Baby, Don't Go Page 15

“Hey, wait just a damn minute,” Nick protested as the garment began to slide down her arms. “You two turn around,” he ordered the men.

  Daisy’s bra halted midslide and all three turned to look at him with identical expressions of incredulousness. “Uh, Nick?” Daisy said. “They’re gay.”

  “And it’s not like we haven’t seen ’em before,” Benny added cheerfully. “They’re very nice, but frankly, sport, they’re not our thing, you know?”

  Heat crept up Nick’s throat and onto his jaw. On a purely intellectual level, he knew damn well he was making a fool of himself. Emotionally, however, he simply saw Daisy stripping down to a minuscule pair of panties in front of two men.

  Reggie saved him from embarrassing himself any further. “Benny,” he said, and twirled a finger. Benny shrugged, and with wry smiles both men executed an about face.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Daisy said in disgust as she dropped her bra to the floor and fielded the camisole that Reggie tossed over his shoulder. She pulled it on and tweaked it into place. “You can turn around now.” With a trace of sarcasm coloring her tone, she said to Nick, “Is that okay with you? I mean, they could see more skin at the beach.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He felt like an idiot.

  She stepped into the raw umber-colored silk slacks that Reggie handed her. She zipped and buttoned, then accepted the matching jacket. Buttoning the tuxedo-style jacket, she checked herself out in the mirror. She unbuttoned it, and turned side to side as she rechecked. “I don’t know. I think I look a little…mannish.”

  “Yeah, it’s too severe,” Benny agreed. “It calls for longer hair to avoid that Nazi dominatrix look. We should have thought of that sooner, Reg. Here, give me that.” He held out an imperious hand for the jacket she’d removed. “Try the gown.”

  She stepped out of the slacks and handed them over, too. When she crossed her hands over the hem of the camisole and began easing it up her diaphragm, her friends grinned at each other and swung around to present her with their backs. She tossed them the garment once she’d pulled it off over her head. In return, Reggie flipped the bronze gown over his shoulder and dangled it from a crooked finger.

  All the moisture in Nick’s mouth dried up the moment she pulled the dress into place. Made of some stretchy, shimmery microfabric, the design was simplicity itself. It was the absolute fitness of the body beneath that turned it into a show-stopper. Narrow straps held up the deeply scooped bodice, then crisscrossed her back. The fabric clung to Daisy from her breasts to her hips, faithfully adhering to her shape. Then it fell in a graceful A-line to the floor. Slit up the front from hem to midthigh, it was a plain and unadorned garment that had no need of embellishments.

  “Wow,” Daisy said to her reflection. “And I’m supposed to hide my weapons where?”

  “With that slit in the skirt, you can strap a knife to your thigh and still get to it,” Reggie assured her. “And your Beretta is in the weapons case, isn’t it?”

  “Sure, but this thing might as well be spray paint.” Daisy plucked the material away from her flat stomach, and it promptly snapped back to bond to her skin the instant she released it. “Where could I possibly put the Beretta where it wouldn’t show?”

  “I bet it’ll fit in this.” He held out a beaded black velvet pouch attached to a braided velvet belt. “If you buckle it loosely so it rides your hips, it’ll look tres medieval. No one will ever guess its function.”

  “Hang on.” Scooping up her skirt with both hands to keep it off the floor, she strode from the room. She was back a moment later with her weapons case. She strapped on the belt Reggie handed her and dropped a small pistol into the attached pouch. “This will work.” She smiled brilliantly at her secretary. “Reggie, you’re a genius!” She laughed and gave him an enthusiastic smooch on the lips.

  He grinned at her. “Try on the shoes. Let’s see what needs to be done about the length.”

  “Then—speaking of genius—I have got to get to work on your makeup,” Benny said. He looked over at Nick. “You’re excused, good-lookin’. Get out of here and give us girls some time to work our magic.”

  Nick pushed away from the wall and collected his tux from the closet. Then, with a final look at Daisy, he walked out of the room and left her to the tender mercy of her buddies.

  14

  “OKAY. Daisy,” Reggie said the instant the door closed behind Nick’s back. “Let’s have it. Just when did you and Coltrane get so damn cozy? I thought the two of you were oil and water.”

