A Week Till the Wedding (7 page)

No, not jealousy. Envy. He had no right to be jealous. He’d had his shot and he’d blown it. He wanted Daisy to be happy, to have everything she wanted and needed. At the same time, he couldn’t say he’d be happy to see her with another man.

It annoyed him to realize that in spite of all the obstacles, he wanted Daisy again. While he was here, while they were forced to endure one another’s company...he wanted her. The certainty of that wanting hit him low in the gut, as they worked together in her warm, cozy kitchen. His presence here, in her kitchen, wasn’t really necessary, but he didn’t back away, didn’t come up with an excuse to bolt. He fetched things for her. He washed and dried bowls, and he moved out of her way when she started to dance from one counter to another, from the sink to the stove to the counter. His mind was
not
on cake.

He wanted to kiss Daisy again, but this time he wouldn’t stop. He wanted to make love to her. He wanted to watch her laugh in bed, wanted to dance with her, naked, the way they once had. More than reliving old memories, he wanted to make new ones. With her.

He was old enough now to understand why she hadn’t been able to come to him. She’d done what she had to do, what she’d believed to be best for her family. Maybe in hindsight she understood, too, why he hadn’t been able to stay here. They couldn’t go back and undo what had been done, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t forget that pain and get to know one another all over again.

He wanted her, Daisy the woman, Daisy who had said she wouldn’t kiss him again, Daisy who occasionally looked at him as if she was willing him to disappear.

Jacob wasn’t afraid of a challenge. Never had been. In fact, he loved a challenge more than just about anything.

* * *

Daisy licked a dollop of icing off the tip of her finger. The cake looked a little rubbery—maybe it had cooked too long—but the icing was awesome. How could it not be? Confectioners sugar, butter, lemon juice, whole milk. It was the icing that made the cake, anyway. Maybe Miss Eunice wouldn’t remember exactly how the lemon cake used to taste. Maybe fabulous icing alone would be enough. She could hope!

“My turn.” Jacob leaned in, looked down on the pot that had bits of icing clinging to the sides and waited.

“Go ahead,” she said, starting to back away. He was too close for comfort. Just having him so near made her skin itch as if it was resizing itself to fit over her body. But before she could move away, he placed a hand at the small of her back. That hand was firm, warm and steady. It held her in place without undue pressure. It grounded her. Her entire body seemed to thump, as if the earth had just shifted in a major way. She had never before been so keenly aware of a
touch
. She could move away, she could simply step to the side and that hand would fall. She didn’t move. If anything, she shifted slightly closer to Jacob.

He put his other hand over hers, guided both into the pot, scooped a bit of icing from the side of the pot onto
her
finger and lifted it to his mouth. He wasn’t going to...he wouldn’t dare...

He did. Jacob placed her finger in his mouth and sucked. No part of the act, not even the sucking, was hard or violent or forceful; his touch was actually very light. Easy. Just west of casual. Again, she could’ve stopped him, could’ve moved her hand away, but
again
she didn’t. Instead she watched his mouth close over her finger, felt the warm, moist flick of his tongue.

If she’d felt that touch only on her finger she’d be all right, but no—she felt the way Jacob touched her in her entire body, from the top of her head to her curling toes. She felt it in her scalp, in her breasts, between her legs. She took the opportunity to place her free hand on his forearm. Yep, hard as rock and wonderfully warm to the touch. If she had even a tiny bit less self-control, she’d throw him on the floor and strip him naked and have her way with him here and now.

She was still curious about his current chest hair situation.

Thankfully she
did
have some self-control. And dignity. Both were fading fast, though. “I told you...”

Jacob slowly pulled her finger from his mouth. “You said no kissing. You didn’t say a word about licking icing off your finger.”

“Do I have to be
that
specific?” She dropped her hand, but didn’t back away. She’d never admit it, at least not aloud, but she liked having him so close she could see the stubble on his jaw, see each and every hair on his forearm. She liked that she could smell him, and though he had changed and she had changed, his scent and her reaction to it remained the same. Like it or not she was drawn to Jacob the way iron was drawn to a magnet.

“I wish you would be specific,” he said, his head dipped down to bring it too close to hers. “What exactly do you not want me to do to you?”

