* * *
She was trying to kill him. That was the only explanation.
At first, Daisy had insisted on driving herself to the house for dinner, but Jacob had talked her into riding with him again. He wanted her close; he wanted to steal glimpses of her as he drove down the deserted road between downtown Bell Grove and Tasker House. He wanted her in his presence for as long as possible; he wanted to be able to reach out and touch her, even if he didn’t.
He wasn’t sure why she’d eventually given in and agreed to make the short trip with him, in his rental car, he was just glad for it. She sat in the passenger seat, the lemon cake in her lap, her long, tanned, bare legs stretching out beyond the pale yellow, slightly lopsided dessert.
He’d like to think that maybe, just maybe, she’d agreed to come along for the same reasons he’d wanted her here. Did she like being near him, even just a little? Her words were sharp, and she’d given no sign—beyond her instinctive response to the kiss and his mouth on her finger—that she had any romantic feelings left for him. Still, he could hope. She’d never admit it, but chemistry like this couldn’t be one-sided.
Jacob kept his attention entirely on the road for a few minutes. That final thought made him sound like a stalker. Like it or not, it was entirely possible that what he felt for her was one-sided.
But he didn’t think that was the case.
When Daisy had stepped into the kitchen—after what seemed like an awfully long time to change clothes—she’d been transformed. She wore a floral print dress with a flirty skirt that was very short and a V-neck that was very deep. The four inch heels made her already long legs look incredibly long. Her hair was piled on top of her head in an artfully messy way, and she wore more makeup than he’d ever seen on her pretty face.
She was all boobs and legs and red lipstick. And what fine boobs and legs they were.
“You’re a little overdressed for chicken and dumplings,” he’d argued.
“Look who’s talking about being overdressed,” she’d countered.
Neither of them had said a word as he drove the final mile toward Tasker House. Daisy was up to something, he just didn’t know what. Was she rubbing every gorgeous attribute she possessed in his face in order to torture him? If so, her plan was working. He was definitely tortured.
He pulled into a parking space close to the porch and shut off the engine of his rental car. Daisy—who was usually annoyingly independent—sat in the car and waited for him to round it and open her door. When he did so she offered him the cake. He laughed. She hadn’t simply been waiting for him to open her door like a gentleman; she wasn’t able to exit the car in those shoes with a layer cake in her hands. He took the cake from her, and watched as she grabbed her little purse and very carefully peeled herself out of the car. Slowly. Gracefully. Damn. His mouth went dry.
“What are you up to?” he asked as they approached the front door. He carried the cake, so his hands were full. Just as well.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said sweetly, and then she stumbled. As she recovered she tugged her skirt down as much as was possible. Which wasn’t much. She wasn’t accustomed to walking in those high heels, any more than she was used to a skirt that barely covered her butt. No, this was a show of some sort. She was in costume. For his benefit? He wasn’t sure. What kind of woman told a man to keep his distance then turned up wearing a dress like that one?
As if he could understand how a woman thought.
Inside the house, he handed the cake over to Lurlene, whose eyes widened when she saw Daisy. Daisy dropped her purse on an entryway table and took a moment to once again adjust her teeny skirt. She twisted her body, as if she could realign her hips to make the skirt a bit longer. It didn’t work. The cook who had been with the Taskers since before Jacob was born didn’t say a word, not right away, but she walked toward the kitchen with the cake in her hands, shaking her head and mumbling something under her breath when she was too far away for them to make out the words.
Jacob and Daisy walked toward the parlor. Slowly, since she was unable to walk any other way in those heels. She pulled on the skirt again, and then adjusted the flimsy fabric that barely covered her breasts.
Again he asked. “What are you up to with that getup?”
“How do you know I don’t dress like this all the time, these days?”
He didn’t, so he kept his mouth shut.
“This is supposed to be a date, after all. I’m not a child anymore, Jacob, I’m all grown up. I’m certainly not the same naive girl I was when we dated. I’ve changed, I’ve matured.” She lifted her chin and rotated her head slowly to look at him with ice-cold blue eyes.
