit while she was ahead.

James looked nothing but fascinated, however. “Horseback riding—even better. I’ve been riding since I could walk.” His eyes glinted. “I can’t say the same about milking cows, on the other hand.”

She flushed.

“But I sheered a few sheep during a stay at an Australian sheep station.”

Pia felt her lips twitch. “Well, then, you’ve bested me. I concede.”

“Good of you,” he deadpanned. “I knew sheep would win out.”

“I’ve done some fly-fishing,” she asserted.

He smiled. “Point to you. There are not many women who are willing to stand around in muck all day, wearing waders and waiting to get a bite.” His smile broadened into a grin. “As petite as you are, I imagine you couldn’t wade in very far.”

She struck a look of mock offense. “I’ll have you know I stood as still as a chameleon on a branch.”

“Then I’d have been tempted to drop a frog down the back of your waders,” he teased.

“Oh, you would! Don’t tell me you have sisters whom you tormented.”

“No such luck,” he mourned. “I have one sister, but she’s several years younger than I am, and my mother wouldn’t have looked well on any pranks.”

“I wouldn’t have expected she would,” she said with mock indignation. “And if you’d attempted to foist a frog on me, I’d have—”

“Yes?”

He was enjoying this.

“I’d have thrown you for a loop!”

“Don’t fairy-tale heroines need to get to know a few frogs?” he asked innocently.

“I believe the expression is kiss a few frogs,” she replied. “And, no, the requirements have been updated for the twenty-first century. And anyway, I’d know when I kissed a frog.”

“Mmm…do you want to put it to the test?”

“I—I—”

What a time for her stammer to make another appearance.

Not waiting for a clearer sign of encouragement, he leaned in, and as her eyelids lowered, gently pressed his lips to her. She felt the momentary zing of electricity, and her lips parted on an indrawn breath. And then his mouth moved over hers, tasting and sampling, giving and receiving.

His lips were soft, and she tasted the faint lingering flavor of his drink as they kissed. The crowd around them receded as she focused on every warm stroke of his mouth against hers.

Just as their kiss threatened to become more heated, he drew back, his expression thoughtful and bemused. “There, how was that?”

She searched his eyes. “Y-you are in no way related to Kermit the Frog.”

He grinned. “How about my fishing? Am I reeling you in?”

“A-am I on the hook or are you?”

“James.”

The moment was interrupted as he was hailed by someone and turned in the direction of a man coming toward them.

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