He was teasing her, knowing damn well that she couldn’t stand here and tell him not to touch her, not to make her feel itchy all over, not to invade her dreams.
Please, Jacob, don’t look at me that way. Don’t make me love you all over again
.

She backed away. Slowly. Reluctantly. “I have to change.”

“Yes, Grandma Eunice will be shocked if you show up dressed like that. Not that I’d mind. You look amazing.”

She should’ve worn old, baggy sweats instead of shorts and a tank, no matter how warm it was in the kitchen. Too much skin was exposed, and the way Jacob was staring at her...

She had to throw up a barrier between them, had to remind him—and herself—why they didn’t work. “Too bad I don’t have tennis whites or a matching golf shirt and a skort to wear. Wouldn’t we make a fine preppy couple.”

He didn’t have a snappy comeback for that one. No, he just looked confused. “What’s a skort?”

“Half skirt, half shorts. Skort.”

It annoyed him when she criticized the way he dressed, she noticed. Funny. She didn’t remember him caring much about such things in the old days. No, he’d cared about his grades, his plans for the future and her. He’d played guitar—as badly as she sang along—and he’d worked on old cars. He and Caleb had always had a project in the separate garage behind Tasker House, but these days she supposed he’d have a conniption if he wound up with grease under his fingernails. He’d been a whiz with the cars, but he’d never been able to master playing the guitar. He did everything else so well, he didn’t fail at anything. Except playing the guitar. And keeping her.

These days he cared about clothes and work. That seemed like a huge step backward to her.

Daisy left Jacob in the kitchen while she all but ran to her bedroom to change clothes. She reached into her closet with a specific outfit in mind. Lavender slacks, matching blouse, strappy sandals. Too bad she didn’t have a chastity belt in her closet, somewhere. She needed something to remind her why she couldn’t have what she really wanted. Iron, lock and key...not a bad idea...

With her hand on the lavender outfit, another idea popped into her head. A
brilliant
idea, if she did say so herself.

She was in this uncomfortable situation for Miss Eunice’s sake, not for Jacob’s, not for any of the other Taskers. For some reason, Miss Eunice not only thought she and Jacob were engaged, she approved. Heartily. But she didn’t approve of Ben’s wife, Maddy. Not at all. She obviously didn’t like the way Maddy dressed, spoke, or wore her makeup and hair. Maybe Maddy was a bit flashy and flamboyant, but everyone was entitled to their own style. Maddy’s style was just kind of slutty, bless her heart.

Daisy let her hand fall. She stood at the open closet for a moment and asked herself...What would happen if Miss Eunice didn’t approve of
her?
The wedding wouldn’t seem so attractive and pressing, then. Daisy didn’t want to shock Miss Eunice, didn’t want to send the old woman into a conniption fit or anything, but if she started to disapprove of the match, even just a little bit...

Daisy closed her closet door, peeked into the hallway and jetted across to Lily’s old room, a wide smile on her face. For the first time all day she felt as if she were in control. Not Miss Eunice, not Jacob, not her traitorous body. She was going to put an end to this debacle, once and for all.

* * *

She was trying to kill him. That was the only explanation.

At first, Daisy had insisted on driving herself to the house for dinner, but Jacob had talked her into riding with him again. He wanted her close; he wanted to steal glimpses of her as he drove down the deserted road between downtown Bell Grove and Tasker House. He wanted her in his presence for as long as possible; he wanted to be able to reach out and touch her, even if he didn’t.

He wasn’t sure why she’d eventually given in and agreed to make the short trip with him, in his rental car, he was just glad for it. She sat in the passenger seat, the lemon cake in her lap, her long, tanned, bare legs stretching out beyond the pale yellow, slightly lopsided dessert.

He’d like to think that maybe, just maybe, she’d agreed to come along for the same reasons he’d wanted her here. Did she like being near him, even just a little? Her words were sharp, and she’d given no sign—beyond her instinctive response to the kiss and his mouth on her finger—that she had any romantic feelings left for him. Still, he could hope. She’d never admit it, but chemistry like this couldn’t be one-sided.

