Daisy couldn’t cook. She was good at a lot of things, but cooking wasn’t one of them. Maybe he could drive to Atlanta and buy a lemon cake. Not that a store-bought cake, even a spectacular one, would fool Grandma Eunice even on her worst day.
It had been seven years since he’d been with Daisy, and in that time she’d raised her sisters, taken over the family business, basically grown up. Maybe she’d learned how to cook. Maybe she did know how to make that lemon cake. He called the shop, and she answered with a sharp,
“Bell’s.”
“It’s me,” he said.
“Me? I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, sir.” Her voice was sweeter, now, a little lower and calmer, but with an edge he couldn’t dismiss. “Would you like to make an appointment for a haircut? I do have an opening this afternoon.”
“Dammit, Daisy, it’s Jacob.”
“Oh, so sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. “I didn’t recognize your voice. You sounded a little bit like Old Man Johnson, but I was afraid to assume...”
“We need a lemon cake,” he snapped, without arguing that he sounded nothing like Old Man Johnson, who was ninety-seven years old and had the deepest Southern drawl of any man for miles.
The moment of silence told him Daisy was as bothered as he was. “She didn’t forget?”
“No. You’re expected for supper, and you’re expected to bring a lemon cake. She’s been talking about it all morning.”
“I’ll call you back in fifteen minutes,” she said. “I have a customer.” She disconnected without a goodbye, and for a few seconds Jacob stood there with the phone in his hand, staring at it as if somehow Daisy was still there, harassing him. Driving him crazy.
Making him pay.
He hadn’t purposely left her behind, it had just happened. Like that made a difference. He’d planned to send for her, to send for them all, but the one time he’d mentioned moving, Daisy had been horrified. She wouldn’t uproot her sisters, she’d said, wouldn’t drag them away from their friends and the only home they’d ever known. He’d planned to come home for Christmas that year, to convince her face-to-face to return to California with him.
But he hadn’t made Christmas that year. There had been a business emergency—in hindsight so unimportant that right now he could not remember what it had been—and he’d canceled his travel plans.
And that had been that, though there had been a few awkward phone conversations in the early months of the new year. Not many and nothing had been said that could break through the distance between them, distance both physical and emotional. He and Daisy had no longer wanted the same things. They’d drifted apart. His life was there, her life was here. Simple. She’d faded in his memory, as he was certain he’d faded in hers. Life went on.
Dammit, that hadn’t been entirely his fault. She’d played a part, as well. Maybe he hadn’t fought for her the way he should have, but she hadn’t exactly fought for him, either.
When Daisy called back he was still holding the cordless phone in his hand, ready for her. Her words were sharp. “Grab a pen and paper. I’m going to tell you what I need, and you’re going to put on that fancy suit of yours and head to the Piggly Wiggly.”
* * *
A part of her wanted to kick Jacob out of her house and tackle this chore alone, but two things stopped her. One, she needed the help. Two, she’d never get over him if she didn’t kick this annoying habit of being downright twitchy when he was around. Not twitchy in a bad way. No, he made her squirm in a way that was annoyingly pleasant. She felt like he had literally worked his way under her skin.
He looked good in khakis and a golf shirt. She’d kidded him about his suits, but he did look sharp in them. The more casual outfit he wore this afternoon showed off the muscle he’d built up since he’d left her. Not massive muscle, thank goodness, but he did have some interesting definition.
More reminder that they weren’t the same people they’d been seven years ago. Of course they weren’t! They’d been little more than babies, untouched by the real world, unshaped by loss and hardship and responsibility.
Daisy tried to keep her mind on lemon cake, but she really wanted to touch Jacob’s forearm to see if it felt as hard as it looked. She wanted to look under that shirt—just a peek—to see what muscles he’d added there. He’d probably added some chest hair, as well. He hadn’t had much at twenty-four. Oh, she really hoped he hadn’t turned into one of those guys who worked out in a gym and waxed his chest....
Her mind could not wander there.