  “I know. And we are. Except…” She didn’t know how to explain, especially since she’d been so adamant about Nick’s place in her life after she’d let Reggie worm their history out of her Monday afternoon. She searched for the words anyway. “He’s so—oh, God, Reg, he’s just so…”

  “Butch,” Benny supplied.

  “Yes.”

  “Oooh. And so territorial. I love butch men.”

  “Knock it off, Benny; this is serious.” Reggie looked up from where he knelt to pin the hem of her dress, and it was all Daisy could do not to squirm. “Do you have any idea what you’re letting yourself in for?”

  “A world of heartbreak, probably,” she admitted. “But, Reg, it seems to me that it’s gonna hurt now, or it’s gonna hurt later. And if it’s going to hurt either way, why shouldn’t I get what I can before he comes to his senses and realizes we’re just too different?”

  “He looks pretty damn bowled over to me. Maybe you’ll be the one to come to your senses.”

  “Oh, yeah. As if a guy like Nick would ever lose his head over someone like me. No, I’ve got a handle on this and I plan to be very, very realistic. It’s great sex and that’s all. We’ve really got nothing else in common, so there’s not a snowball’s chance of it ever going anywhere.” She looked down at Reggie. “And that’s okay. Really. Great sex is nothing to sneeze at.”

  “I hear that, sister,” Benny said fervently.

  Reggie looked as if he’d like to argue, but he merely sighed and said, “Take off the dress. I’ll hem it while Benny does your makeup.”

  Neither man bothered to turn around this time when she peeled off the dress, but neither did they so much as glance at her bare breasts. Reggie tossed Daisy her T-shirt, but Benny reached up and snagged it out of the air before she had a chance to grab it. “Put on something you don’t have to pull over your head and I’ll do your hair, too. I’ll go grab us a chair to use.”

  She got one of Nick’s shirts out of the closet and donned it, buttoning it up the front and folding back the too-long sleeves. The tails fell nearly to her knees, so she didn’t bother with her skort. She looked over at Reggie, who sat cross-legged next to the bed, pointedly ignoring her. “Are you mad at me?”

  He plied the needle through the hem, pulled the thread taut, then lowered the garment to his lap and looked up at her. “No. You know I’m not. But he’s hurt you before, kid, and I’d hate to see you get hurt again.”

  She snorted. “How many relationships have you watched me go through?”

  “A couple.”

  “Right. Two—in how many years?—and neither one of them worked out in the long run. In the end, relationships always hurt. I simply don’t have what it takes to make men stay around. But Reg”—she sank to her heels in front of him—“I’ve never felt the way I do with Nick, except the last I time I was with Nick. He makes me feel—I don’t know—sexy, I guess, which is a word I wouldn’t in a million years have applied to me. And I like the feeling. I want to keep feeling this way until it’s no longer a viable option.”

  “Okay. But if he does anything to make it impossible for you to be you anymore, I’ll hunt him down like a dog and make him pay.”

  Warmth bloomed in her chest. “Deal.” She offered her fist.

  He knocked it with his own. “Deal. In the meantime”—he gave her a slow, wicked grin—“may you fornicate like wild mink.”

  “Precisely.” She grinned back at him as she rose to her feet.
>
  Benny returned with a stool from the breakfast bar and thumped it down in front of the mirror. “Climb aboard, chickie.”

  Thinking that maybe it wouldn’t kill her to know how to do this herself, she watched him drag bottles, jars, and brushes out of his old train case. “Holy carumba, Ben, is all this stuff really necessary?”

  “Do you wanna look good, or do you wanna look great?”

  She hated to admit it, but…“I wanna look great.”

  “It’s necessary, then. Trust me, girl. Am I the high priestess of cosmetics or what?”

  “You are the goddess, Benny.”

  “Right. So close your eyes so I can do your shadow.” He rummaged around in his case and pulled forth several little pots. “I’m gonna use this Mocha Surprise on your lids, a little Golden Splendor on your brow bone, and Bronze Beauty in the crease. Then we’ll finish it off with an olive liner and brown mascara.”

