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Sweet Seduction
Daire St. Denis


All it takes is one sweet taste…Daisy Sinclair knows how to make a guy moan with raw pleasure. She should, as owner of the best damn bakery in Chicago. Her cinnamon buns are borderline orgasmic! Of course, standing in front of the city's biggest (and sexy-as-hell) food critic in her skivvies isn't the most professional first impression. Especially when he has a wicked glint in his eye…Jamie Forsythe isn't exactly a food critic; his twin brother is. One look at Daisy's mouthwatering curves, and Jamie knows only that he wants to have his cake and Daisy, too. Attraction mixed with deception is a recipe for disaster—the naughtiest, hottest kind imaginable. And there's no way Jamie can resist being sent to bed…with Daisy as dessert!







All it takes is one sweet taste...

Daisy Sinclair knows how to make a guy moan with raw pleasure. She should, as owner of the best damn bakery in Chicago. Her cinnamon buns are borderline orgasmic! Of course, standing in front of the city’s biggest (and sexy-as-hell) food critic in her skivvies isn’t the most professional first impression. Especially when he has a wicked glint in his eye...

Jamie Forsythe isn’t exactly a food critic; his twin brother is. One look at Daisy’s mouthwatering curves, and Jamie knows only that he wants to have his cake and Daisy, too. Attraction mixed with deception is a recipe for disaster—the naughtiest, hottest kind imaginable. And there’s no way Jamie can resist being sent to bed...with Daisy as dessert!


Was it a just a kiss?

Jamie wasn’t sure because it felt more like their mouths had just had hot, sweaty sex.

“Wow.” Daisy sat back, touching her lips, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“Between here and there, you need to decide if you want me to come up.”

“I do?”

“Yes.”

They walked out the door, greeted by the cool Chicago evening. Daisy paused beside the bike, looking up at him with an intoxicating mixture of wonder and wantonness. “What will happen if you come up?”

He leaned down and kissed her softly, exhibiting way more control than he had any right to show. “Dessert.”

“Oh. Well, there’s lots of that. Pie, chocolate torte, lemon meringue. What would you like?”

“You.”


Dear Reader (#ulink_be86cadb-7106-51b4-8d9c-d2ae4879d336),

I love contradictions. Things like opposites attract, cheering for the underdog, wanting to get down and dirty in a boxing ring...hmm, is that a contradiction or a scene from the book?

Either way, when I pitched a story about a bakery and a boxing club, I wasn’t sure it was going to fly. But it did—I guess boxing and baking do mix—and Sweet Seduction was born. The story features the lovely Daisy and the hotter-than-hell Jamie, a lawyer and private boxing club owner who thinks Daisy is even tastier than her delicious baked goods, which he adores in a finger-licking, groaning sort of orgasmic way.

While that might not be my exact experience with baking, it’s pretty damn close. My favorite thing is the cinnamon bun—thanks to my mom who makes the best cinnamon buns ever. To this day, the smell of warm, fresh bread slathered in butter, cinnamon and brown sugar gooeyness is synonymous with comfort and home, just as it is for Daisy.

As for the boxing? Besides the fact that ripped, shirtless guys duking it out is hot, growing up with three older brothers and a mother who only knows one haircut—a boy cut (aka pixie cut)—meant that when I tagged along to boxing practice with my brothers, their coaches asked why their “little brother” didn’t join in. So I did.

I hope you enjoy Sweet Seduction and stay tuned for the second book in the series, Big Sky Seduction, featuring Daisy’s best friend Gloria.

Happy reading!

Daire St. Denis


Sweet Seduction

Daire St. Denis






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author DAIRE ST. DENIS is an adventure seeker, an ancient history addict, a seasonal hermit and a wine lover. She calls the Canadian Rockies home and has the best job ever: writing smoking-hot contemporary romance where the pages are steeped in sensuality and there’s always a dash of the unexpected. Find out more about Daire and subscribe to her newsletter at dairestdenis.com (http://www.dairestdenis.com).


For Lady Laine, the best baker I know.


Contents

Cover (#u22efbf14-7601-59d1-bf71-f376e7b636af)

Back Cover Text (#u8df612a4-6d3e-5d4e-8f47-02490944fa2d)

Introduction (#u969f9098-33a5-59de-a19e-8c07df059194)

Dear Reader (#ulink_b4e3b9b6-880c-5fff-88ed-a58f39a38565)

Title Page (#ua0a7c51e-96c1-5a1f-9afa-a6752ca304ca)

About the Author (#u68c6c0c0-6d2e-5349-b5fb-186b3f585bf1)

Dedication (#u5b60797b-bb3b-592d-b815-3c45e1e00957)

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1 (#ulink_e9344c3b-78a2-58ae-8a36-9a469689b990)

DAISY SINCLAIR’S PHONE came alive on her desk, jumping and jiving to “Candy” by Foxy Brown. She’d been so absorbed in entering information into Accounts Payable that the sudden noise startled her silly.

“What’s up?” Daisy said aloud, picking up the device and checking the message on the screen. It was the reminder she’d set four weeks ago. Four hellish weeks ago. And now, four weeks later, the reminder was telling her it was time. Time to face the music. Time to see whether the torture she’d put herself through had all been worth it.

After nudging the scale out from beneath her desk, Daisy tiptoed to her office door and shut it. Then she gave herself a once-over in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. There was a streak of flour on her cheek that she rubbed off with the back of her hand before her gaze dropped. Hmm. The apron she wore made her look boxy.

She untied it and slipped it off.

Unfortunately, the well-worn jeans and loose cotton blouse weren’t much better, so she stripped those off, too, dropping them in a pile by the door.

There. Now she could see what was what. She’d avoided the full-length mirror for four weeks for just this purpose. The celebrity gala that her mother had managed to get her a ticket to was on Saturday, only five days away, and she was determined to look her best in her fabulous new red dress—hence the month of hell she’d endured. Daisy swiveled in front of the mirror, eyes narrowed, searching her figure for the changes that had to be there.

Generous hips.

She turned to check out her butt.

Round ass.

Standing in profile, she cupped a hand under her breasts.

Biggish boobs.

Daisy sighed. She looked exactly the same.

Healthy. Nana Sin’s voice was so clear it was as if her grandmother was standing right beside her, smiling, holding a tray of freshly baked caramel-nut cookies.

Stubborn cow was the endearment Daisy’s ex-jerk-of-a-husband had for her. But then, she’d had a few choice names for him, too, over the course of their short marriage. The divorce would have been done with by now if it wasn’t for Nana Sin’s bakery.

Ahh, the bakery. Daisy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The cinnamon buns must be fresh out of the oven because the aroma of cinnamon with an overtone of raisins, sweet and sticky with brown-sugar yumminess, was heavy in the air. Heaven. This had to be what Heaven smelled like.

Okay, once this business with the scale was over, she was going to reward herself with a bun. She deserved it.

With a deep breath and then another, she stepped up onto the scale and peered cautiously over the tips of her candy-floss painted toenails.

Daisy blinked.

She blinked again.

No.

She stepped off and checked the setting on the scale. Yes, it was at zero. She gave it a few good shakes to reset it—or whatever a good shake was supposed to do—and carefully stepped back onto the thing, thinking the lightest of thoughts. An image of impossibly thin phyllo pastry, brushed with melted butter and filled with nuts and honey, came to mind. She envisioned herself sliding the baking sheet out of the oven, the phyllo a golden brown. She could practically taste it, light as a cloud, melting on her tongue, honey trickling sweetly down her throat...

Hmm. Those were probably the wrong kinds of “light” thoughts to be having.

Daisy squinted hard at the number dial on the top of the foul instrument sent from Lucifer himself.

No, no, no, no, no!

How could she have spent four weeks on the Summer Size Diet Plan and not have shed one pound? Not only that, how could she have gained five? It defied sense. It was contrary to reason!

Four weeks of abstaining from tarts and pies.

Four weeks of drooling over sweet breads and butter-frosted cupcakes, only to pass them up.

Four weeks of avoiding cheese buns and chocolate mousse tortes and baklava and angel food cake and whipped cream and apple strudel and...all for nothing?

Daisy paced her office while she contemplated the miserable joke the universe had played on her. It wasn’t fair. She’d been a saint, exercising and cutting back and avoiding the baked goods, which was tantamount to pure torture when she owned the flipping bakery. And her bakery wasn’t just any bakery, but the best damn bakery in Bucktown, the city of Chicago, the state of Illinois—why, maybe even the whole country, for all she knew. Sure, that was hard to prove, but the point was, she’d managed to abstain from some pretty fine friggin’ food and the result was a gain of five pounds?

