Sweet Seduction

2

“HERE’S TO NANA SIN’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.

* * *

JAMIE FORSYTHE 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—”

“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

DAISY 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.