Sweet Seduction (4 page)

4

S
HE
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.