Sweet Seduction (12 page)

“Hi, Daisy. I like your T-shirt.” Was he purposefully speaking to her in a low, seductive voice, or was that just the way he always spoke?

Well, she wasn't going to let on that his voice had any effect on her. Nope. She turned, adopting Gloria's stance, one hand on her hip, the other holding the half-empty tray, chin up, shoulders back. “Jamie.”

“This is quite the thing you've got going.” Was it the suit he was wearing or his tone that made him seem so out of place? Whatever it was, he was a far cry from the last time she'd seen him, sweaty and shirtless on the boxing ring floor...

Stop it!
With a shake of her head, Daisy got the deviant memories under control. “What are you doing here?”

Before he could answer, a couple of massive men elbowed their way to Daisy's side, intent on snatching up what remained on her tray. However, once they were close enough, the shorter man—though he was at least two heads taller than Daisy—punched Jamie on the shoulder. “Hey, man.” He tugged on the lapel of his jacket. “A little formal for a party, isn't it?”

“I'm just in between clients.”

The bigger guy—taller even than Jamie—pointed to the last piece of strudel on Daisy's tray. “You tried one of these?” His mouth was full as he finished his off. “No kidding, it's the best thing I've ever tasted.” He handed Jamie his phone and grabbed the last piece. “Here, take a picture of me eating it in one bite.” Jamie fiddled with the guy's phone and snapped a shot of the mammoth man shoving the entire piece of pastry into his mammoth mouth.

“I'll post it to Instagram and Twitter,” he informed Daisy after he was done. “I've got like fifty thousand followers or something.”

“Yeah,” the other guy said. “I'll share it and make sure the other guys on the team share it, too. Maybe it'll go viral.”

Daisy's head spun. “That's great. Thanks,” she said, though she didn't really know how it would happen.

Seconds later, after the men left to be interviewed by reporters, Daisy leaned toward Jamie and whispered, “If this all goes viral, that would be good for me, right?”

“Yep. Unless it's actually a superbug. Then it's bad.”

She quickly got her smile under control. “You know those guys?”

“Sure. They play for the Roughnecks. The big one is Owen Johnson—he's a linebacker. The other one is Eddie Manolo. He's a receiver.”

Daisy nodded. A professional football team, right here in her little bakery. It was absolutely crazy, and she had Gloria, her mother and probably Alexander to thank. Taking a deep breath, Daisy caught the scent of Jamie's cologne and was suddenly reminded that she was supposed to be ignoring him. She took one more quick sniff, though, because damn, the man smelled so good.

“What are you doing here?” she repeated the question she'd posed earlier.

“Unfortunately, I'm here on business.” He handed her a sealed envelope. “Take a look, please. You need to make a decision before the end of the week.” He glanced around. “Depending on how this goes.”

“You don't think we can do it, do you? You don't think I can come up with the money.”

“I didn't say that. I'm just presenting options, that's all.”

Daisy snatched the envelope out of his hand and carried it and the empty tray into the back. She was tempted to drop the envelope into the garbage, but that seemed like asking for trouble, so she ran it upstairs to her apartment and left it on the kitchen counter.

Buying insurance is the best insurance for never needing insurance.

Daisy whipped her head around. “Nana?”

There was no one there. A breeze lifted the gauzy curtain in the open kitchen window, and invisible fingers tickled the back of her neck.

“God, I miss you,” she whispered to the ether. “But if you're here, I could really use your help today.”

12

T
HE
LAST
PLACE
Jamie should have been was at the bakery that belonged to his client's soon-to-be ex-wife, though he told himself he was there for professional reasons, to deliver an offer on the building should the fund-raiser not be successful. Though he hoped to hell the fund-raiser was successful.

The truth was he could have waited until after the party to give her the offer. Should have waited until after the party.

He was crossing the line, dammit.

Unfortunately, there was no way Jamie could stay away. He'd tried. But the need to see Daisy outweighed what the costs might be. It was utterly insane, and Jamie wished he knew what was wrong with him so he could get the insanity under control. It wasn't like Daisy wanted to see him—she'd made that plain, though she had laughed at his going viral comment. No, she hadn't laughed. She'd smiled, which was probably more a function of the kind of lighthearted, fun-loving person Daisy Sinclair was than any kind of indicator of how she might or might not feel about him.

And what did it matter, anyway? Nothing could happen between them. It was over before it'd even started, which was usually the way he liked it.

“Hey.” Colin maneuvered through the crowd to join him. After a quick glance at his cohost, Tricia Gordon, he showed Jamie the half-eaten cinnamon bun in his hand and said, “Describe this for me.”

