Sweet Seduction (3 page)

“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

D
AISY
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.

* * *

H
OLY
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.

* * *

D
AISY
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.