  Daisy gave up on the idea of ever doing this for herself. Head back and her eyes closed, she said, “You do know, don’t you, that you’ve just opened yourself up to doing my makeup for the rest of your life. At least for special events.”

  Benny snickered. “How long have I known, you, Daise—four, five years now? This is the first special event I’ve known you to attend.” He used the edge of his little finger to brush something away from the corner of her brow bone. “Tell you what, though. You just keep inviting me to your monthly spaghetti feeds, and I’ll do your makeup whenever it needs to be done.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  “It’s a deal, then. So, how do you wanna do this? Would you like to see your transformation step by step, or do you want to be surprised?”

  “What the heck. Surprise me.”

  “O-kay.” He swiveled the seat of the barstool around, which left her with her back to the mirror. “You can open your eyes if you want. I’m gonna wait until we’re done with the rest before I apply your mascara. The million-dollar question is: what color foundation do we use?” He stood back to study her. “The Benny eyeball test says Ivory. If that doesn’t work, we’ll give Light Sand a whirl.” He poured some on a small sponge and tested it on her cheek in front of her ear. “Ivory it is. Damn, I’m good.”

  “And so modest.”

  He applied more foundation to the sponge and began stroking it onto her face and blending it in. “I’m here to tell ya, hon: I don’t think I’m half as good as I really am.”

  It took nearly forty-five minutes before he stepped back for the final time and studied her from several angles. “I’m a genius, if I do say so myself. You are looking good.”

  “I ought to be looking like Cameron Diaz, considering all the time it’s taken.”

  He gave her an unrepentant grin. “I guess that means a day-at-the-spa gift certificate wouldn’t be your first choice for a Christmas present, then. Reg, you ready with that gown?”

  “Yep.” He tossed Daisy a package of pantyhose. “Put these on and lose the shirt.” She did as ordered and then both men very carefully lifted the gown over her head. They tweaked and adjusted, then Reggie buckled on the velvet pouch and slid a pair of shoes in front of her to step into. He dug her Beretta out of the weapons case and handed it to her, then made another minute adjustment. “Okay, you ready for the unveiling? This is gonna knock your socks off.”

  She twirled to face the mirror and her mouth dropped open. “Oh, my God. Is that me?” She took a step forward, staring entranced at her image. “I look…pretty.” Like sexy, it wasn’t a word she associated with herself. She smiled brilliantly at both men, then looked back at the mirror. “I do, don’t I, Reg? I actually look pretty.”

  “Pretty doesn’t say it by half, babe. You look gorgeous.”

  “Not to mention hot,” Benny agreed. He brushed bronzed powder across her bare shoulders and along her collarbone. Then he stood back to survey her one last time and gave her a thumbs up. “Wait until Coltrane gets a load of this. I can feel the temperature jacking into the stratosphere already.”

  Nick felt hot under the collar every time he looked at Daisy—and he found himself looking at her way too often as the evening progressed. It was beginning to interfere with his work.

  The anniversary reception in the elegant penthouse suite atop the Fairmont Hotel was in high gear, and while he hadn’t neglected his responsibilities, he’d sure as hell spent too much time keeping an eye on his date—much too much. And she wasn’t even his real date; he had to keep reminding himself of that. She was his damn bodyguard.

  He’d always loved her looks, but he’d also accepted that he viewed her with an artist’s eye. She was built on a beautiful framework of bones, but she wasn’t pretty by conventional standards. What she was, was much more interesting—though he understood that his taste didn’t always coincide with the average guy’s.

  Tonight, however, not only was she beautiful in a way that was uniquely Daisy, but she was drawing attention right and left. With her proud carriage and aloof eyes she looked exotic, and she stood out in the posh crowd like a cheetah in a roomful of kittens.

  Benny had given her a thirties look with dramatic eye makeup, bee-stung lips, and her pale hair done in a ’do of shining, slicked-back finger waves with spit curls in front of each ear. The slinky slip dress over her magnificently athletic body added to the illusion. She looked utterly fascinating.