Daisy kicked the scale.

Dammit!

She lifted her foot to massage her stubbed big toe while hopping around on the other. Once the throbbing stopped, she picked up the offending scale and waved it in the air, speaking to whoever might be up there listening. “Do you think this is funny? Do you think you can knock me down? Ha! I’m not some fragile waif, so bring it on, Universe. Come on. I dare you. I can take whatever you dish out.”

With the scale poised above her head, its destruction imminent, she watched the door to her office open. A tall, broad and, most importantly, clothed man walked in.

He was followed closely by Lizzie, her assistant baker, who ended up bumping into the back of him because he’d stopped to stare—with his mouth hanging open.

“Boss!” Lizzie cried. “What the—”

Her heart went thrump and Daisy felt her face turn the shade of maraschino cherry juice.

“Oh.” The man—who was so conveniently dressed—just stood and stared.

Daisy tried in vain to cover her bits and pieces with the scale. “Get out!” When the man didn’t move, she shouted, “Hello? Out!” She pointed to the door.

Lizzie scampered through the door but the man did not. He stood frozen like the ice-cream cake stashed at the back of her freezer.

“Is something wrong with you?”

He shook his head, not embarrassed in the least—horrible, horrible man! He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then stopped himself and finally ducked out the door. Before Daisy had time to collapse in mortification, the door opened a crack and the guy stuck his head back through. “Break that thing.”

“Oh, my God!” She hugged the scale to her chest. “Go away!”

The door shut and Daisy kept the scale close until she reached her pile of clothes. She dropped the scale and then struggled into her jeans before fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. Once dressed, she looked up, catching a glimpse of her haphazard appearance in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, making her eyes overly bright. Daisy covered her face, hoping the action would block out what just happened.

No such luck.

There was a tentative knock at the door, and Daisy wrenched it open to find Lizzie standing there looking sheepish.

“Oh, so now you knock?”

“Sorry, I—”

“Why on earth didn’t you knock the first time?” Daisy demanded.

“I did,” Lizzie explained. “I thought I heard you say ‘come in.’” She frowned. “You were saying a bunch of stuff. I didn’t catch the last part. Something about bringing a dish out?”

Daisy pressed her fingers to her temples. “That makes no sense.”

“I know. But you’re always saying stuff that doesn’t make sense. I was sure I heard you say ‘come in.’” Lizzie tilted her head, thinking. “Or maybe it was ‘come on.’ Either way.”

Daisy collapsed in her chair. “So, who’s the guy I indecently exposed myself to?”

Lizzie cleared her throat. “Colin Forsythe.” She forced a smile.

The name had Daisy sitting up straight in her chair. “Oh, God. No. Tell me I didn’t.”

“Mmm, you kind of did.”

“As in food critic and columnist from the Tribune, Colin Forsythe?”

“That would be the one.”

“No.” Daisy dropped her head into her hands, the world collapsing around her. She buried her face, hoping she’d get sucked into the black hole created by the implosion of her life.

There was a knock, and Daisy whipped her head around to stare at the door in horror.

“The man himself beckons.” Lizzie twiddled her fingers in the direction of the door like an amateur magician.

“Tell him to go away. Tell him I’m Maisy, Daisy’s deranged twin sister, and that the real Daisy will be back from vacation next week.”

“See?” Lizzie said, pointing at her. “This is what I’m talking about. You say these things sometimes. Then I think you’re telling me to come in when really you’re doing some weird underwear dance. What were you doing, by the way?”

“Oh, God.”

Lizzie reached across the desk and patted Daisy’s arm. “You know what? So you traipse around in your office naked-ish. Who cares? You’re the boss. Just get out there and pretend like nothing happened. Do it with a smile.” She demonstrated an example of a big, fake smile. Not helpful.

It was easy for Lizzie to tell her to face the man with a smile when she wasn’t the one who had just been discovered pacing her office in her unmentionables. Daisy plucked her blouse from her chest for a quick peek to remind herself exactly which unmentionables she was wearing. Well, at least it was her new Victoria’s Secret satin set. So, her undies were nice; that was hardly a consolation.

“Ms. Sinclair?”

She looked up at the man standing in the doorway to her office. Yes, he was Colin Forsythe all right. His wavy brown hair might have been a bit longer than in the picture beside his column, but he had the same square jaw, the same nose—though in person it was a little crooked—and the same full lips. While he was recognizable, his byline picture did not do him justice. In that picture he came off as stern, albeit in a well-coiffed, intellectual sort of way. Actually, his picture made him look snooty. In person? Wow. He looked anything but. His eyes sparkled with irreverence, his lips turned up at one side as if he was trying to keep a sinful smile in check, and he was just...bigger. More like a professional athlete than a distinguished foodie.

His eyebrows rose under her appraisal. “Do I pass?”

Daisy cringed. Good-looking. Big ego. No surprise. Obviously, he was going to make this impossible for her. But he was Colin Forsythe, and she’d been anticipating this interview ever since taking over Nana Sin’s bakery three years ago. Of course he had to show up today of all days. That was just her luck. Someone, somewhere had a warped sense of humor where she was concerned. Daisy paused, cocking her head. Weird. Sometimes she was sure she could hear her grandmother chuckling, as though she was standing right behind her.

“Is everything okay?”

She sent an incredulous look at the much too tall, far too self-assured man standing in her doorway. “Are you kidding me?”

“Please don’t be embarrassed.”

“Can we pretend, for my sake, that we’re meeting for the first time, right now? That you didn’t just...” Daisy paused to take a deep, composing breath. She stood, shoulders back. “Hello, Mr. Forsythe.” She walked around her desk, hand outstretched. “I’m Daisy Sinclair. Welcome to Nana Sin’s.”

He rubbed his jaw as if trying to massage his face into a serious expression. It didn’t work. When she was close enough, he took her hand and shook it firmly. She thought he might take the opportunity to say something crass, but all he said was, “It’s Colin.”

“Colin.” She set her lips in a grim line and sauntered past, head held high. At the door she turned. “Shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “The bakery.” She indicated the kitchen with the motion of her head. “Aren’t you here to see the bakery?”

In one step Colin was beside her, looking down at her. Damn, the man was tall. Not fair. And what the hell was he doing, blasting her with that sinful smile of his?

“I’ve already seen everything.” He grinned.

She groaned.

His gaze held hers for a second before flicking toward the front of the building. “I’m talking about the bakery. I spent the last half hour in the front, interviewing customers and your staff.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Customers here all ask for you. By name.”

With a shrug, Daisy said, “The bakery’s been here a long time. People are loyal.”

“Only when they have a reason to be.”

“I suppose...”

He came closer, spoke more softly. “What I’d really like is a taste.”

The way he looked at her made Daisy think he wanted to taste her. Of all the ridiculous, embarrassing, appealing ideas she’d ever had, this one took the cake. With a huff, she marched past him into the kitchen, her jaw clamped shut, ignoring the deep rumbling sound of his chuckle. Wicked, wicked man. When she caught sight of Lizzie punching some dough, she snapped. “Lizzie, it’s the morning rush. Julia can’t handle the store alone.”

“But the dough...”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Lizzie scurried out through the double doors to the front, leaving Daisy with the dough and Colin Forsythe. After donning one of the extremely unattractive hair nets—she was beyond caring how she looked—and thoroughly washing her hands, she took over Lizzie’s job. Punching dough was exactly what she needed right now.

“You’re really letting that dough have it.”

“Some doughs need a gentle touch. Others need a good, hard spanking.” Daisy regretted the words the second they came out of her mouth. “Please don’t quote me there.”

“Shame. It’s a good quote.” Colin said, coughing to cover up a laugh. “I thought bakeries did all the baking in the early hours.”

Daisy scratched an itchy spot on her chin with her shoulder and then gave the dough another punch, getting less satisfaction than normal from the warm, airy flour as it enclosed her fist and the smell of yeast that always accompanied the task. At the very least, his question was professional, so Daisy answered, hoping her voice sounded more composed than she felt. “It’s one of the reasons we’re so popular. We offer fresh baking all day long, featuring different bestsellers every day of the week. Tuesdays are cinnamon-bun days. These should be ready for lunch, and we’ll do another batch for the after-work crowd.”

“You’re always this busy?”

“Always.”

“How many people do you have working here?”

“Two full-time girls at the counter, although Chrissy’s sick today, and Lizzie and Bruce help me in the kitchen. Then I’ve got five part-timers for evenings and weekends.” It was then that Daisy noticed Colin Forsythe had no pen. No paper. He wasn’t even recording this. She frowned. “You’re not taking any of this down?”

He tapped the side of his head. “It’s all up here. Don’t you worry.”

