by Sabrina Sol
Temptation is a dish best served hot…
Event planner Daisy Robles can’t remember a time when celebrity restaurateur—and celebrated playboy—Brandon Montoya didn’t make her nuts. His infuriating arrogance, his hotness…his undeniable sexual energy. One night and a whole lot of expensive tequila later, Daisy’s self-control is AWOL. And Brandon’s making her crazy in all the right ways.
When their tequila-fueled make-out session hits the tabloids, Brandon is furious. At least until he realizes his “relationship” with Daisy is his chance to get his ill mother to Los Angeles for treatment. All he has to do is convince Daisy to be his pretend fiancée for two weeks…
The deal? No sex and no falling in love. But all it takes is a little heat to find themselves in a deliciously compromising position…
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover the Delicious Desires series… Delicious Temptation
If you love sexy romance, one-click these steamy Brazen releases… Tempting Her Fake Fiancé
Game for Tonight
Slow Ride
No Promises Required
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Sabrina Sol All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit www.brazenbooks.com.
Edited by Heather Howland
Cover design by Heather Howland
Cover art from Shutterstock
ISBN 978-1-63375-430-0
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition September 2015
To my auntie Elva
For kicking cervical cancer in the butt
Chapter One
What was it about weddings that made Daisy want to drink?
Okay, drink and cry.
And okay, sometimes the degree of crying was directly related to the degree of drinking.
But now that the happy tears were done for the day and her maid of honor/wedding planner duties were officially over, Daisy strolled through the hallways of the historic Hotel Esperanza in downtown Los Angeles determined to get her buzz on. The hotel’s signature mix of old world architecture and modern decor had been the perfect setting for Amara’s dream wedding. And it had meant everything to Daisy that she had helped give it to her.
Even the little voice in her head that usually criticized every move, every decision, had gone silent for once.
Daisy had done a great job and she knew it.
She could still see the pure joy in her cousin’s face as she walked down the aisle to meet Eric in front of the priest. Even Amara’s parents, who had been against the idea of her dating him in the first place, couldn’t stop smiling. It was a beautiful, traditional wedding. The exact opposite of what Daisy wanted. That is, if she ever decided to get married in the first place. Eloping to Vegas was more her style. No big wedding meant no hurt feelings when it came to the guest list. Especially when the bride would have to think long and hard about inviting her own mother.
None of that mattered right now anyway. She shook the troubling thoughts out of her head and went back to remembering that she’d just successfully pulled off her first official wedding planner job. She was still smiling when she finally reached the hotel’s lounge area, but she stopped short of walking through the door. The source of her momentary hesitation—and new frown—sat at one end of the bar studying his empty shot glass as if debating whether he should fill it up again.
Of course. Brandon Montoya would be the one to ruin her plan to decompress alone. He had a special knack for annoying her whether he meant to or not. And usually he meant to.
How could she relax now that she’d have to be on her guard?
Especially when he looked like that.
She’d seen him in suits before—he wore them so often, they were like a second skin. But this one was different. The dark gray designer ensemble covering his black shirt fit his tall and muscular frame perfectly and dangerously. Combined with his gentleman’s buzz cut, and expertly groomed stubble, Brandon had walked into the church that day looking like he’d come straight from a GQ magazine cover photo shoot.
She’d tripped boobs-first into an altar boy at the sight.
He exuded sex, money, and ego. A triple threat that could cost any woman her panties with just a snap of his fingers.
And for the past several months, Daisy had been trying hard to hold onto hers.
Brandon was more than man candy. He was a savvy businessman and an important associate for both her and Amara. So it didn’t help that bumblebees, instead of butterflies, attacked her insides whenever they were in the same room. Her attempts to hide her nervousness usually came off as outright bitchiness, and that made their encounters much more tense and exhausting than they needed to be.
And now Brandon was the only thing standing between Daisy and a well-deserved hangover.
She could always turn around and raid the minibar in the honeymoon suite instead. She’d reserved it for the newlyweds before Eric had surprised Amara with a trip to Hawaii, and had forgotten to cancel. It was the excuse she’d needed to get good and drunk tonight. But did she really want to blow all her money on stale pretzels and Smurf-sized bottles of vodka?
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked over to Brandon. “So, are you drowning your sorrows now that my cousin is off the market?”
She’d wanted it to sound like a joke. It didn’t.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. She expected him to come back with some sort of biting comment, as per their usual banter. Instead, his full lips turned up into a lazy smile as his eyes traveled up and down her body, leaving behind a trail of goose bumps on her skin. “I have more than half a bottle left of this hotel’s most expensive tequila. How can I be sad about anything?”