“Do you actually play golf?” she asked, pointing at the dark blue shirt with the little embroidered doodad on the pocket.
“No.”
“Doesn’t that make your outfit false advertising?”
He’d didn’t answer, but he did give her a frustrated look that made her smile as he unpacked everything he’d bought at the Piggly Wiggly down the road, a small grocery store that served the next town over as well as two communities that were too small to support their own. His purchases lined the counter in the Bell kitchen, a boxy room with a small table that was older than she was and appliances that weren’t much newer. They worked. And it wasn’t like she cooked all that often anyway.
He picked up a box. “I’m pretty sure your mom’s famous homemade lemon cake didn’t start with a cake mix.”
Daisy shot him a cutting glance. “No, but I don’t have time to make a homemade cake, and besides, it’s the icing that makes it special.”
“It’s a good thing you were free this afternoon.”
She glared at him. Again. Still. “I wasn’t free. I had to reschedule a regular for tomorrow afternoon. Remember Miss Hattie?”
“How could I forget. Did you tell her why you had to cancel?”
“No, I lied and told her I didn’t feel well. Do you know how much I hate lying to my clients?” She didn’t point out that she hated the idea that the facts of this charade might get out much more than she hated fibbing to her customers.
“Sorry. I’ll be happy to pay you for any income you lose because you’re helping me.”
“I still don’t want your money, Tasker.” She made sure she sounded sharp and certain. And annoyed.
He sounded pretty annoyed, himself. “I don’t want you to lose money because you’re helping me out of a tough spot.”
“I’m not helping you. I’m helping your grandmother.” He could drown in his tough spots for all she cared.
“Sorry,” he said sharply. “I forgot.”
The tension in the air was almost unbearable. It hung between them, like every unspoken word that haunted her, still. He was angry. She was antsy.
“Are you married?” She’d planned to ask, needed to know, but the question could’ve come at a better time and been delivered more graciously. Instead she’d just blurted it out, standing in the kitchen with an apron worn over a pair of denim shorts and an old red tank—she always made such a mess when she did try to cook—feet bare, a box of butter in one hand and a sack of lemons in the other. The question did diffuse the tension, a bit. Maybe because it apparently took Jacob by surprise.
He shook his head. “No.”
His answer was sadly insufficient, so Daisy pressed on. “Engaged? Dating seriously? Involved with any woman on any level?”
“No.”
“Why the hell not? I’m sure you’re quite the catch, even in California. I’ll bet the women looooove your Southern accent.”
“I lost my Southern accent years ago,” he insisted.
Daisy laughed. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
Jacob’s lips thinned. His jaw twitched. Finally he asked, “Would I have kissed you last night if I was married, engaged, or involved?”
“Maybe,” she said sharply. “Some men don’t seem to have a problem with that sort of thing...they don’t find it a conflict of interest at all.”
“I’m not one of those men. You should know that.”
She should, but it had be
en so long. She didn’t know him at all, not really. How much had he changed? Her task of kicking him out of her head and her heart would be so much easier if he’d turned into a jerk.
“So, there’s no significant other waiting for you on the other side of the country, no woman sitting at home alone, waiting for your phone calls,” she said calmly. “I can’t help but wonder, why not?”
Daisy wanted, more than anything, for Jacob to convince her that he didn’t deserve to visit her dreams and send her well-ordered life spinning out of control. The boy she’d once loved was gone. What kind of man had he become?
She studied him, up and down. Be a complete ass, please. That will make this so much easier.
Chapter Four
Why not? No time, no inclination. He’d dated, but never the same girl more than twice. Jacob hadn’t questioned that MO until Daisy had come back into his life, however temporarily.
He was forced to consider that the reason he’d never met a woman who really did it for him wasn’t because he worked so many hours, wasn’t because he was so focused on his career that he didn’t have the time for a serious relationship. Maybe the sad truth was that no one else had ever affected him this way because no one else was Daisy.
“Can we just make a cake?” he snapped.