  He wasn’t the only one who thought so, either. Daisy was a complete unknown to these people, and the women discreetly checked her out while man after man attempted to engage her in conversation. Daisy ignored the former and discouraged the latter by her complete indifference…or at least that was how it should have played out.

  She stayed near him while he worked, even though the chances of Douglass’ goons crashing an event this exclusive were slim to none. The only time she moved a short distance away was when he got caught up in an interesting shot, and that was strictly to give him room to maneuver. Her thoughtfulness proved to be more distraction than help, though, because every time she left his side, some domesticated pussycat who fancied himself king of the lion pride peeled off from the pack to move in on her. Her haughtily raised chin and unsmiling mouth drew them in like the moon drew the tides.

  The irony was that he knew damn well her little chin was up in the air because she felt out of her element. It hadn’t escaped him that she often felt vulnerable in his world, but she wasn’t a woman to cave in to insecurity. So she kept that chin elevated, and she did the job she was hired to do. But the idiots who hovered around her watched her sip sparkling water from a crystal champagne flute and saw her gaze constantly move among the crowd rather than attend to them, and they saw only an elusive woman.

  Which made her a challenge.

  Looking away from the most recent candidate in the Make-Daisy-Take-Notice Sweepstakes, he saw Mrs. Dillon, half of tonight’s honored anniversary couple, smiling up at her husband as she held out a chocolate-dipped strawberry for him to bite. Nick raised his camera and got off a shot just as Mr. Dillon wrapped his hand around the back of his wife’s hand and, looking into her eyes with a soft expression, ignored the proffered confection and leaned forward to bestow a kiss on the inside of her wrist.

  Nick knew that would be the definitive photo, the one Mrs. Dillon would cherish above all the others, because it epitomized why her marriage to Jim Dillon had lasted for twenty-five years. It was the shot Nick always looked for, the one that through diligent concentration he usually found.

  And he’d damn near missed it because he’d been paying more attention to what was happening around Blondie than to the business at hand.

  He forced himself to shrug the concern aside. So, big deal. Conscientious attention or pure luck, either way he’d gotten the shot he’d sought. Now he could relax and enjoy himself a little.

  He swooped down on Daisy, muscling aside a would-be suitor. “I think your wife is looking for you, Manwellan,” he said, interrupting the other man’s no doubt scintillating conversation w
ithout compunction. “Ms. Parker”—he gave her a bow—“forgive me for neglecting you. May I escort you to the buffet table?”

  Daisy gave him a dry look. “That would be lovely, I’m sure.” She bestowed a solemn smile on her erstwhile companion. “Excuse us, Mr. Manwellan, won’t you?”

  Wrapping his hand around the nape of her neck, Nick steered her toward the laden buffet. Daisy leaned forward to pick up a small china plate and his hand slid to the shallow groove of her spine, which he skimmed with a finger down to where the back of her dress began before he reluctantly dropped his hand away from her entirely.

  He felt overdressed and hot under the collar again, and shifted from one foot to the other. Watching her use silver tongs to delicately transfer hors d’oeuvres from a platter to her plate, he thought about sex. He watched the economical movement of her hips as they made their way to a spot in the back of the penthouse that hosted a single unoccupied chair, observed the way her gown dipped away from her breasts for a moment when she seated herself, and thought about sex. Big surprise. It seemed to be all he’d thought about for the past several days.

  So if it was nothing new, why did he feel low-grade miffed tonight?

  Maybe because he had been thinking about it so much. Or maybe because he’d finally made love with Daisy again and she’d blown it off.

  Yet shouldn’t the attraction be waning, now that they’d done the deed and the mystery was gone? That was the way it usually worked. But he watched her daintily lapping chocolate from a strawberry, and he wanted her.

  Again.

  Right now.

  So why not? Nick tugged at his bow tie. Truly—what was to stop him? His job here was finished and she’d said they were two consenting adults, hadn’t she?

  These urges felt very adult. Maybe if he got them out of his system he could concentrate on staying free of the rent-a-goons long enough to come up with the money for his sister.

  He slid his plate onto the tray of a roving waiter and held out his hand for Daisy’s. “You about finished there?” His tone clearly stated he wanted the dish whether she was through with it or not.