After months of watching Brandon flirt with her cousin, she expected him to be at least a little bummed, no matter how many times he denied the attraction. Maybe not. She shrugged. “Good point. I, on the other hand, am going to be drinking the hotel’s cheapest tequila, and I’m pretty sure I won’t be sad either after a couple of shots.”
She kicked her shoes off, laid her purse on the counter, and sat on the stool next to him. She ignored the familiar pandemonium in her stomach when he reached over and pulled her stool closer. Cedar, musk, and other spices invaded her nostrils and she tried not to sigh in response. God, he sm
elled as delicious as he looked.
Brandon leaned close and whispered in her ear, “I’m willing to share if you’re willing to behave yourself.”
Despite his words, the way he breathed them against her skin made it sound like “behave” was the last thing he wanted her to do. She shook off the tingles traveling south from where his breath had warmed her neck, and that little voice in her head demanded she keep her game face on. Brandon was an OCC—an obsessive compulsive charmer. He flirted with anything in a skirt, or in her case, evening gown. And as part owner of one of the hottest restaurants in Los Angeles, he was also something of a celebrity. Which meant he was used to wooing glamorous models and actresses. It didn’t matter that Daisy was neither of those things. He probably couldn’t turn it off if he tried.
So she smiled and tipped her head to the side. “I’m always well behaved when it comes to you, Brandon. Hmm, maybe that’s why I frustrate you so much?”
He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it. He turned away from her to motion for the bartender to bring over another shot glass. “You’re lucky I don’t feel like drinking alone tonight.”
Was that a twinge of sadness in his voice? Instead of dishing out a flippant retort, she kept quiet while Brandon filled up both glasses. Then he handed her one. A quick whiff told her it was going to be strong. He knocked his own glass against hers. “Salud.”
“Salud,” she said and gulped the clear liquid down. The tequila immediately warmed her from the inside out. But it didn’t burn her throat or make her wince. It went down smooth. No wonder the gold label stuff was so expensive. It tasted nothing like the paint-thinner crap she usually bought at the grocery store with her margarita mix.
“It’s good, verdad?” Brandon didn’t wait for her to answer and poured them both another round.
This time Daisy didn’t wait for a toast. She threw her head back and, like a magician, made the drink disappear. When she saw Brandon’s questioning expression, she shrugged again. “What? It’s been a long day.”
“I’m not judging. Believe me.” And with that he downed his shot as well.
Daisy sighed as the stress slid off her body. “Tequila makes everything better.”
Brandon laughed and nodded. “Everything except the next morning.”
“True. But for tonight, it’s exactly what I need.”
“You and me both.”
What the…? She twisted in her seat to look at him. “Oh my God. Are we actually agreeing on something?”
He grinned. “I think we are. See, I’m not so terrible.”
“I never said you were terrible.”
“Then why do our conversations always end in arguments?”
“They do not.”
“Yes they do.”
“They do… Ugh.” She nudged her glass in his direction. “Can we just do another shot please?”
He chuckled. “Fine. I’ll share more of my expensive tequila, but you have to tell me what’s making you drink like this.”
“How do you know I don’t drink like this every night?” He raised his eyebrow and she couldn’t help but laugh. “What can I say? I guess I’m just relieved that everything went so well despite a few hiccups.”
“What sort of hiccups? From what I could tell, everything was perfect. You should be very proud of yourself, Daisy. You gave Amara and Eric a beautiful wedding.”
The compliment caught her off guard. “Thank you. Well, I guess most everything was perfect. There were just little things here and there that only I would notice. And it didn’t help that my ex-boyfriend showed up as the plus one of a second cousin I’ve hated since high school. Or that I found out tonight that they’re engaged.”
“Ouch,” he said with a wince.
“Yep. And what sucks is that I shouldn’t even care. I haven’t seen Luis in over a year and I’ve dated my fair share of guys since then. So why the hell did I feel like kicking him in the groin when he told me? And why am I even telling you—of all people—this.”
“It’s the tequila.”
She sighed and held up her glass. “It is. Now pour me another shot.”
“Are you sure you can handle a third one?”
“I can if you can.”
This time he turned sideways to look at her. “Did you just question my man card?”
Daisy snorted. “Your man card? Did you just use those words? Dear lord, you’re drunker than I thought. I should cut you off.”
“First of all, I’m not drunk. Not even close. And B, I’ve had the fucking day from hell, so if I want to chug this entire goddamn bottle, no one is going to stop me.”