After finishing with the huge bowl, Daisy covered it with a clean, damp cloth and placed it in the warmer to rise. Then she started on the next. She found it much easier to talk to Colin when she didn’t have to look at him and her hands were busy, keeping her mind focused on something other than the fact that he’d seen more of her than any man had in a very long time.

Colin pulled up a stool and sat down, watching her work. “How do you keep up with it?”

“It’s easy.” She glanced up. “I love it. Spending my time here isn’t work. And the staff—well, we’re like one big family.” The only person missing from that family was Nana. God, how she missed her.

“The sign on the door says Nana Sin’s been around for fifty years. How did you acquire it?”

“It was my grandmother’s. After she died, I inherited it.” And it did belong to her, no matter what Alan’s lawyer said. Daisy glanced down. Seeing her ex’s face superimposed on the bowl of dough, she gave the lump a good hard whack.

“How long have you worked here?”

“I can’t really say. I’ve basically spent most of my life here.” She glanced around the big kitchen. Though she’d made some updates since taking over three years ago, the kitchen still evoked the same memories. It didn’t matter that it looked different than it did when she was growing up. The smell was the same. Yeast, brown sugar, cinnamon, baked butter—it was synonymous with her grandmother, synonymous with safety and security and home.

“Tell me, Daisy...may I call you Daisy?”

“I think we’re past formalities.”

Colin chuckled deep inside that stupidly big chest of his. “When do I get to sample something?”

She blinked at him. A strange heat crept up the inside of her ribcage to settle at the base of her throat. Did he intend to sound suggestive? Because all Daisy could think about was Colin Forsythe sampling something much more...intimate than cinnamon buns. Her mouth and bare skin, for example.

Dammit, Daisy! Just because he saw you in your hot pink undies does not make him hot for you. Besides, he’s clearly an ass. Isn’t one ass in your lifetime enough?

The thought made her simultaneously hot and cold.

Colin grinned as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and motioned to a half dozen fresh buns sitting on cooling racks.

“Oh. Of course.” When he went to grab a bun, she slapped his hand, an automatic reaction, but one that felt way too familiar. She cleared her throat. “Not those. They’re for Johnny.” Daisy grabbed a plate from the cupboard and separated a bun from the others cooling. When she passed him the plate, she made certain their fingers did not come in contact.

No more touching. No more thoughts of touching.

Colin leaned over the plate and took a deep breath. His brows drew together, and a look of bliss came over him. It almost redeemed him in Daisy’s eyes.

Almost.

He lifted the bun and held it in front of his face before taking a big bite. His brows lifted and then dropped. “Mmm.” He turned to her, rapture written in the gleam of his eyes. He slowly took another bite. And then another. After his fourth—not that Daisy was counting—he said with a still partially full mouth, “Wow. So good.”

“Thank you.”

He finished chewing and then turned the plate in his hand, inspecting the last bite. “It’s perfect. You know that, right? The outside is crisp, the inside soft. They’re sweet and sticky, but the sweetness is balanced with the freshness of the bread.” He cocked his head to the side and asked, “Aren’t you having some?”

Daisy pressed her lips together. The buns were her all-time favorite, and witnessing Colin’s unrestrained enthusiasm—the groans, the finger licking, the orgasmic look on his face—evoked an aberrant longing that made it hard to breathe.

Orgasmic look? Where the hell did that thought come from? Sheesh!

“Here, have some of mine.” Colin held out the remaining bite for her.

Daisy backed away because the pull to lean forward and take the bite—with her mouth, right from his hand—was overpowering. “No, thanks,” she said, staring at his fingers, a vivid image of herself licking them ricocheting inside her head.

“You don’t eat your own baking?”

“Oh, yeah. All the time. Just not today.”

He narrowed his eyes. Under his scrutiny, Daisy felt like the shy, insecure kid she’d once been, desperate to please.

“Please tell me that you, of all people, are not on a diet.”

“What if I am?” Daisy asked defensively.

“I’d say stop.” He leaned back, crossed his arms on his broad chest and let his eyes wander over her body.

Daisy blew out air through pursed lips. “Whatever.” She waved dismissively at him. “Can we get back to talking about Nana Sin’s—”

“Can I tell you what I see?”

“It’s really none of your—”

He got up, and his swift approach made Daisy forget what she was about to say. With him standing so close, she was forced to look up at him, way up at him. His presence overwhelmed her, as did his cologne. What was it? Something masculine. Something that contrasted with the sweet and savory aromas ever-present in the bakery. Something that had her blood pressure rising in direct proportion to each and every incredible inch he towered over her.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You mean big-boned.”

“No. That is not what I mean.”

Daisy tried to shrug away from this presumptuous man, but for each step she backed away, he took one to close the distance. She hoped to sound light and breezy when she said, “If I’m not big-boned, that only leaves me with one other descriptor.”

“Yes.” His voice dropped an octave as his eyelids lowered to half-mast. “Curvy.”

“You mean plump.”

“I mean perfect.”

Oh, my God. Did his eyes just drop to her boobs? “This is not appropriate.”

“Probably not. Though neither is greeting me in smokin’ hot underwear.”

She covered her face, and he pulled her hands away, dropping his head toward her. “But that’s not the best part.” For a startling moment, Daisy thought Colin Forsythe was going to kiss her. More surprising, Daisy hoped he would. Oh, good lord. There was something wrong with her!

Colin didn’t kiss her, however. Oh, no. What he did was almost more intimate in Daisy’s estimation. He shut his eyes and took in a long, slow, deep breath. His smile grew as leisurely as his exhalation.

“Vanilla, orange zest, cinnamon...” He paused to inhale even more deeply right by Daisy’s cheek. “And rosemary. That last one is unexpected, but very nice.”

Daisy stared at him. At his lips, more specifically. Her heart pounded like a meat tenderizer whacking away in her chest. She’d made rosemary and orange crisps early that morning. How on earth had he detected that? Was it possible that for the first time in her life, she’d met a person with a sense of smell as powerful as her own?

No, it couldn’t be.

But even more unbelievable was the fact that this much too tall, far too arrogant, nosy man was licking his lips like the next thing he wanted to sample was Daisy herself.


2 (#ulink_93d930fd-1979-5716-bbcf-90ddde9cd88b)

“HERE’S TO NANA SIN’S.”

“Thanks, Glo.” Daisy raised her glass and clinked it against her best friend’s.

“Don’t thank me. I’ve been waiting for a reason to come to Le Beau Monde ever since it opened. Your recent celebrity status is the perfect excuse. Tonight’s on me, by the way.”

Daisy blushed. Actually, she’d been blushing for three days straight, ever since Colin Forsythe’s article—not just a review, but a half-page feature—had appeared in the Tribune.

Her blush became a full-body flush when Gloria quoted a line from the review. “‘Daisy Sinclair, who is as sinfully delicious and entertaining as the bakery itself, runs Nana Sin’s like it is her own kitchen, creating a cozy, familiar atmosphere with some of the finest pastries I’ve ever encountered.’ Good lord, Daise, it’s like the guy’s smitten with you or something.”

“Yeah, well...” She hadn’t told Gloria about the underwear debacle or the outright flirting that ensued. Gloria would only read more into the encounter than there was. Plus, Daisy didn’t want to jinx things for Saturday’s date. Not that she believed in jinxes. She mostly didn’t. But it’d been a long time since her last date, and Daisy figured it was better to play it safe and keep it on the down low for now.

God! She had a date with Colin Forsythe. How on earth did that happen? Daisy replayed the scene over in her mind while nodding absently as Gloria gave her typical monologue, assessing the decor of the restaurant—hazards of being an interior designer and stager.

“Are you listening?” Gloria asked.

“Yep.”

“Why are your eyes closed?”

Daisy’s eyes popped open. “Sorry. Go on. You were saying something about paisley.”

Once Gloria started in on the upholstery again, Daisy went back to her daydream. She remembered Colin checking his watch and swearing under his breath because it was later than he’d thought. When she went to shake his hand goodbye, he held hers instead of shaking it.

What are you doing Saturday? Even after replaying that line a bajillion times in her head, Daisy still felt a weird somersault-y thing in her stomach.

When she told him she was going to the Celebrity Hors d’oeuvres Gala, he’d taken her hand, turned it over, kissed the back of her knuckles and asked her if she would do him the honor of accompanying him to the Gala, as he was going, as well.

Seriously.

It was like something out of one of the historical-romance novels she absolutely adored. Sure, he was only playing at being chivalrous, but it had worked. Holy Hannah, had it worked. Even now parts of Daisy’s anatomy came alive, parts that had been dormant for too long.

