“You did?” she asked doubtfully, as he dug into his ice cream to distract himself. The cold, soft ice cream melted on his tongue, and he almost groaned with delight. There was nothing—nothing—like real home-made ice cream.
He swallowed and said, “Sure. You even gave me the mauve gay test. You don’t do that to someone who isn’t a friend.”
Her family was listening in wide-eyed fascination. Both her mother and aunt gasped. “Oh, my,” her aunt Joella said faintly. “Did you pass?”
He rubbed his jaw to hide his grin. So this was where she got it from. “I don’t know. If you know the answer, does that mean you pass or fail?”
Aunt Joella blinked. “Well—neither, I guess. It just means you’re gay.” She paused. “Are you?”
“Aunt Jo!” Daisy moaned, covering her eyes with her free hand.
“No, ma’am.” He took another bite of ice cream. “But that isn’t a good test, because I know what color mauve is.”
Aunt Jo nodded decisively. “Just what I thought. How about puce?”
“Daisy made me look it up in the dictionary,” he said, unable to hide his grin any longer. “I accused her of making it up.”
Aunt Jo leaned back, satisfaction written on her face. “I told you,” she said to Daisy’s mother, Evelyn.
Poor Daisy had taken her hand down and was looking around as if searching for the best escape route. Jack forestalled her by grabbing her arm and pulling her down with him onto the love seat, which was the only free seating left in the room, making him wonder if her mother had arranged things so they’d have to sit side by side. If so, it was fine with him.
He stayed for almost an hour, making small talk and eating another bowl of ice cream while Daisy swirled her spoon in hers until it melted. She kept giving him wary looks and trying to inch away. Very protective of her personal space, was Miss Daisy. He deliberately intruded on it, letting his thigh brush hers, sometimes leaning so that his big shoulders crowded her, occasionally putting his hand on her bare arm. She couldn’t tear a strip off his hide in front of her family the way she had in the library, and he took full advantage of what Aunt Bessie would have called her “company manners.”
By the time he left, Miss Daisy was almost ready to explode.
Well, let her fume, he thought as he drove home. So she didn’t like him, huh? She didn’t consider him a friend, she’d been horrified at the idea that he might be “courting” her, and she was plainly appalled at the idea her family might think they were even going out together.
Too fucking bad, he thought cheerfully. Part of it was because he couldn’t resist a challenge and part of it was because she was so damn much fun, but he’d made up his mind: this particular Yankee was going to get in her pants.
He had the feeling she’d be a real firecracker when she let go. Daisy wasn’t frozen; she was just untried. If she’d ever had sex, she hadn’t had much of it. He planned to change that state of affairs and really give her something to blush about.
He hadn’t had a steady relationship since his divorce; he’d had sex, but been careful not to let a routine develop with any of the women. Relationships were a lot of work, and he hadn’t been interested enough to make the effort. Until now, that is. Daisy was both innocent and complicated, naive and knowledgeable, sharp-tongued but without an ounce of malice in her—something that couldn’t be said about many people. She appealed to him, with her different-colored eyes, old-fashioned ways, and utter openness. Daisy not only didn’t play games, she didn’t know what the games were. A man would always know where he stood with her. Right now he was on her shit list, but he planned to change that.
Unless he missed his guess, Daisy was looking for a man. All the signs were there: the sudden change in her hair and clothes, wearing makeup, and suddenly going to nightclubs. If a man was what she wanted, she needed to look no further. He volunteered for the job. Not that he was going to tell her; she’d likely run as fast as she could in the opposite direction. No, he’d have to play his cards close to the vest for a while, until she got over the idea he wasn’t her type.
Until then, he’d have to keep her out of trouble, which could be a full-time job. Now he’d not only have to cruise the bars and nightclubs looking for some bastard who liked to slip women a drug that could kill them, he’d have to make certain Daisy didn’t let some other man get too close to her, much less drug her. The way she’d spruced herself up, that might be a problem. She looked good as a blonde, especially with that sexy new haircut. As for her clothes—who would ever have suspected she’d been hiding a pair of breasts like that under those frumpy blouses she’d always worn before? Plus she had great legs; he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed them the night before, either. He had plans for those legs; he bet they’d look fine draped over his shoulders.
He’d thought she was kind of cute even before, not that he’d ever have noticed her if he hadn’t sat so close to her in the library. But that close he’d been able to tell how fine and translucent her skin was, almost like a baby’s, and he’d noted those strange eyes, one blue and one green. It made her gaze oddly piercing, as if she saw deeper than others did. And she’d been downright pretty when she got angry, with color in her cheeks and her eyes snapping and sparkling. He’d planned to stop by the library more often—and then he’d recognized her at the Buffalo Club last night and damn near trampled several people in his rush to get to her before she got hurt in the brawl, not to mention get her out of that jerk’s lap.