They reached the parlor before he could respond, which was just as well since he had no idea what to say. The idea of Daisy dressing like this for another man was more than he could handle, even though he knew, logically, that he had no right to care how she dressed or for whom. Logic flew out the window where Daisy was concerned. He found himself wondering who she’d dated, who she’d worn that dress for, who she’d kissed on the front porch....
As soon as he entered the room and saw Maddy pouting on the love seat by the bookcase, her own long legs displayed beyond a very short skirt, her own high heeled shoes dangling from her feet, he understood Daisy’s motives in a flash that momentarily stopped him in his tracks. He should’ve realized immediately what she was up to. He turned to Daisy, narrowed his eyes and whispered, “Really?”
She just smiled back and walked into the room with confidence, those long legs and a nice swell of full breasts out there for everyone to see. The shock was evident on every face as they took in her new style. Even Grandma Eunice’s face displayed disapproval and surprise. Ben’s tongue was practically hanging out. His mom’s eyes widened and she took a step back. His dad narrowed his gaze, squinting in Daisy’s direction as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Jacob wouldn’t have been surprised if his dad literally hit the floor.
Maddy didn’t get it at all. She was completely oblivious to the reactions around her as she smiled widely, straightened her spine and said, “Oh, I love that dress.”
Grandma Eunice muttered beneath her breath, “Of course you do.”
* * *
Okay, so it wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had. Her feet hurt, she could feel the blister on the big toe of her right foot taking shape and she was already tired of Ben checking out her cleavage every time he got the chance. He wasn’t even bothering to be subtle about it! They weren’t halfway through the meal, and Daisy already regretted her impulsive decision to take her cue from Maddy Tasker.
She needed to have a long, big sister talk with Lily. This dress should never come out of the closet again! And the shoes, how did Lily walk in these things? Surely she didn’t dress like this for her new job, or for dating in Atlanta, or for, well, anything.
Even worse, her plan hadn’t worked. At all. Miss Eunice was still talking about the wedding. She hadn’t mentioned the scandalous dress or the makeup or the shoes, not once. She repeated herself often, but she never veered from her purpose. At this rate there would be a wedding at the Tasker Reunion whether she and Jacob agreed to it or not. Miss Eunice would probably sit there in her wheelchair, front and center, shouting at the top of her lungs, “They do! They do!”
Would that be legal? Surely not, but if Miss Eunice could find a way to make it legal, she would.
The Tasker Reunion seemed very far away, at the moment. It was only one issue in a mountain of problems Daisy faced. For now, she needed to focus on surviving this night.
It wasn’t going to be easy.
Jacob, having figured out her plan, was making her pay for her foolishness. He sat to her left, and one hand had found its way to her thigh not long after they’d taken their chairs. For a while that hand had just rested there, warm and heavy, and then, about the time she attempted to take a bite of the chicken and dumplings, that hand began to move. Not a lot, but it w
as movement, his fingers brushing against her bare leg. She’d jumped in response, once, then shooed at a nonexistent fly to explain away her twitch.
That hand was still on her thigh. It was warm, and heavy, and large. The fingers molded to the shape of her leg, brushing her inner thigh. She couldn’t eat, not with Jacob’s hand resting on her thigh as if it belonged there. A boulder had settled in her throat, so she didn’t even try to take another bite. She reached down, put her hand over his, lifted it and placed that hand on his own thigh. Ten seconds later, the hand was back. Higher this time.
Like it or not, her body responded to Jacob’s touch. Her body remembered, and long-neglected nerve endings danced just because his skin rested against hers. She wanted to throw that hand off her leg and move as far away from Jacob as possible. But she didn’t want to make a scene at the table. Miss Eunice wouldn’t understand why Daisy wouldn’t allow her “fiancé” to touch her.
