“How long have you worked here?”
“I can’t really say. I’ve basically spent most of my life here.” She glanced around the big kitchen. Though she’d made some updates since taking over three years ago, the kitchen still evoked the same memories. It didn’t matter that it looked different than it did when she was growing up. The smell was the same. Yeast, brown sugar, cinnamon, baked butter—it was synonymous with her grandmother, synonymous with safety and security and home.
“Tell me, Daisy...may I call you Daisy?”
“I think we’re past formalities.”
Colin chuckled deep inside that stupidly big chest of his. “When do I get to sample something?”
She blinked at him. A strange heat crept up the inside of her ribcage to settle at the base of her throat. Did he intend to sound suggestive? Because all Daisy could think about was Colin Forsythe sampling something much more...intimate than cinnamon buns. Her mouth and bare skin, for example.
Dammit, Daisy! Just because he saw you in your hot pink undies does not make him hot for you. Besides, he’s clearly an ass. Isn’t one ass in your lifetime enough?
The thought made her simultaneously hot and cold.
Colin grinned as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and motioned to a half dozen fresh buns sitting on cooling racks.
“Oh. Of course.” When he went to grab a bun, she slapped his hand, an automatic reaction, but one that felt way too familiar. She cleared her throat. “Not those. They’re for Johnny.” Daisy grabbed a plate from the cupboard and separated a bun from the others cooling. When she passed him the plate, she made certain their fingers did not come in contact.
No more touching. No more thoughts of touching.
Colin leaned over the plate and took a deep breath. His brows drew together, and a look of bliss came over him. It almost redeemed him in Daisy’s eyes.
Almost.
He lifted the bun and held it in front of his face before taking a big bite. His brows lifted and then dropped. “Mmm.” He turned to her, rapture written in the gleam of his eyes. He slowly took another bite. And then another. After his fourth—not that Daisy was counting—he said with a still partially full mouth, “Wow. So good.”
“Thank you.”
He finished chewing and then turned the plate in his hand, inspecting the last bite. “It’s perfect. You know that, right? The outside is crisp, the inside soft. They’re sweet and sticky, but the sweetness is balanced with the freshness of the bread.” He cocked his head to the side and asked, “Aren’t you having some?”
Daisy pressed her lips together. The buns were her all-time favorite, and witnessing Colin’s unrestrained enthusiasm—the groans, the finger licking, the orgasmic look on his face—evoked an aberrant longing that made it hard to breathe.
Orgasmic look? Where the hell did that thought come from? Sheesh!
“Here, have some of mine.” Colin held out the remaining bite for her.
Daisy backed away because the pull to lean forward and take the bite—with her mouth, right from his hand—was overpowering. “No, thanks,” she said, staring at his fingers, a vivid image of herself licking them ricocheting inside her head.
“You don’t eat your own baking?”
“Oh, yeah. All the time. Just not today.”
He narrowed his eyes. Under his scrutiny, Daisy felt like the shy, insecure kid she’d once been, desperate to please.
“Please tell me that you, of all people, are not on a diet.”
“What if I am?” Daisy asked defensively.
“I’d say stop.” He leaned back, crossed his arms on his broad chest and let his eyes wander over her body.
Daisy blew out air through pursed lips. “Whatever.” She waved dismissively at him. “Can we get back to talking about Nana Sin’s—”
“Can I tell you what I see?”
“It’s really none of your—”
He got up, and his swift approach made Daisy forget what she was about to say. With him standing so close, she was forced to look up at him, way up at him. His presence overwhelmed her, as did his cologne. What was it? Something masculine. Something that contrasted with the sweet and savory aromas ever-present in the bakery. Something that had her blood pressure rising in direct proportion to each and every incredible inch he towered over her.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said matter-of-factly.
“You mean big-boned.”
“No. That is not what I mean.”
Daisy tried to shrug away from this presumptuous man, but for each step she backed away, he took one to close the distance. She hoped to sound light and breezy when she said, “If I’m not big-boned, that only leaves me with one other descriptor.”
“Yes.” His voice dropped an octave as his eyelids lowered to half-mast. “Curvy.”
“You mean plump.”
“I mean perfect.”
Oh, my God. Did his eyes just drop to her boobs? “This is not appropriate.”
“Probably not. Though neither is greeting me in smokin’ hot underwear.”
She covered her face, and he pulled her hands away, dropping his head toward her. “But that’s not the best part.” For a startling moment, Daisy thought Colin Forsythe was going to kiss her. More surprising, Daisy hoped he would. Oh, good lord. There was something wrong with her!
Colin didn’t kiss her, however. Oh, no. What he did was almost more intimate in Daisy’s estimation. He shut his eyes and took in a long, slow, deep breath. His smile grew as leisurely as his exhalation.
“Vanilla, orange zest, cinnamon...” He paused to inhale even more deeply right by Daisy’s cheek. “And rosemary. That last one is unexpected, but very nice.”
Daisy stared at him. At his lips, more specifically. Her heart pounded like a meat tenderizer whacking away in her chest. She’d made rosemary and orange crisps early that morning. How on earth had he detected that? Was it possible that for the first time in her life, she’d met a person with a sense of smell as powerful as her own?
No, it couldn’t be.
But even more unbelievable was the fact that this much too tall, far too arrogant, nosy man was licking his lips like the next thing he wanted to sample was Daisy herself.
“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