Just beyond Colin's outstretched hand stood Daisy, talking again to Owen Johnson and laughing. Her dark curls bounced seductively around her shoulders, reminding him of their little bout in the boxing ring, followed by what happened afterward. Jamie's hands curled into fists as he imagined strands of her hair caught between his fingers. “Perfectly done on the outside, soft and delicious inside. The sweetness tempered by the freshness and goodness of the bread.”

“Not bad, little brother.”

For a split second, Daisy's gaze shifted from the big linebacker to scan the crowd, and her eyes met Jamie's. She tilted her head to the side as if to ask him a question. With effort, Jamie tore his gaze away. Dropping his voice, he asked, “Any news on what's going on?” He tapped his head. “Up here?”

“More tests next week.”

“So it's not a tumor?”

Colin shrugged and before he could answer, Tricia Gordon called, “Colin? We're on in ten.”

Nodding at Tricia, he said to Jamie, “We'll talk later.”

Jamie rubbed his brow. Things were going to shit and he needed to get the hell out of the bakery before he made it worse. Winding his way through the mob of people, he made his way to the door. But before he could leave, he was stopped by a big man wearing a cowboy hat. It wasn't the hat that caught Jamie's attention, however; it was the guy's familiar, crooked grin. “Dillon. You made it,” Jamie said, giving his cousin a slap on the back. He and Colin had spent many summers out on their cousin's ranch in Montana. However, it'd been years since he'd seen Dillon, who was more like a brother than a cousin to him.

“Worked out perfectly with the timing of the National Bull-Riding Championships.” Dillon held up a pink frosted cupcake that clashed with his cousin's big, ranch-roughened hands. “This shit is to die for.” Frosting first, he shoved the entire cupcake into his mouth, and while his mouth was still full, he said, “I can't get enough.”

Out of nowhere, Gloria appeared, nudging Jamie out of the way to address Dillon. “Hey. Why do you think it's okay to move my decor?”

Dillon swiped his hand across the back of his mouth to wipe away the remnants of pink frosting. With his mouth still full of cupcake, he said, “Your
decor
has been blocking the visibility of the hard-working individuals here for the cameras.”

Gloria's disgusted shiver was so comical, Jamie decided he had to see the end of this interaction before he left.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Are you the organizer here?” She swept a hand around the room. “Was this your idea?” She poked him in the chest. “Did you bring all these people here?” Poke. “Is Daisy your best friend?” Poke, poke.

“I'm just trying to help.” He captured her finger and held on.

She snatched her hand from his. “You can
help
by keeping those big, sloppy hands of yours off my stuff.”

Saluting, Dillon said, “As you wish, little lady.”

“Oh, my God!” She shook her head at him in exasperation. “Do not call me
little lady
.” She stormed off, muttering obscenities beneath her breath.

“Still charming the ladies, I see,” Jamie said.

“That one? She's something else.” Dillon shook his head. “Are all the women in Chicago that bossy?”

“Yep. Welcome to the big city.”

“Thank God I'm just here for the week.”

Jamie's phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text from one of his new clients.

Please call me. It's an emergency.

“I've got to go.” He held up the phone. “Work calls. Stop by the club if you've got time.”

The front of the bakery was so crowded, Jamie followed a line of people out the side door and, upon exiting, found himself caught in the cross fire of a war, like a snowball fight but with dough instead. He waited for the media to finish taking pictures of hockey players vs. football players throwing balls of dough before making a run for it. Ducking and dodging, he managed to avoid all but one missile as he made his way around the building. He'd had to park his bike four blocks away because it was so busy, and as he walked, he called his client. Right away, he could tell something was wrong.

“Chloe, slow down. Slow down,” he said into the phone. “Take a breath and then start from the beginning.”

Jamie turned toward the building nearest him and plugged his ear to keep the street noise out so he could focus on his client, who was crying and talking so fast he couldn't make sense of what she was saying. Eventually, the story became clear: her estranged husband had broken into their home and had taken his gun collection, leaving her a note in place of where his guns were stored.

Once Jamie heard what the note said, he interrupted her. “Chloe, listen to me. Hang up the phone right now and call 911. I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

* * *

N
UMBERS
CONTINUED
TO
be called out all day. Thirty-thousand. One hundred thousand. And it just kept growing and growing. Daisy couldn't believe how much they were raising. This was crazy!

Crazy good.

“Daisy, can you comment on the ‘Name the Bakery Item' contest?” Tricia Gordon asked with a huge smile. “So far some of the frontrunners are ‘Tempting Twists,'” she said, pointing to the cinnamon twists. “These are ‘Devil's Delights'—” she gestured to the chocolate éclairs “—and those lemon bars are now ‘Sweet Salvation Bars.'”

