Sweet Seduction (2 page)

“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

“H
ERE
'
S
TO
N
ANA
S
IN
'
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.

* * *

J
AMIE
F
ORSYTHE
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—”