Daisy switched on the oven, collected a large bowl and a small pot from a lower cabinet and then she turned to face him. “Sorry to pry. Amanda asked today if you were married, and I was horrified to realize that I didn’t know.”
Because he’d kissed her, and she’d kissed him back, and Daisy Bell would never have knowingly kissed a married man that way. “What about you?” He’d know if she was married. Someone would’ve told him, he supposed, and if she was married this charade never would’ve gotten off the ground, but... “Are you seeing anyone? Is there a boyfriend I should be on the lookout for?”
“Not at the moment,” she said coolly.
Jacob found he was sharply relieved to know that there wasn’t another man in Daisy’s life. He also wondered about the qualifier. Not at the moment? Who had she dated in the past? Had any of those relationships been serious? A surge of jealousy almost knocked him on his ass.
No, not jealousy. Envy. He had no right to be jealous. He’d had his shot and he’d blown it. He wanted Daisy to be happy, to have everything she wanted and needed. At the same time, he couldn’t say he’d be happy to see her with another man.
It annoyed him to realize that in spite of all the obstacles, he wanted Daisy again. While he was here, while they were forced to endure one another’s company...he wanted her. The certainty of that wanting hit him low in the gut, as they worked together in her warm, cozy kitchen. His presence here, in her kitchen, wasn’t really necessary, but he didn’t back away, didn’t come up with an excuse to bolt. He fetched things for her. He washed and dried bowls, and he moved out of her way when she started to dance from one counter to another, from the sink to the stove to the counter. His mind was not on cake.
He wanted to kiss Daisy again, but this time he wouldn’t stop. He wanted to make love to her. He wanted to watch her laugh in bed, wanted to dance with her, naked, the way they once had. More than reliving old memories, he wanted to make new ones. With her.
He was old enough now to understand why she hadn’t been able to come to him. She’d done what she had to do, what she’d believed to be best for her family. Maybe in hindsight she understood, too, why he hadn’t been able to stay here. They couldn’t go back and undo what had been done, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t forget that pain and get to know one another all over again.
He wanted her, Daisy the woman, Daisy who had said she wouldn’t kiss him again, Daisy who occasionally looked at him as if she was willing him to disappear.
Jacob wasn’t afraid of a challenge. Never had been. In fact, he loved a challenge more than just about anything.
* * *
Daisy licked a dollop of icing off the tip of her finger. The cake looked a little rubbery—maybe it had cooked too long—but the icing was awesome. How could it not be? Confectioners sugar, butter, lemon juice, whole milk. It was the icing that made the cake, anyway. Maybe Miss Eunice wouldn’t remember exactly how the lemon cake used to taste. Maybe fabulous icing alone would be enough. She could hope!
“My turn.” Jacob leaned in, looked down on the pot that had bits of icing clinging to the sides and waited.
“Go ahead,” she said, starting to back away. He was too close for comfort. Just having him so near made her skin itch as if it was resizing itself to fit over her body. But before she could move away, he placed a hand at the small of her back. That hand was firm, warm and steady. It held her in place without undue pressure. It grounded her. Her entire body seemed to thump, as if the earth had just shifted in a major way. She had never before been so keenly aware of a touch. She could move away, she could simply step to the side and that hand would fall. She didn’t move. If anything, she shifted slightly closer to Jacob.
He put his other hand over hers, guided both into the pot, scooped a bit of icing from the side of the pot onto her finger and lifted it to his mouth. He wasn’t going to...he wouldn’t dare...
He did. Jacob placed her finger in his mouth and sucked. No part of the act, not even the sucking, was hard or violent or forceful; his touch was actually very light. Easy. Just west of casual. Again, she could’ve stopped him, could’ve moved her hand away, but again she didn’t. Instead she watched his mouth close over her finger, felt the warm, moist flick of his tongue.
If she’d felt that touch only on her finger she’d be all right, but no—she felt the way Jacob touched her in her entire body, from the top of her head to her curling toes. She felt it in her scalp, in her breasts, between her legs. She took the opportunity to place her free hand on his forearm. Yep, hard as rock and wonderfully warm to the touch. If she had even a tiny bit less self-control, she’d throw him on the floor and strip him naked and have her way with him here and now.