Okay, some of what was going on was just
plain
crazy. But when Tricia shoved a microphone in front of her, Daisy smiled. “I love it. I love the names,” she lied, hoping she sounded convincing, because the names were a little gimmicky for her taste.

She glanced around. She was not looking for Jamie. Not at all. She needed to escape the cameras, that was it. Catching sight of Gloria rearranging blown-up posters of baked goods on the other side of the room, she said, “If you'll excuse me.”

Hurrying over to her friend, she tapped her shoulder and said, “Need some help?”

Gloria growled. She actually bared her teeth and growled. “I'm going to kill him.”

“Who?”

Gloria pointed to the same guy she'd argued with early in the day. “The
cowboy
.”

“Does the cowboy have a name?”

“Dillon ‘I'm a total jerk' Cross.”

“What's he doing?”

“It's not what he's doing—it's what he's
undoing
. Absolutely everything I do, he takes down. Or moves. It's like he's trying to make me mad on purpose. For sport.”

“Ignore him.” Daisy snagged a fresh tray of goods from a haggard-looking Bruce. She winked at him before he ran back to the kitchen to hide. “Here, have some strudel.”

“That's not just strudel anymore. It's ‘Strumpet Strudel.'” Gloria waved her off. “And I'm too mad to eat.”

“You can't be serious with these names.”

“Adopt the names or lose the bakery, babe.”

“Okay. Point taken.”

Daisy toted the tray outside, where hordes of people were still milling about. Most of the media had gone home by now, and so had a number of the celebrity athletes. The crowd consisted mainly of regular customers, whom she greeted by name, and others who were curious to see what the hubbub was all about. She took a moment to take everything in and check the crowd.

Okay, so maybe she was looking for Jamie, but she certainly wasn't disappointed that he hadn't stuck around for very long. Not at all.

“Why the long face, boss lady?” Lizzie was wearing something that resembled a hazmat suit and had a bowl of dough tucked under her arm.

“Just a little overwhelmed.”

Taking her arm, Lizzie said, “I know exactly what you need. Come on.” She dragged Daisy through to the side door and pushed her outside to where some sort of war was going on. Lizzie shoved the bowl of dough balls at her. “I get it now,” Lizzie said. “Throwing a little dough does make a person feel better.”

* * *

T
HE
DOUGH
STUCK
in her hair was going to be a bitch to clean out, but Daisy didn't care. The dough-ball fight in the side yard was the most fun she'd had since—she yanked at a big clump of gluey hair—well, spending time with Jamie at his club had been fun. She braced herself against the vanity in the bathroom, shut her eyes and let her mind wander to that memory.
Fun
didn't quite describe it.

Cleansing?

No.

Sinful?

Nope.

Heavenly?

Maybe.

Her body swayed as excited little palpitations coursed through her veins, like her cells were reliving the experience as she remembered it, boxing that turned into wrestling around on the floor that turned into oral sex. Opening her eyes, she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. No matter what she tried to tell herself, she had it bad for Jamie Forsythe.

“What is wrong with me?” she whispered.

The only explanation for her irrational attraction to the man was a genetic deficiency; she had to have inherited
something
from her mother.

Giving up on getting the dough out of her hair, Daisy went back out to the bakery, which was still busier than ever. Those who remained were paying customers, the kind that had been patronizing the place for years. Daisy went around talking to people, giving and receiving hugs.

“You're not going to lose the bakery, Daisy. We won't let it happen.”

“Nana Sin's can't close. We'll do whatever we can to help.”

“Your grandmother would be so proud of you.”

Eventually, Daisy made her way back to the kitchen to help restock the depleted shelves and to get her emotions under control. Seconds later, Gloria swept into the kitchen like the Energizer Bunny, fresh and as lively as ever.

“How's it going?” Daisy realized she hadn't heard anyone call out an update in hours, partly because she'd been outside slinging dough. She realized she had no idea where she stood, and the unease that had been ever-present leading up to the fund-raiser now blossomed in the pit of her stomach.

“It looks good, Daisy.” Gloria grinned and showed her the screen of her phone.

Any unease was blown apart like fireworks because the number on Gloria's screen was ridiculously impossible. “That much?” she whispered.

“Yep.”

“Now what happens?”

“At this point it's out of our hands, and we let social media do its thing. Someone tells two friends and they tell two friends and so on.”

Making no bones about eavesdropping on their conversation, Lizzie sidled up, peering over Gloria's shoulder at her phone. “Holy shit.” She wrapped her flour-covered arms around Daisy's waist and squeezed. “You're going to do it, boss. Can't you feel it?” Letting her go, Lizzie turned and called to the staff, “We're going to do it, people. We're going to save Nana Sin's!”