“Why are you smiling?” Gloria asked.

“I’m happy. That’s all.” Daisy took a sip of her cosmopolitan, hoping to cover up her giddiness and the fact that she hadn’t been listening to her friend.

Thankfully the server appeared with their food, giving Daisy an excuse to focus on something other than Colin Forsythe and her friend’s much too perceptive appraisal of her strange behavior. She’d spill everything to Gloria after the date.

“Your duck looks delicious,” Gloria said, pulling out her cell phone and taking a picture. Then she snapped a few of her own dish.

“What are you doing?”

“Instagram, baby.” Gloria showed her the pictures—pretty amazing quality for a cell phone. “People love pictures of food almost as much as they love the real thing.”

“Not me. It’s the real thing or nothing.” Now that Daisy was off the diet wagon, she cheerfully sliced into her candied breast of duck with a garlic-caramel sauce. Placing the food in her mouth, she sat for a minute, savoring the sweet, tender meat.

“What do you think?”

“Mmm.” Daisy raised her cloth napkin to her lips. “The French know how to cook.”

She took another bite of the duck and then followed it with a forkful of risotto. “Oh, my God!” She covered her mouth in ecstasy. “I think I’ve just died and gone to heaven. I’m sure I taste lavender in this and maybe... Gloria? Are you okay?”

Her best friend seemed more interested in a table across the restaurant than in her.

“What is it?”

Gloria half stood to get a better look at whatever it was that had caught her attention. “Isn’t that him?”

“Who?” Daisy turned to look where her friend was trying to point inconspicuously with her chin.

Across the room, a man sat alone at his table, eyes closed, a pencil poised in his hand, wearing an expression that was so serious it bordered on comical. He’d had his hair cut, but there was no mistaking him.

Colin.

Daisy couldn’t swallow. She took a gulp of water to wash the risotto down and then stared. A moment later, as if he could feel her gaze, he opened his eyes and stared right back. Daisy smiled. Then she blushed. Or, she blushed, then smiled. It was hard to tell which came first.

Colin looked away.

“That’s him, isn’t it? Colin Forsythe?” Gloria whispered.

“Yes.”

“Have you thanked him for the review?”

“No, I...” She’d wanted to. In fact, she’d gone as far as picking up the phone two or three hundred times for just that purpose. But every time she did, she’d put it right back down, not wanting to seem too eager, wanting to wait until Saturday to thank him.

“Go thank him.”

Of course she should thank him. It only made sense. But for some reason, the risotto she’d swallowed felt like jumping beans in her belly, and her hands had gone cold while her cheeks were about to spontaneously combust. She was being silly. He was just a man, and she was just a woman—a woman he’d already seen in her undies. No big deal.

Yeah, right.

With a deep breath, Daisy straightened her shoulders, folded her napkin and strolled up to Colin’s table, trying to ignore the swarm of bees swirling around in her belly. She was anxious to blurt out her thanks the moment she reached his side but stopped herself when she realized he was still eating with his eyes closed. Actually, eating didn’t accurately describe what he was doing. He seemed to be rolling the food around in his mouth, letting every single one of his taste buds have a go at whatever was there. He was making noises, too, although her cinnamon buns had elicited a good deal more enthusiasm. The memory of Colin sitting at her kitchen counter and grunting over her buns made her skin sizzle.

Quietly she slipped into the chair beside him and waited, breathing in the smell of his cologne. Funny, it was different than the scent he’d worn the other day. This one was nice, but she preferred the other. Then she forgot all about his cologne and her nervousness as she observed the expressions he made—from curious to puzzled to...pained? Wow, he took his job seriously, that was for sure. When Colin blurted something out loud, Daisy could barely contain her laughter. It took a rare individual to sit alone in a crowded restaurant with his eyes closed, muttering away to his heart’s content. People had been committed for less.

“It’s saffron.”

Colin’s eyes flew wide open, looking completely startled by her presence. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“You were wondering what was in the cream sauce and I said saffron.” She grinned.

“How exactly did you know what I was thinking?”

Daisy leaned forward and whispered, “Because you were thinking out loud.”

“I see.”

“You know, all you have to do is read the menu and you’d know what was in there. See?” She slid a menu across the table and pointed to the description of the halibut.

Colin snatched the menu from her and closed it firmly before setting it on the corner of the table farthest from her. “Thank you, but I prefer to let the ingredients speak for themselves. Reading the menu creates bias.”

Taken aback by his tone, Daisy blinked and then smiled. “You know, I do exactly the same thing.”

“Is that right?” He gave an impatient sigh. “I’m sorry, but I really need to get back to work.”

Daisy stared. What was wrong with him? Where was the banter? The sexual innuendo? He was all serious and curt and uptight tonight.

“Is there something else I can do for you?” he asked in a tone that could only be described as haughty.

“I just wanted to thank you,” she said slowly.

“Thank me?”

“For the article. The review.”

“The review?”

“Nana Sin’s?” His blank stare made her blather on. “It was wonderful. The review—I mean, the article. I framed it and put it up in the bakery. You called it ‘sinfully delicious.’” God, how she hated herself. But Colin’s cold tone and demeanor had awoken the insecure child in her. She suddenly felt annoying, inadequate and unattractive.

He blinked once then twice and then slowly—as if he had to make himself do it—smiled. It bore no resemblance to the crooked, wolfish smile he’d worn indiscriminately in her kitchen just a few days ago.

“Ah, yes. Now I remember. Nana Sin’s Bakery.” Colin tapped his pencil against his notepad and then pointed it at her. “Rose, isn’t it?”

“Daisy.”

“Right. Daisy Sinclair.” He nodded while smiling politely. “I’m glad you liked it.”

Bile rose in Daisy’s throat as she realized with horror that she’d been duped. Colin Forsythe had not only forgotten her name but also played her for a fool in the worst possible way. How could he?

“You never meant those things you said, did you?”

“What things?”

“You know, after you saw me naked.” Her lip quivered and she prayed that the anger growing in her belly would sustain her long enough to keep the stupid tears at bay. “The stuff about me being delicious and curvy and perfect. It was all a load of crap, wasn’t it?”

Colin stared at her with his mouth hanging slightly open. It was the same expression he’d worn when he walked in on her. Only this time his eyes didn’t twinkle.

“I suppose asking me out to the gala was all a ruse, too. Well, you know what? I don’t need a pity date. I...” She had to stop talking because her chin was trembling, which meant only one thing. Tears were right behind.

Damn him!

Colin dropped his pencil. “I would never ask you out on a pity date.”

“No? Then what was it?”

“A mistake.”

“A mistake?” Daisy had had enough. If she’d thought Colin catching her in the raw was the worst humiliation she’d suffered, she was wrong. His snub was worse. Much worse.

* * *

JAMIE FORSYTHE PORED over the documents from his latest client. The woman had no idea what she was entitled to in a divorce. She was just eager for it to be over because of her asshole husband. Reading between the lines, Jamie had to wonder why she was in such a hurry to get out. His gut told him there was more going on. Some reason for her to want to up and leave, asking for nothing, just needing out. His mind automatically went to domestic violence.

Shit. These were the worst files, and Jamie hated them. Yet these were also the cases that gave his job meaning: the quicker Jamie could help his client leave an abusive relationship, the better.

His stomach growled, alerting him to the fact that he’d worked through dinner. Again. He put the file aside, stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders. He’d grab a slice of pizza on the way to the gym. Jamie couldn’t decide which need was more pressing: his hunger, which would be sated by a couple of slices of thin-crust pepperoni from his favorite pizzeria, or overcoming the restlessness he’d been feeling all week, which an hour with the speed bag before a good sparring match would hopefully alleviate. Not that it’d done the trick yet. This was going to be the fourth night in a row he’d tried.

He grabbed his leather jacket and helmet from the cupboard in his office and was on his way out the door when his cell phone rang.

“What the hell have you done?” Jamie’s brother, Colin, was on the other line. Shouting.

Surprise, surprise.

The fact that Colin was five minutes older than Jamie had always made Colin feel superior.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jamie paused, leaning against the door frame. “I don’t know, but I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”

“I just had the pleasure of meeting Daisy Sinclair.”

A delicious memory of the dark-haired beauty from the bakery came to mind. “She’s mine. Back off.”

“Tell me, at what point in the interview did you manage to get her clothes off?”

The image of Daisy standing in her skimpy underwear, looking like some goddess from a Raphael painting about to throttle a mere mortal to death with a scale, made Jamie bark with laughter.

“One task, Jamie. One tiny, insignificant task. All you had to do was write a couple of paragraphs about a little out-of-the-way bakery. That was it. That’s all I asked.”