She was still curious about his current chest hair situation.
Thankfully she did have some self-control. And dignity. Both were fading fast, though. “I told you...”
Jacob slowly pulled her finger from his mouth. “You said no kissing. You didn’t say a word about licking icing off your finger.”
“Do I have to be that specific?” She dropped her hand, but didn’t back away. She’d never admit it, at least not aloud, but she liked having him so close she could see the stubble on his jaw, see each and every hair on his forearm. She liked that she could smell him, and though he had changed and she had changed, his scent and her reaction to it remained the same. Like it or not she was drawn to Jacob the way iron was drawn to a magnet.
“I wish you would be specific,” he said, his head dipped down to bring it too close to hers. “What exactly do you not want me to do to you?”
He was teasing her, knowing damn well that she couldn’t stand here and tell him not to touch her, not to make her feel itchy all over, not to invade her dreams. Please, Jacob, don’t look at me that way. Don’t make me love you all over again.
She backed away. Slowly. Reluctantly. “I have to change.”
“Yes, Grandma Eunice will be shocked if you show up dressed like that. Not that I’d mind. You look amazing.”
She should’ve worn old, baggy sweats instead of shorts and a tank, no matter how warm it was in the kitchen. Too much skin was exposed, and the way Jacob was staring at her...
She had to throw up a barrier between them, had to remind him—and herself—why they didn’t work. “Too bad I don’t have tennis whites or a matching golf shirt and a skort to wear. Wouldn’t we make a fine preppy couple.”
He didn’t have a snappy comeback for that one. No, he just looked confused. “What’s a skort?”
“Half skirt, half shorts. Skort.”
It annoyed him when she criticized the way he dressed, she noticed. Funny. She didn’t remember him caring much about such things in the old
days. No, he’d cared about his grades, his plans for the future and her. He’d played guitar—as badly as she sang along—and he’d worked on old cars. He and Caleb had always had a project in the separate garage behind Tasker House, but these days she supposed he’d have a conniption if he wound up with grease under his fingernails. He’d been a whiz with the cars, but he’d never been able to master playing the guitar. He did everything else so well, he didn’t fail at anything. Except playing the guitar. And keeping her.
These days he cared about clothes and work. That seemed like a huge step backward to her.
Daisy left Jacob in the kitchen while she all but ran to her bedroom to change clothes. She reached into her closet with a specific outfit in mind. Lavender slacks, matching blouse, strappy sandals. Too bad she didn’t have a chastity belt in her closet, somewhere. She needed something to remind her why she couldn’t have what she really wanted. Iron, lock and key...not a bad idea...
With her hand on the lavender outfit, another idea popped into her head. A brilliant idea, if she did say so herself.
She was in this uncomfortable situation for Miss Eunice’s sake, not for Jacob’s, not for any of the other Taskers. For some reason, Miss Eunice not only thought she and Jacob were engaged, she approved. Heartily. But she didn’t approve of Ben’s wife, Maddy. Not at all. She obviously didn’t like the way Maddy dressed, spoke, or wore her makeup and hair. Maybe Maddy was a bit flashy and flamboyant, but everyone was entitled to their own style. Maddy’s style was just kind of slutty, bless her heart.
Daisy let her hand fall. She stood at the open closet for a moment and asked herself...What would happen if Miss Eunice didn’t approve of her? The wedding wouldn’t seem so attractive and pressing, then. Daisy didn’t want to shock Miss Eunice, didn’t want to send the old woman into a conniption fit or anything, but if she started to disapprove of the match, even just a little bit...
Daisy closed her closet door, peeked into the hallway and jetted across to Lily’s old room, a wide smile on her face. For the first time all day she felt as if she were in control. Not Miss Eunice, not Jacob, not her traitorous body. She was going to put an end to this debacle, once and for all.
A Week Till the Wedding Page 5