Jacob kept his attention entirely on the road for a few minutes. That final thought made him sound like a stalker. Like it or not, it was entirely possible that what he felt for her
was
one-sided.

But he didn’t think that was the case.

When Daisy had stepped into the kitchen—after what seemed like an awfully long time to change clothes—she’d been transformed. She wore a floral print dress with a flirty skirt that was
very
short and a V-neck that was
very
deep. The four inch heels made her already long legs look incredibly long. Her hair was piled on top of her head in an artfully messy way, and she wore more makeup than he’d ever seen on her pretty face.

She was all boobs and legs and red lipstick. And what fine boobs and legs they were.

“You’re a little overdressed for chicken and dumplings,” he’d argued.

“Look who’s talking about being overdressed,” she’d countered.

Neither of them had said a word as he drove the final mile toward Tasker House. Daisy was up to something, he just didn’t know what. Was she rubbing every gorgeous attribute she possessed in his face in order to torture him? If so, her plan was working. He was definitely tortured.

He pulled into a parking space close to the porch and shut off the engine of his rental car. Daisy—who was usually annoyingly independent—sat in the car and waited for him to round it and open her door. When he did so she offered him the cake. He laughed. She hadn’t simply been waiting for him to open her door like a gentleman; she wasn’t able to exit the car in those shoes with a layer cake in her hands. He took the cake from her, and watched as she grabbed her little purse and very carefully peeled herself out of the car. Slowly. Gracefully.
Damn
. His mouth went dry.

“What are you up to?” he asked as they approached the front door. He carried the cake, so his hands were full. Just as well.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said sweetly, and then she stumbled. As she recovered she tugged her skirt down as much as was possible. Which wasn’t much. She wasn’t accustomed to walking in those high heels, any more than she was used to a skirt that barely covered her butt. No, this was a show of some sort. She was in costume. For his benefit? He wasn’t sure. What kind of woman told a man to keep his distance then turned up wearing a dress like that one?

As if he could understand how a woman thought.

Inside the house, he handed the cake over to Lurlene, whose eyes widened when she saw Daisy. Daisy dropped her purse on an entryway table and took a moment to once again adjust her teeny skirt. She twisted her body, as if she could realign her hips to make the skirt a bit longer. It didn’t work. The cook who had been with the Taskers since before Jacob was born didn’t say a word, not right away, but she walked toward the kitchen with the cake in her hands, shaking her head and mumbling something under her breath when she was too far away for them to make out the words.

Jacob and Daisy walked toward the parlor. Slowly, since she was unable to walk any other way in those heels. She pulled on the skirt again, and then adjusted the flimsy fabric that barely covered her breasts.

Again he asked. “What are you up to with that getup?”

“How do you know I don’t dress like this all the time, these days?”

He didn’t, so he kept his mouth shut.

“This is supposed to be a date, after all. I’m not a child anymore, Jacob, I’m all grown up. I’m certainly not the same naive girl I was when we dated. I’ve changed, I’ve matured.” She lifted her chin and rotated her head slowly to look at him with ice-cold blue eyes.

They reached the parlor before he could respond, which was just as well since he had no idea what to say. The idea of Daisy dressing like this for another man was more than he could handle, even though he knew, logically, that he had no right to care how she dressed or for whom. Logic flew out the window where Daisy was concerned. He found himself wondering who she’d dated, who she’d worn that dress for, who she’d kissed on the front porch....

As soon as he entered the room and saw Maddy pouting on the love seat by the bookcase, her own long legs displayed beyond a very short skirt, her own high heeled shoes dangling from her feet, he understood Daisy’s motives in a flash that momentarily stopped him in his tracks. He should’ve realized immediately what she was up to. He turned to Daisy, narrowed his eyes and whispered, “Really?”

She just smiled back and walked into the room with confidence, those long legs and a nice swell of full breasts out there for everyone to see. The shock was evident on every face as they took in her new style. Even Grandma Eunice’s face displayed disapproval and surprise. Ben’s tongue was practically hanging out. His mom’s eyes widened and she took a step back. His dad narrowed his gaze, squinting in Daisy’s direction as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Jacob wouldn’t have been surprised if his dad literally hit the floor.