Sweet Seduction

“Oh, my God!” She hugged the scale to her chest. “Go away!”

The door shut and Daisy kept the scale close until she reached her pile of clothes. She dropped the scale and then struggled into her jeans before fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. Once dressed, she looked up, catching a glimpse of her haphazard appearance in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, making her eyes overly bright. Daisy covered her face, hoping the action would block out what just happened.

No such luck.

There was a tentative knock at the door, and Daisy wrenched it open to find Lizzie standing there looking sheepish.

“Oh, so now you knock?”

“Sorry, I—”

“Why on earth didn’t you knock the first time?” Daisy demanded.

“I did,” Lizzie explained. “I thought I heard you say ‘come in.’” She frowned. “You were saying a bunch of stuff. I didn’t catch the last part. Something about bringing a dish out?”

Daisy pressed her fingers to her temples. “That makes no sense.”

“I know. But you’re always saying stuff that doesn’t make sense. I was sure I heard you say ‘come in.’” Lizzie tilted her head, thinking. “Or maybe it was ‘come on.’ Either way.”

Daisy collapsed in her chair. “So, who’s the guy I indecently exposed myself to?”

Lizzie cleared her throat. “Colin Forsythe.” She forced a smile.

The name had Daisy sitting up straight in her chair. “Oh, God. No. Tell me I didn’t.”

“Mmm, you kind of did.”

“As in food critic and columnist from the Tribune, Colin Forsythe?”

“That would be the one.”

“No.” Daisy dropped her head into her hands, the world collapsing around her. She buried her face, hoping she’d get sucked into the black hole created by the implosion of her life.

There was a knock, and Daisy whipped her head around to stare at the door in horror.

“The man himself beckons.” Lizzie twiddled her fingers in the direction of the door like an amateur magician.

“Tell him to go away. Tell him I’m Maisy, Daisy’s deranged twin sister, and that the real Daisy will be back from vacation next week.”

“See?” Lizzie said, pointing at her. “This is what I’m talking about. You say these things sometimes. Then I think you’re telling me to come in when really you’re doing some weird underwear dance. What were you doing, by the way?”

“Oh, God.”

Lizzie reached across the desk and patted Daisy’s arm. “You know what? So you traipse around in your office naked-ish. Who cares? You’re the boss. Just get out there and pretend like nothing happened. Do it with a smile.” She demonstrated an example of a big, fake smile. Not helpful.

It was easy for Lizzie to tell her to face the man with a smile when she wasn’t the one who had just been discovered pacing her office in her unmentionables. Daisy plucked her blouse from her chest for a quick peek to remind herself exactly which unmentionables she was wearing. Well, at least it was her new Victoria’s Secret satin set. So, her undies were nice; that was hardly a consolation.

“Ms. Sinclair?”

She looked up at the man standing in the doorway to her office. Yes, he was Colin Forsythe all right. His wavy brown hair might have been a bit longer than in the picture beside his column, but he had the same square jaw, the same nose—though in person it was a little crooked—and the same full lips. While he was recognizable, his byline picture did not do him justice. In that picture he came off as stern, albeit in a well-coiffed, intellectual sort of way. Actually, his picture made him look snooty. In person? Wow. He looked anything but. His eyes sparkled with irreverence, his lips turned up at one side as if he was trying to keep a sinful smile in check, and he was just...bigger. More like a professional athlete than a distinguished foodie.

His eyebrows rose under her appraisal. “Do I pass?”

Daisy cringed. Good-looking. Big ego. No surprise. Obviously, he was going to make this impossible for her. But he was Colin Forsythe, and she’d been anticipating this interview ever since taking over Nana Sin’s bakery three years ago. Of course he had to show up today of all days. That was just her luck. Someone, somewhere had a warped sense of humor where she was concerned. Daisy paused, cocking her head. Weird. Sometimes she was sure she could hear her grandmother chuckling, as though she was standing right behind her.

“Is everything okay?”

She sent an incredulous look at the much too tall, far too self-assured man standing in her doorway. “Are you kidding me?”

“Please don’t be embarrassed.”

“Can we pretend, for my sake, that we’re meeting for the first time, right now? That you didn’t just...” Daisy paused to take a deep, composing breath. She stood, shoulders back. “Hello, Mr. Forsythe.” She walked around her desk, hand outstretched. “I’m Daisy Sinclair. Welcome to Nana Sin’s.”

He rubbed his jaw as if trying to massage his face into a serious expression. It didn’t work. When she was close enough, he took her hand and shook it firmly. She thought he might take the opportunity to say something crass, but all he said was, “It’s Colin.”

“Colin.” She set her lips in a grim line and sauntered past, head held high. At the door she turned. “Shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “The bakery.” She indicated the kitchen with the motion of her head. “Aren’t you here to see the bakery?”

In one step Colin was beside her, looking down at her. Damn, the man was tall. Not fair. And what the hell was he doing, blasting her with that sinful smile of his?

“I’ve already seen everything.” He grinned.

She groaned.

His gaze held hers for a second before flicking toward the front of the building. “I’m talking about the bakery. I spent the last half hour in the front, interviewing customers and your staff.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Customers here all ask for you. By name.”

With a shrug, Daisy said, “The bakery’s been here a long time. People are loyal.”

“Only when they have a reason to be.”

“I suppose...”

He came closer, spoke more softly. “What I’d really like is a taste.”

The way he looked at her made Daisy think he wanted to taste her. Of all the ridiculous, embarrassing, appealing ideas she’d ever had, this one took the cake. With a huff, she marched past him into the kitchen, her jaw clamped shut, ignoring the deep rumbling sound of his chuckle. Wicked, wicked man. When she caught sight of Lizzie punching some dough, she snapped. “Lizzie, it’s the morning rush. Julia can’t handle the store alone.”

“But the dough...”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Lizzie scurried out through the double doors to the front, leaving Daisy with the dough and Colin Forsythe. After donning one of the extremely unattractive hair nets—she was beyond caring how she looked—and thoroughly washing her hands, she took over Lizzie’s job. Punching dough was exactly what she needed right now.