The dinner plates were cleared away, and the lemon cake was deposited on the table. Daisy hadn’t been able to swallow more than three bites of chicken and dumplings, so she was still hungry. Unfortunately her throat was about to close up and she wasn’t sure she could swallow. One finger on the hand at her thigh began to rock back and forth, every sway taking it higher and firmer and closer to her center. Like it or not, she throbbed. Like it or not, she wanted Jacob to touch her there.
Muscle memory, she told herself, that’s all it was. When they’d been together, the sex had been great. No other man could make her feel that way, could make her lose control and scream and laugh and shudder.
Not that she’d ever given another man the chance...
Everyone seemed to enjoy the cake, but her. She looked at the piece on her plate, lifted a glob of icing onto her finger and licked it off. That was it. She couldn’t swallow another bite.
Jacob seemed to be enjoying his cake well enough, taking big bites, complimenting her as everyone else did. If anyone had figured out she’d used a cake mix instead of her mother’s old recipe, they were too polite to mention it. How dare he smile and act as if everything was right in his world? How dare he sit there, with his hand up her skirt, and act as if nothing was going on beneath the table?
Almost too late, the shock wore off and Daisy decided two could play his game. She’d decided to take control of the situation by dressing this way and attempting to scare his grandmother into changing her mind about the wedding, and with a touch Jacob had stolen that control from her. She couldn’t let him get away with that.
Beneath the table, she placed her hand on Jacob’s thigh. High, firm, familiar. Her fingertips moved, just a little. He almost choked on his last bite of cake when she stroked, allowing her hand to travel higher than was proper. But they were “engaged,” after all. For all intents and purposes, they were a couple. She let her hand slide to his inner thigh. To his credit, he didn’t jump out of his chair. But he tensed, and his neck turned red.
How much did her touch affect him? If she let her hand travel higher, would she find further evidence of his reaction? She wasn’t brave enough to check, but the slight tremble she felt in his thigh gave her a good indication that he was not unaffected.
Good. She wasn’t the only one vulnerable to this kind of torture.
Instead of being properly chastised and realizing—with regret—what he’d been doing to her throughout the meal, Jacob recovered and retaliated. His hand squeezed her thigh then it moved boldly higher. Slowly, firmly. Full of talent and promise and memory. Daisy couldn’t breathe. The room got small and too warm, and someone was speaking but she couldn’t make out the words. Her knees were all but knocking, her skin grew overly warm. His hand, big and warm and assured, slipped so far beneath her short skirt he was right there. Her thighs fell apart, just slightly.
Before Jacob could touch her where she ached for him, where she wanted him to touch her, Daisy pushed her chair back, broke all contact with him and excused herself from the table. She rushed from the dining room, headed for the guest bathroom down the hallway.
What had she been thinking? Why the hell was she even here? Had she really thought she could play chicken with Jacob and win?
In the small bathroom, she put down the toilet lid and plopped onto it. Pretending was exhausting. She wasn’t an actress; she was a good hairdresser with enough mechanical skill to handle a simple engine repair. Acting was not her strong suit. She couldn’t pretend to be someone she was not, to love someone who had hurt her. And somewhere along the way the pretending that nothing had changed had turned into full-out undeniable lust.
She wanted Jacob. She didn’t love him anymore, she didn’t want him to be a part of her life, she was still so mad at him that she could spit. But like it or not she wanted him in her bed. He had her aching and shaky and...dammit...needy. And really, why not? They were unattached, healthy, consenting adults. Obviously the spark that had come to life between them nine years ago was still there. And plenty strong. Why shouldn’t she...why couldn’t she... Oh, no, this was such a bad idea.
She had to get away from Jacob until her head cleared and her body became her own again. Maybe they could tell Miss Eunice that the bride had fallen deathly ill and the wedding was off. It was pretty clear that she wasn’t going to forget about it, at least not as long as Jacob was here for her to see every day. For some reason Jacob’s marriage had become a focal point for his grandmother, something she clung to while her health was deteriorating.