“You asked me—no, begged me—to do your job. I did it. Pretty damn well. So stop complaining.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Until you tell me why you didn’t have a choice, I don’t care. You asked. I helped. It’s the last time. Right?”

Silence. Jamie could picture his twin brother. His head would be hanging, thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of his nose—the mirror image of himself from only seconds ago. Even in their early thirties, they were still pretty much identical. In looks, anyway, and in the fact that they both enjoyed food—but then, who didn’t?

That was where the similarity ended.

“If you’re accusing me of being unprofessional—”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Jamie said. “You’re the one who called me, accusing me of something. What it is, I have no idea.”

“Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

“Please.”

“You screwed my assignment.”

“What are you talking about? The piece was good. Maybe a little more engaging than your stiff, pretentious drivel, but passable as your work.”

“No. I mean you literally screwed my assignment.”

“For God’s sake, I didn’t sleep with the woman, if that’s what you’re implying. Give me a little credit.”

“So you didn’t call her curvy and perfect?”

“Well, that part’s true.”

“Tell me you didn’t invite her to the celebrity gala on Saturday.”

“Actually, I did invite her.”

“As me?”

“Well...” Jamie hesitated. He hadn’t had the chance to explain to Daisy. Yet. He thought she’d have phoned by now—he’d given her his cell number before leaving and he’d planned on telling her the first chance they had to talk. When she didn’t call, his plan had changed a bit. He was going to pick her up tomorrow, tell her who he really was, take her to the gala and point out the fact that he was the better-looking, more interesting, infinitely funnier version of Colin Forsythe. Or that Colin was the less attractive, uptight, far duller version of Jamie Forsythe. Either way, it was the first thing on his agenda, and he planned to get it out of the way so they could move on to more pleasurable activities.

“I’m hosting the gala. I can’t have you there, masquerading as me.”

“I won’t be masquerading as you. You know how much I hate that whole stick-up-the-ass feeling I get pretending to be you.”

“She can’t know about the switch, Jamie. She could blow it for me.”

“That’s not my problem.”

When his brother spoke next, his voice sounded tired—no, more than tired. Colin sounded exhausted and worried. “You don’t understand.”

“Fill me in. Then maybe I will.”

“I’ve been offered a job as one of the hosts on The Chicago Gourmet. The producers are going to be at the gala.”

“Congratulations,” Jamie said, rubbing his jaw. “So why don’t you sound excited?” The longer it took for Colin to answer, the more worried Jamie became. “What’s wrong?”

His brother said something, but it was so quiet, Jamie had to ask him to repeat it.

“I said, I’m losing it.”

“What do you mean, losing it?”

“My sense of taste.”

“What?”

“That’s where I was the other day—getting tests done.”

“What about your sense of smell?”

“It seems to be going, too.”

“What do they think it is?”

“They don’t know yet.”

Jamie let his head fall against the door frame. “Is it a tumor?”

There was a long pause before Colin repeated, “They don’t know.”

“Holy shit.”

“No one can know, do you understand? No one.”

Jamie scrubbed a hand up and down his face. “Daisy won’t expose you.”

“You don’t know that.”

It was true. Even though spending the morning with her had felt like spending time with an old friend, someone he knew but didn’t know, someone he liked a whole lot and wanted to get to know even better, he really couldn’t predict how she’d react to the news that he’d posed as his brother. The fact was, though he’d seen her in her tasty pink undies, he didn’t know Daisy Sinclair at all.

“Look. It’s not like it matters to you,” Colin said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what that means. You go through women like disposable razors. One nick and they’re in the trash.”

Jamie stopped pacing to stare out the window of his office. While the analogy might be fair, he still didn’t like hearing it. Made him sound like an ass.

“You’ve got to let this go,” Colin said. “Besides, it’s too late.”

“What do you mean, it’s too late?”

“It means I already canceled the date.”

“What?”

“Don’t bother calling, either. She said she never wanted to speak to me—you—again. Oh, and she thinks you’re a dick. Sorry.”


3 (#ulink_74fb477e-73ec-555c-961e-91ab4c44fc16)

DAISY CHECKED HER jacket and stood in line to get into the Grand Ballroom at the Chicago Hilton with her gala invitation scrunched in her hand, anxiety gnawing away the lining of her stomach. This was a mistake.

Why had she let Gloria talk her into this?

“You’ve got to go, Daisy,” Gloria had said. “Go and show Colin Forsythe you don’t give a damn about him, about his stupid column, about anything.” Then Gloria had helped her with her hair and makeup, doing what best friends do, talking her up, telling her she looked gorgeous.

“I wish I could be there to see his face. He’s going to regret his decision the second he sees you.” Gloria took a couple of pictures of her followed by the obligatory selfie, and Daisy left her place feeling like a million bucks: confident, bold and daring in her new dress.

Now she felt more like a buck fifty. Conspicuously dressed in red—she apparently didn’t get the memo that she was supposed to wear black—Daisy felt her face burn, no doubt matching the color of her dress, as both men and women turned to stare at her while waiting to get into the ballroom. As if to punctuate her sense of not fitting in, her mother appeared—tall, lithe and gorgeous as ever in a pencil-thin, strapless black dress, wearing her handsome date like an accessory on her arm. So they hadn’t broken up. Daisy racked her brain for his name. What was it? Alexander? Didn’t matter. Her mother’s good-looking, usually much younger boy toys were all the same and never lasted.

“Seriously, Daisy?” her mother said. “Red?” She made a subtle motion with her fingertips toward Daisy’s dress.

“I didn’t know.” One second in her mother’s presence and all the insecurity came flooding back. It didn’t help that her mother always looked perfect...and young...and beautiful, more like an older, more sophisticated sister than her mother. “Why didn’t you tell me it was black dress only?” Daisy complained.

Tapping the invitation with her manicured nail, her mother pointed out, “It says it right here. See? Black and white.”

“Oh.” God, she hated this. Daisy was just about to march right back out the door when Alexander said, “I think you look nice, Daisy.” The man grinned, making him look even younger than he probably was.

When her mother tried to give him her best evil eye, he laughed, and the guy looked downright boyish. “Honestly, Cyn. Don’t you think everyone else here looks...kind of boring?”

“Thank you, Alexander,” Daisy said cautiously.

“Call me Alex.” He smiled. It even looked genuine.

Huh. Puzzling.

“Well,” her mother huffed. “I’m glad you think my daughter looks nice. It would be lovely if you said I looked nice.”

“You don’t look nice. You look beautiful.” He bent down and kissed her, and her mother, the ice queen, melted under his tender words. “You’re so beautiful, sometimes I forget that you need me to tell you,” Alex added.

Whoa. What the hell was going on? Daisy watched the interaction between her mother and Alex with equal parts interest and disbelief. It had to be an act. This was not real. Her mother was not insecure, and the guys she slept with were not considerate. Not only that—Alex had called her Cyn. Cynthia hated it when people shortened her name.

While Daisy was trying to figure out what game her mother and her boyfriend were playing, she found herself herded into the ballroom with all the other guests. Before she knew it, the opportunity to gracefully back out of the evening had passed.

Besides, the delicious aromas in the room had her mouth watering. She wandered the ballroom, checking out the offerings of the top thirty restaurants in Chicago, having already lost her mother and Alex, who’d stopped to chat with other members of the Arts Council of Chicago, the hosts of the fund-raiser. Though her mother had been the one who got her the invitation to the gala, Daisy was sure Cynthia didn’t mind if she went her own way. The two of them had nothing in common. Never had. Never would. It was her grandmother who’d raised her, not her young, single mother, and a few minutes in each other’s presence was about all either of them could handle.

Anyway, Daisy found it easier navigating the gala on her own rather than feeling like a third wheel. She surveyed the ballroom. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a complete bust; maybe it would actually be fun. And as she got caught up in the way people were milling about, talking and laughing as they mingled, eating delicious food and drinking, she almost forgot that she was supposed to be there with Colin Forsythe—the jerk.

Then she heard his voice.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the fifth annual Celebrity Hors d’oeuvres Gala. I’m Colin Forsythe, and I’ll be your host this evening.”

Daisy spun around, her heart in her throat. Not far from where she stood was a stage, and behind the podium was none other than the jerk himself, looking obnoxiously handsome in his black tux. He was standing beside a beautiful blonde woman in a low-cut black dress that had a slit up to her hip, showing off shapely legs and a nauseatingly perfect figure.

Daisy wanted to punch her.

Who was she? Was she his date? Was she the woman he’d dumped her for?

As if he could read her thoughts, Colin continued, “I’d like to introduce tonight’s cohost, Tricia Gordon, producer and host of the popular program The Chicago Gourmet.”

