She’d barely said yes when something behind her made Colin’s eyes widen. Then he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the exit, but not before she peeked over her shoulder just in time to see a second—almost identical—Colin Forsythe watching them leave.
SHE 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.”