But Daisy knew she couldn’t take this much longer. It was torture, pure and simple. She could’ve lived the rest of her life without wanting Jacob Tasker this way! She’d planned to do just that, and now here she was, trembling to her marrow, throbbing, aching. And all it had taken was one stolen kiss and a hand on her thigh. Was she so easy? So desperate for affection?
“Daisy?” the tentative knock at the door was accompanied by his voice. Not Old Man Johnson’s distinctive drawl, but Jacob’s unforgettable voice, a voice she would remember with great clarity until the day she died. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I just need a minute.”
“I’m coming in.”
“Good luck with that,” she snapped. “I locked the...”
The cheap lock on the door popped, and Jacob walked inside. Suddenly the tiny guest bathroom was smaller than it had been before. He took up all the air in the room, all the space, and again, she couldn’t breathe.
She didn’t bother to stand. “Really, Jacob? What if I’d been using the facilities? Can’t a girl get a little privacy around here?”
“This was a bad idea,” he said, staying by the door and ignoring her questions.
“Tell me about it.”
“I told everyone that you hadn’t been feeling well and that I’m taking you home right away.”
“No trying on my wedding dress tonight?” she asked, trying to come off cool and uncaring, instead sounding merely sad and frustrated.
“Not tonight.”
Daisy stood quickly and brushed against Jacob. He caught her, held her firmly. She looked up, caught his eye, and heaven help her, she wanted to be with him here and now, in a teeny bathroom, while his family ate cake just a few yards away. She was inches away from begging him. Please, Jacob, help me remember how good it was. She actually scooted her body up slowly, moving her mouth closer to his, parting her lips. All rational thought was just about gone. Soon there would be nothing left but a primitive need she wouldn’t be able to deny, an ache only he could satisfy.
Just about. She stopped before her lips touched his. “I need to go home.”
He nodded, but didn’t say a word.
“I want you to give me the keys to your car, and let me drive myself home, because I can’t be with you right now.”
She expected him to argue, but he surprised her. He reached into his pocket, withdrew the keys and handed them to her without a single word of argument. “Call me when you get home.”
Daisy shook her head. She didn’t want to
talk to him, didn’t want to hear his voice...didn’t even want to think about him.
“If you don’t, I’ll show up at your house to make sure you made it home all right. Don’t make me worry about you, Daisy,” he added, and he sounded sincere.
She didn’t want to believe he cared about her at all, didn’t want to think he had a single attractive quality, beyond his obvious physical attributes. He was cold, hard, uncaring. As long as she believed that, he wouldn’t be able to hurt her again.
“Fine, I’ll call.” If she didn’t he probably would show up at her door. If he showed up at her door she’d ask him in. She’d ask him in, and she’d kiss him, and it wouldn’t stop there. She wouldn’t be able to help herself, and what did that say about her? How desperate was she for a man in her life when the one who’d broken her heart had her all but writhing in need?
They stepped into the hallway then moved apart. Daisy kicked off her shoes, grabbed her purse from the entryway table and headed out the door. She didn’t look back.
* * *
Eunice watched from the window for several minutes after Jacob’s rental car had disappeared from view. Without Jacob in it. She bit her lip. Frowned. Drummed her fingers on the armrest of her wheelchair. Everything was not going according to plan. She’d been so sure that as soon as Jacob and Daisy were in the same room their love would bloom to life again. They’d been so very much in love before life and career and far too many miles had driven them apart. But apparently it was not happening as she’d planned. Otherwise Daisy wouldn’t be driving home alone, and Jacob wouldn’t be sitting on the front porch. Also alone.
For years her grandson had made a very good living analyzing businesses, finding their strengths and weaknesses and advising his employer on whether or not the business under scrutiny could be salvaged or should be dismantled. He had an analytical mind that allowed him to see all sides of a situation, to detach himself from emotion and find the best approach. He’d gotten that ability from her, though he likely didn’t realize it. In her generation a woman hid her strengths, especially if she was considerably smarter than her husband.
A Week Till the Wedding Page 6