“Champagne, miss?” A waiter stood at her side, holding a tray of champagne flutes.

“Yes.” She swiped two glasses. The waiter moved on and Daisy downed the first glass, the bubbles making her sneeze so that she spilled part of the second glass on her shoes.

She didn’t care.

Tricia moved so close to Colin that they were practically inhabiting the same space, and then she smiled up at him, showing off perfect teeth. “It’s going to be a great night. Let me explain how this evening will go.” Her voice was clear and engaging as she spoke into the microphone. “Purchase voting chips at the cashiers located near the ballroom exits, and then taste as many...”

Daisy tuned out what the woman was saying, hearing Gloria’s voice in her head instead.

Go and show him you don’t give a damn about him, about his stupid column, about anything... He’s going to regret his decision the second he sees you.

While Tricia-with-the-perfect-smile-and-body was reciting the rules for voting, Daisy was coming up with her very own plan. Colin Forsythe might not regret canceling their date, but he would regret meeting her. Daisy was going to make sure of it.

* * *

HOLY SHIT!

Daisy Sinclair was here. She was certainly easy to pick out in that incredible red dress of hers, looking like a 1950s pinup girl. Of course, that could just be his dirty mind imagining her in sultry poses, as it had all week. Didn’t matter. There was no ignoring the fact the woman was a sight to behold in her red dress with the full skirt and narrow waist. The bodice was low and fitted—holy hell, was it fitted. It was a dress to go dancing in, and he could see himself leading her around the dance floor, hand on her waist, her skirt spinning so high he’d catch a glimpse of whatever pretty panties were hiding underneath.

She hadn’t seen him yet, because her gaze was focused on his brother up on the stage. She watched him the way a hungry lioness watched an antelope, her cheeks flushed, her eyes blazing, her lips moving as if she was plotting his takedown. Oh, and she was drinking champagne like it was iced tea on a hot day.

What the hell had Colin said to her to get her so riled?

All Jamie wanted to do was go over there and explain the situation. At the very least, she deserved the truth. But he’d promised Colin, and now that he realized Colin’s soon-to-be new boss was cohosting the evening with him, Jamie understood how delicate the situation was. It was while Tricia was extolling the importance of the Arts Council of Chicago and all the group did for the arts community that Jamie felt his phone vibrate in his tux jacket.

He pulled it out, not surprised to see a text from his brother.

She’s here.

Who? Jamie texted back, in the mood to torture his brother, particularly while he was up on stage pretending to be listening to Tricia and not texting.

The Sinclair woman. Red dress. Impossible to miss.

You sure?

Yes, I’m sure.

So?

Do something.

I’ll tell her the truth.

No!

Pretty hard when there are two of us here.

There’s a break in five minutes. Do it then.

Are you serious?

No scenes.

Sometimes Jamie felt the very thing his brother needed was a scene. But then he remembered the pain and fear in Colin’s voice when he spoke to him on the phone the other night. He thought about the possibility that his brother might have a tumor. What if it was cancer? The Cajun chicken taco he’d just eaten churned in the pit of his stomach. His brother might drive him crazy at times, but he was the only family Jamie had left, and the idea of the world without his brother in it was too much for him to contemplate. It couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let it. Not after he’d lost Sarah. Jamie wasn’t about to lose another sibling.

In the meantime, he would do what he had to do to make sure the lovely Daisy Sinclair didn’t create a scene...or worse, commit murder.

* * *

DAISY HAD JUST consumed enough liquid courage to approach the stage, except as she neared, Colin ducked out a side door. Damn. Now she’d have to chase him. Not that he should be hard to find. The guy towered over most everyone. Once out in the lobby, however, Daisy realized she needed to make a stop at the ladies’ room first, as the champagne had gone right through her.

And she needed to compose herself.

Standing in front of the restroom mirror, Daisy stared at her reflection, practicing the words she was going to say. She noticed her lipstick had worn off, so she reapplied it—though it took a couple tries before she got it straight—and she found she had to hold on to the counter as the room began to spin.

“Are you okay?” An older woman using the sink beside Daisy peered at her with concern. “You didn’t eat those raw oysters, did you? They’re food poisoning in a shell is what they are.”

“No,” Daisy said, her stomach feeling queasy at the thought.

“A cool cloth to the back of the neck should help.”

Daisy hung her head for a second before splashing cold water on her cheeks, thinking how much the woman reminded her of Nana. When she lifted her head, the woman was gone. Strange, Daisy didn’t hear her leave. That was a bad sign because it meant she was on the too side of tipsy.

When she walked out into the hallway, there was Colin, leaning against the wall, looking casual and handsome and sexy with his longish hair tamed back for the evening. His presence was such a shock that even though it had been Daisy’s intention to look for him, now that he was here, apparently waiting for her, she experienced an irrational urge to flee.

“Daisy Sinclair. What a nice surprise.”

“Really?” She lifted her chin and crossed her arms over the snug bodice of her dress. “Somehow I got the impression you didn’t want me here.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Hmm.” She tapped her lips. “Could have been when you said it was a mistake to ask me to come.”

“Oh. That.” At least he had the good grace to look sheepish. “Bad day. Let me take you home.”

“I’m not going home. I haven’t even eaten yet.”

“We’ll stop somewhere on the way.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the emcee. You can’t leave.”

Colin made a dismissive gesture toward the ballroom. “Tricia can handle it.” His laissez-faire attitude reminded her of the first day they’d met.

Daisy cocked her head and stared hard at the man. While he was a little fuzzy around the edges, he wasn’t that fuzzy. “What is going on?”

“Nothing.”

Taking a step closer, Daisy leaned in. She didn’t know what possessed her, but she sniffed him. She closed her eyes and sniffed again. His cologne was the same as the day in the bakery. Except there was a hint of Cajun spice on his breath, too. She took a step back and squinted up at him. When had Colin had a chance to eat? He’d been up on stage all evening. Daisy turned her attention to his face and hair. Something was different about his hair. The longish bits curled around his ears, soft and inviting.

“Daisy? Is something wrong?”

“You know,” she said tentatively, “you’ve got the most interesting hair.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was long at the bakery. And then short at the restaurant. And here it is, a little longer again. You must be like one of those things from the Dr. Seuss books that have to get a haircut every day.”

He licked his lips, a panicky expression taking hold of his features. “You’re drunk.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Let me take you home.”

“Who are you?”

Colin pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I promise to tell you the truth, will you come with me?”

She’d barely said yes when something behind her made Colin’s eyes widen. Then he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the exit, but not before she peeked over her shoulder just in time to see a second—almost identical—Colin Forsythe watching them leave.


4 (#ulink_cd301ffa-fed0-5e73-ac20-04945e3cb5a4)

SHE SHOULD HAVE taken a cab home.

Of course Colin rode a motorbike. Of course. Because motorbikes were like cinnamon buns—Daisy’s other weakness.

Wait a second!

Not Colin. Jamie. That was what he’d said his name was. Jamie Forsythe, Colin’s twin.

It was Jamie who’d come to Nana Sin’s, posing as his brother. Of all the immature, juvenile, childish stunts, posing as a twin took the cake. It was Jamie who’d shamelessly flirted with her. Jamie who’d invited her to the gala.

Outrageous!

I’m sorry, Daisy. I was going to tell you first thing.

Yeah, right.

Now here she was, stuck on the back of his KTM Super Duke—a stupidly hot bike—fuming. Sort of.

Trying to.

Except that she could hardly catch her breath. Jamie took the corners so sharply, both of them leaning together as the pavement whipped by. The wind was rushing against her cheeks and through her hair, and the powerful engine was sending confusing vibrations from the seat up into her body. It was all too much. Not to mention the way Jamie had tucked her skirt so carefully around her legs.

Why could she still feel his fingers on her thighs?

Daisy shifted on the seat, pressing herself closer to the man in front of her to the point that she could feel his hard muscles move, even beneath the leather of his jacket.

Rubbing her cheek against the supple leather, she drew in a leisurely breath.

Ah, leather. Was there anything more masculine than its scent?

This was bad. She had it bad. Daisy should probably see it as a sign that Colin—no, not Colin, Jamie, sheesh!—rode a motorbike. But a sign of what? That motorcycles revved up her girlie parts? Or that she had a penchant for making big mistakes after sitting on the back of one? Hadn’t her first date with Alan started on the back of a motorcycle?

Jamie pulled the bike over to the curb and turned his head. His eyes flashed with the reflection of the streetlight before going dark. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?” His lips twisted in a sexy smile.

Sexy smile? Honestly, Daisy. The man’s a liar. A no-good, dirty-rotten liar. He is absolutely not sexy.