She raised her hands like a Western movie outlaw. “Whoa there, Mr. Sensitive. I was just joking about the tequila.” Daisy reached down and slowly pushed the bottle closer to him. He nodded and studied his glass again. She’d never seen Brandon brood before. As much as she hated to do it, she finally asked, “Do you want to talk about it?” He looked at her like she had three heads. “I mean I’m definitely not an expert when it comes to relationships but obviously I know a lot about rejection so—”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I get it. You’re pissed that Amara married Eric.”
He dragged his hand over his face. “Amara has nothing to do with why I’m drinking. I’m happy for her and for Eric. She’s a friend and a business partner. That’s all. I don’t know how many more times I can explain that to you.”
“If this isn’t about Amara, then who? What woman could possible drive the great playboy restaurateur Brandon Montoya to drink?”
“My mother. I found out today that she has cancer.” He shook his head and refilled their glasses.
Shit. Way to drag everyone down, Daisy.
Without worrying what he might think for once, she reached out and touched his arm. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“I doubt it. Alex and I are flying home to Puerto Rico tomorrow so we can talk to her doctors.”
Daisy nodded. Alex was actually Alexa, Brandon’s twin sister. He’d always wanted a brother, so the nickname stuck. Despite his constant teasing, they had a very close relationship and, in fact, she was co-owner and executive chef of his L.A. Cuchara restaurant. It was good that they were both going to Puerto Rico. Hopefully, once they knew exactly what their mom was facing, it would help Brandon feel like he had some control over the situation. She’d known him less than year, but it was obvious that he was a man who hated to not be the one calling the shots.
The mood had darkened drastically. A depressed Brandon was worse than a smart-ass Brandon. Time for some small talk about things non-cancer related.
“So, how long has it been since you’ve gone back to Puerto Rico?”
He traced the rim of his still full glass with a finger. “Just over two years. I visited right before I moved here from New York.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Sure. Besides my mom, I have other family there. And, of course, I miss the food.”
“Really? Seems to me that Alexa could probably cook you up anything you wanted.”
“Yes, but there’s something to be said about eating food in the place where it originated. I’ve been all over the world and there’s nothing like having Coq Au Vin in France or Pizza Margarita in Italy or even beignets in New Orleans. And, for me, Puerto Rico is my mamá’s asopao.”
“What is that? Soup?”
“It’s more like a gumbo or even a paella. She makes hers with chicken and chorizo, ham and rice. And the broth is this hearty, succulent juice seasoned with oregano and chile peppers, tomatoes and garlic. My sister may be a James Beard Award nominee, but even she can’t make an asopao like my mamá.”
Her mouth watered. “Sounds delicious.”
“It is. If you ever go to Puerto Rico, you should try some.”
“Guess I’ll just have to take your word for it. No way am I ever going to Puerto Rico.”
“Why?” he asked and turned toward
her, leaning his elbow on the bar. “What’s wrong with Puerto Rico?”
“Nothing. Except that you can only get there by air or cruise ship.”
“And?”
“And every other month there’s some news story about a horrible disease breaking out on a cruise ship. Experiencing dysentery with hundreds of other people and no working bathrooms is not my idea of a vacation. So no cruises for me. Ever.”
“Then take a plane. You know flying is the safest way to travel.”
“Why do people always say that? Do you own stock in an airline or something?”
“No, but it’s true. I fly all the time.”
“You have to fly because of your business. I don’t have to fly anywhere. And I plan on keeping it that way.”
He hooted with laughter. “Daisy Robles, are you telling me that you’re afraid of flying?”
She knocked back the third shot and shook her head. “Nope. I’m not afraid of flying. I’m afraid of crashing.”
Brandon laughed even harder. So hard that she could see tears in his eyes. As much as she liked seeing his mood lift, she hated to be the source of his amusement. Familiar pricks of annoyance stabbed at the back of her neck. “I don’t see what’s so funny.”
“It’s just…you try to act like you’re this tough, independent woman, and it turns out you’re not so tough after all. It’s…satisfying.”
Her irritation shot to threat level orange. “Whatever. You’re not perfect either.”
“I never said I was.”
Daisy slapped a hand on the bar. “Are you kidding me? Your whole life is about projecting perfection. Your hair, this suit, your car…the women you date. I’d be careful if I were you, Brandon. If you date any more Barbies, the tabloids are going to start calling you Ken. And we all know what poor Ken was missing.”
She lowered her eyes to his crotch and Brandon followed them. Then his head snapped back up and his laser stare went straight to her lips. “Trust me. The Barbies have no complaints. But if you don’t believe me, I’m happy to prove it to you, since I know you’ve been wondering.”
Invisible flames rushed up her face, burning her with both embarrassment and lust. She knew it had been a bad idea to drink with Brandon. She’d become too loose, too comfortable. And—before they started talking about his mom—she had started to become a little turned on. Damn alcohol.