“Of course I’m sure. Why?”

Suddenly Jamie’s hands covered hers and Daisy realized something. Something critical and troubling.

Slowly, slowly she eased her hands out from under Jamie’s, which meant drawing them out from beneath his jacket—worse—from beneath his shirt.

How the hell had she managed to work her hands up under his shirt?

“I think you should take me home.” Daisy’s fingers twitched from the loss of Jamie’s warm skin—and his rock-hard abs.

The man flashed an even more sinful smile. “Let’s eat first. Then I’ll take you home.” He motioned with his head toward the building they were stopped in front of. Some little mom-and-pop pizzeria.

Yes, food was a good idea. A very good idea.

He swung his leg over the bike and held his hand for Daisy as she stepped down onto one wobbly leg, attempting to dismount as he had. Unfortunately, her skirt got caught and the whole thing was done with no grace at all. Once on the sidewalk, she looked up to find Jamie sporting a perfectly wicked grin.

“What?” Daisy asked, trying unsuccessfully to extract her hand from his.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me why you’re smiling like that.” She tugged again. He still didn’t let go.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, even though she realized—too late—that maybe she really didn’t want to know. But Daisy had no time to reconsider because Jamie hauled her close and looked down at her from all that ridiculous height. “You wear the nicest panties.”

With a gasp, she shoved him away. “Perv!”

“Hey, don’t blame me. You’re the flasher.”

Daisy groaned.

Laugh lines appeared at the corners of Jamie’s eyes. “That’s twice, Ms. Sinclair. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were doing it on purpose.”

She smacked him on the arm, and Jamie’s features went through a transformation as he tilted his head to the side, blinking, studying her as though he’d just discovered her. Every muscle, every tissue and cell in her body went still, as if they were caught in stop-motion animation and it would take someone to manipulate her in order for her to move again. Someone named Jamie, ducking down to give her a kiss, for example.

A kiss? What the hell was she thinking? She did not want to kiss Jamie-the-liar Forsythe. Uh-uh.

Maybe she was a little tipsy.

She cleared her throat. “You know what? I am hungry.”

With his hand on the small of her back, feeling weirdly possessive—which he had absolutely no right to be, but Daisy allowed it for some stupid reason—Jamie directed her into the tiny restaurant, where there were only seven tables covered in checked cloths and lit by candles stuck in old wine bottles.

It was wonderfully cozy and horribly romantic. Not what Daisy needed in her current state of distraction.

Jamie held her chair, and the second she sat down, a plump Italian woman bustled out through the swinging kitchen doors, her hair wrapped in a scarf, her arms outstretched to give Jamie a hug and a peck on each cheek. “Back so soon?”

“You know me. I can’t stay away.”

“But you brought a date for once.” She flicked her hand in Daisy’s direction. “If you’re not careful, Jamie, you’ll make Rosa jealous.” The woman turned to face Daisy, eyes sparkling in a rosy-cheeked face. The woman’s words were contradicted by the way she winked and then leaned close to press Daisy’s cheeks between her soft hands. “So nice to meet you. Why hasn’t Jamie brought you here before?”

“I—”

“Rosa, this is Daisy Sinclair.”

“What a beautiful name. A flower, like me.”

“Thank you. Nice to meet you,” Daisy replied slowly.

As Jamie took his seat—not across from her, oh no, right beside her—he said in a stage whisper, “It’s our first date.”

“No,” Daisy said. “This isn’t a—”

“Oh!” Rosa’s smile lit up her already shining eyes. “Then I know just what to make for you. House special. No problem.” She scurried back to the kitchen as if on a highly important mission.

“Let’s get something straight,” Daisy said, inching her chair away. “This isn’t a date.”

“Says the girl who couldn’t keep her hands off me.”

Daisy raised a finger in protest, but she had no comeback. Changing the subject seemed like the only option. “You come here often, I take it.”

“My office is right around the corner.”

“Your office?” She moved back more. “So, tell me, now that we both know you’re not a food critic, what is it that you do, Jamie?” Emphasizing his name seemed like a good way to remind him—and her—that she was mad at him.

“I’m a lawyer. Forsythe, Murphy and Burgess.”

“A lawyer, huh? I knew I shouldn’t trust you.”

“Hey, I said I was sorry.”

Yes, he had. Three times, but...she blinked. “What did you say the name of your firm was?”

Jamie repeated the name.

“Huh. That sounds familiar.”

“Well, it is my name. And Colin’s.”

“True.” Daisy squinted as she studied Jamie in the candlelight, trying to suss him out. “You don’t look like a lawyer.”

“What do I look like?”

“I don’t know. A NASCAR driver?”

He chuckled. It was a nice sound—deep and rumbling.

“What’s so funny?”

“You say and do the most unexpected things.”

Daisy finished the glass of water, hoping to hide her smile. His observation wasn’t necessarily that flattering and yet...the way he’d looked at her when he said it, well, it made her feel...hot. And the ice in her drink didn’t do a damn thing about the heat creeping up the inside of her tummy, through her chest and up her throat. She had to do something about her body’s involuntary reaction to Colin.

No!

Jamie.

She could not forget about that little setup. Sitting straight in her chair and holding a hand to her tummy in hopes of quelling the heat, Daisy said, “So, you pose as Colin often, do you?”

“No.”

He slid his chair closer so that their thighs were touching.

She nudged her chair in the opposite direction. “But you did last week.”

“Yes.”

Every time she moved away he pressed closer and, wow. The guy was solid granite. She cleared her throat. “Isn’t that, oh... I don’t know.” She tapped her lips. “Sort of juvenile?”

“Probably.” He reached into her lap, picked up her hand and kissed the back of her knuckles in a move similar to the one he’d pulled in the shop. She let him.

“Do you want to tell me why you did it?” The question came out in a weird, breathy voice.

“No.”

Daisy considered Jamie’s one-word answers, or tried to, which was hard because he was still holding her hand, caressing her knuckles, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Plus his leg was moving, up and down, up and down, and it felt so damn good.

God. It had been too long. That was her problem: she hadn’t had sex in far too long, which was why she was responding to Jamie in this uncharacteristically flirty way. The question was why was Jamie being so forward? Why was he coming on to her? Was he really trying to seduce her? Or was he just feeding her more lies to cover up what he and his brother had done?

Suddenly a thought dawned. “Is it the bakery?”

He blinked. “Is what the bakery?”

“Did your brother think it was beneath him to review some stupid bakery?” That would certainly explain Colin’s disdainful attitude toward her in the restaurant.

As Daisy stared into Jamie’s face, she tried to conjure up the hurt and rejection she’d felt while sitting across from Colin at Le Beau Monde. The problem was the candlelight accentuated the hollows of Jamie’s cheeks, drawing attention to the fullness of his sensual lips and giving his eyes such an unholy and sinful glow that she could no longer picture Colin.

Only Jamie.

Staring directly into her eyes, he said, “I swear to you this had nothing to do with you or the bakery. I only did it because my brother needed me. For personal reasons.” He squeezed her hand. “That’s the truth.”

Or so he claimed. It was hard to believe someone who probably hadn’t said one word of truth to her from the moment they’d met and who was currently distracting her with soft caresses on the inside of her wrist. Yet, when she was able to focus, there was something in his face—the seriousness of his expression and the way his eyes had lost their sparkle—that told her he wasn’t lying. “And for the record, every word I wrote about your bakery was the truth. It’s a gem and you should be proud.”

She chewed on her lip as quotes from his review played over in her mind. Daisy Sinclair, who is as sinfully delicious as the bakery itself...

Yeah, okay. Maybe she’d memorized the article. So what? The bakery was a gem and she was proud.

“Look, Daisy, I’m really sorry about everything. This is not how I planned for tonight to go.”

“No? So, what was your plan?” Daisy tried to maintain the snark in her voice but failed miserably.

“I was going to pick you up, tell you who I really was and then take you out on the best date of your life.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Why was her hand still in his? “Tell me about it.”

“We would have left the gala early to go dancing.”

“Dancing?” The squeeze she gave was involuntary, a reflex to the fact that she loved dancing. That was all.

“I know this great little salsa club.” He eyed her outfit. “That dress is meant for dancing.” His gaze lingered appreciatively on her neckline.

Normally Daisy would be incensed by such blatant ogling, but tonight? She didn’t mind. “And then?”

“Then—” he glanced around the restaurant “—I was going to bring you here.”

“So we’re back on track.”

“I hope so.”

Daisy finally managed to extricate her hand from Jamie’s and leaned back, trying to work herself up into feeling angry, the way she’d felt earlier in the evening. She tried to recreate the urge to claw his eyes out, which was how she’d felt seeing him up on stage beside Tricia Gordon. But that had been Colin, not Jamie.

She should want to claw Jamie’s eyes out, too, for lying to her.

But she didn’t. Not one bit. Instead of wanting to claw his eyes out, she had the urge to run her fingernails up his bare back.

Instead of feeling angry, she had fluttery whatnots salsa dancing in her stomach and throbby do-das doing the merengue between her legs.

Her body was primed for dancing—dirty dancing—and while Daisy prepared a whole statement in her head, something like, Nice try, buddy. While I appreciate your apology, it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than that to get me to forgive you, the words stayed lodged at the back of her throat.

And then something happened to distract her from attempting to say the things she should have said. The most amazing scents wafted out of the kitchen—pesto, garlic, basil, olive oil, fire-roasted tomatoes on fresh, thin crust—as Rosa opened the door, carrying a pizza round at shoulder level. Daisy’s mouth watered, alerting her to the fact that she was starving. Maybe some food would help her gain a little rationality, too.

Because at the moment, with Jamie Forsythe’s leg pressed so intimately against hers and his insolent gaze burning her cheeks, Daisy was about to do something completely and utterly irrational.

* * *

WHY HAD HE brought Daisy here? He never brought dates to Rosa’s. This was his place.

But Jamie would do it all over again simply to watch Daisy eat. The woman certainly appreciated good pizza. Was there anything sexier than that?

Yes.

Daisy’s red dress and the black panties that were hiding underneath.

But watching Daisy eat Rosa’s specialty, the Margherita pizza, was pretty damn sexy. The slow deep breaths she took with each and every bite, consuming the food with all her senses. The way her eyes fluttered closed as she chewed, the little sounds of pleasure that escaped her—she probably had no idea she was making them.

The woman was having a love affair with his favorite pizza.

An image of Daisy’s naked body moving—no, writhing—beneath him while she made those sounds, flashed so vividly across his brain that Jamie choked on his slice.

“You okay?” she asked, covering her full mouth.

“Fine.”

Liar. He was not fine. Not one bit. This woman, whom he barely knew, had an effect on him the likes of which he’d never experienced before. The rare combination of innocence, forthrightness and sensuality she projected brought out conflicting emotions in Jamie. On the one hand, he wanted to take care of her. Protect her. Keep her away from all the dickheads in the world.

Guys like him.

On the other hand...

Dammit. He fought the urge to back her against the wall, flip up her skirt, tear off those panties and take her, right here, right now.

Hard.

Jesus. It was insane.

“Do I have sauce on my face?”

“What?” Jamie asked.

“You keep staring at me. Am I covered in sauce?” She wiped her mouth. “God, this is so good.”

“No. You’re fine.” He hoped she didn’t hear his groan. The woman was better than fine. She was—Daisy licked her lips, her tongue sweeping over the plump, pink surface of her mouth, leaving nothing but a damp sheen behind—evil, that was what she was. Licking her lips like that? Pure evil.

It took every ounce of control not to grab her chin, pull her face close and taste those lips for himself.

Claim them.

She leaned toward him wearing a frown. What the hell was she doing?

“Actually, you’ve got a little bit—” she wet her napkin with that dangerously evil tongue of hers and reached for him “—right there.” She wiped his nose. “Got it.”

The woman had just given him a spit bath and had somehow made it sexy. With her so close—oh God, he could smell her, delicious and sweet, so incredibly sweet—Jamie lost it. His hand went to the back of her head, threading through the dark curls that had fallen loose during the ride to the restaurant. He tilted her the way he wanted her and kissed her, surprising her so that her mouth parted in shock, giving him free access to her luscious warmth.

Daisy tasted better than he could have imagined. Sweet and salty, soft and wet. At first he thought she might push him away, so he held on more tightly because he wasn’t done. Not even close.

But she didn’t push him away.

Daisy went from pressing her palms flat against his chest to gripping his shoulders to finally twining her fingers around his neck, holding him just as firmly as he was holding her. If he’d been confused about the signals she had been sending, there was no confusion now. Her lips moved as enthusiastically as his. Her tongue danced willingly between their mouths, tangling indulgently with his. Beckoning him inside. A temptress he could not deny.

“All packed now and ready to go. No problem. You pay me tomorrow, okay?” Rosa’s cheerful grin was hard to focus on because Jamie’s eyes were still glazed over from the kiss.

Was it a kiss? Jamie wasn’t sure because it felt more like their mouths had just had hot, sweaty sex.

“Wow.” Daisy sat back, touching her lips, her eyes wide in disbelief.

She felt it, too? God. Jamie stood, holding out his hand for Daisy to take. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” she asked, looking dazed.

“Home.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And, Daisy?”

“Yes?”

He draped his jacket around her, loving the way it hung from her feminine shoulders.

Mine.

“Between here and there, you need to decide if you want me to come up.”

“I do?”

“Yes.”

The cool Chicago evening greeted them when they walked out the door. Daisy paused beside the bike, looking up at him with an intoxicating mixture of wonder and wantonness. “What will happen if you come up?”

He leaned down and kissed her softly, exhibiting way more control than he had any right to show. “Dessert.”

“Oh. Well, there’s lots of that. Pie, chocolate torte, lemon meringue. What would you like?”

“You.”


5 (#ulink_cebc497b-1a89-5cf0-8629-6e55eeeb993e)

WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE?

You...

The words played on a loop in Daisy’s brain for the duration of the fifteen-minute ride back to her place, intermixed with moments from THE KISS. That was how Daisy thought of it: in big, bold capital letters.

She had never, ever been kissed like that.

Oh, she’d been kissed. But that kiss? Sweet Hannah, that kiss had been something else.

It had felt primal, the way Jamie took hold of her, moving toward her with authority, sliding his mouth and tongue across her lips...past her lips. The man had owned her mouth, and while at first she’d been shocked, she’d soon allowed it.

Encouraged it.

Craved it.

Now he was asking if she wanted more, and apparently a crowd of tiny beings had set up shop between her ears, because they were singing a chorus of “Yes! Yes! Yes!” in three-part harmony.

By the time Jamie pulled the bike up in front of Nana Sin’s, the combination of the ride—fast and impatient—and the memory of the kiss—slow and sexy—had left Daisy’s whole body throbbing. Boom, boom, boom, as though her heart was a bass speaker at a rock concert.

She was about to have sex. With Jamie Forsythe.

What?

She barely knew him. Not that she hadn’t imagined it many times before the whole Colin/Jamie thing, but...

Don’t overthink it, Daise. You’re hot for him. He’s hot for you. Now go upstairs and get some.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” piped up the people in her brain.

“Quiet,” Daisy whispered. She needed to think without the voices in her head distracting her.

“What did you say?” Jamie asked as he dismounted.

“Nothing.”

Instead of giving Daisy his hand, he leaned close, wrapped his strong hands around her waist and lifted her up and over the motorbike. As if she weighed nothing at all.

It was the sweetest, sexiest, most manly thing anyone had done for her.

Ever.

You don’t expect me to carry you across the threshold, do you? An uninvited memory of her ex-husband on their wedding night flashed inside Daisy’s head, and insecurity swept over her. Once the image faded, she found herself staring up into Jamie’s face. His eyes were dark with forbidden, seductive promises.

“You decided?”

She swallowed, or tried to, at least. “Can I think about it some more?”

He reached out to smooth her totally out of control hair. “If you have to think about it, the answer is no.” He kissed her softly and straddled the bike again, starting it up and revving the engine.

No!

He released the kickstand.

“Wait.”

He turned. “What?”

Daisy shrugged out of the jacket she was wearing. “Your jacket.”

“Keep it.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Just until next time.”

Until next time.

Why did those words both thrill and sadden her?

Because she didn’t want next time. She wanted right now.

“Jamie?”

“Yes?”

She bit her lip. “I’m glad you and Colin are different people.”

He grinned. “You and me both.”

She sidled closer. “And I...I forgive you for posing as him.”

“Good,” he said, and Daisy focused on his lips—such nice lips—as he spoke. “But I’m not sorry I did it. Not one bit.”

She raised her gaze to his. “Me, neither,” she said softly, resting her hands on his shoulders.

When he spoke next, the words seemed to come out of his mouth in slow motion. “Can I see you Monday?”

“Monday?” The word emerged, a tangible thing that Daisy could have touched if she wanted to.

“Yes.” The single syllable seemed to stretch on forever.

Why was everything moving so slowly? Daisy leaned down. “Monday would be nice.” She slid her hand to his chest, needing to feel the rumble of his deep voice within. Needing—




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