Daisy Does It All (Clover Park, Book 2) Contemporary Romance (The Clover Park Series)

by Kylie Gilmore

  Wow. A divorce and a death, and she was only thirty-three.

  “What happened to the guy who died?” he asked. “Was he sick?”

  She set her plate down and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “No. Tom was in the army about to ship off to Iraq. He wanted someone to come home to, something to cling to, to help get through that time. We shouldn’t have married. We were good friends. Best friends. But not in love.” She began to shred the napkin in her hand, lost in her memories.

  He stilled her hand. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “No, I want to. He…his convoy was hit by a roadside bomb. I still miss him. He was a good guy.” She blinked away tears.

  “Daze, I’m sorry. That’s rough.”

  She gave him a watery smile that just about killed him. “I refused his death benefits. It just didn’t feel right. We were only married for a day before he shipped out.”

  Not much of a honeymoon. He was glad and instantly guilty for thinking it.

  “Well, you’re marriage number one for me,” he said with a grin. “You get to train me up on being a good husband. I already know toilet seat down.”

  She relaxed and went back to eating. “That’s right. Don’t forget, doing the laundry gets you bonus points.”

  “What do I get for bonus points?”

  “I’ll leave that as a surprise.”

  His mind immediately went to those luscious lips and what they could do to him. “I like laundry.”

  She laughed. “Yeah? It’s all yours.”

  Trav launched into his favorite story of Ry doing laundry way back when, with Shane’s clothes still covered in baking powder and flour from his latest baking experiment, and too much detergent. The soap bubbles exploded from the washer. Gran hadn’t been happy, but the look on Ry’s face when he skidded through bubbles and ran around like a chicken with the sky falling was classic comedy. Trav called him Chicken Little for a while.

  He left out the part where Ry threatened to tell the next girl who called the house Trav’s nickname, Turtle, because he was so slow getting ready in the morning. The rumpled-hair look took time. Trav had been mortified that the girls might think he was a slow dork, when he wanted to come off as too cool to care about anything or anyone.

  “Any dark secrets I should know?” he asked.

  “Nope,” she answered right quick. “How about you?”

  He raised his palms. “Open book.”

  His past troubles with the law weren’t exactly secrets. Still, he didn’t want to talk about them. He was trying to get away from that image.

  She tossed back some wine. “Yeah, me too.”

  He wasn’t so sure.

  After they’d finished dinner, Daisy stood. “I’ll clear the dishes.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  She glanced toward the kitchen, which was a mess of pots with a sink piled high with dishes. “Sure?”

  “Positive.” Now comes the seduction part of our evening. “More wine?”

  “Yes, please.” She sat down again and held out her glass. After he refilled it, she tucked a leg under her and leaned back on the sofa, looking relaxed. Her cheeks were rosy from the drink, her full lips parted slightly…What were they supposed to talk about again?

  He set his wineglass down and turned to her. “Maybe you should fill me in on this blog of yours. What did you say about your husband and our married life?”

  She perked up. “Well, I call you ‘Darling Husband’ on the blog because you’re so, well, darling. You’re a great dad…”

  He made checkmarks in the air. “Darling and great.”

  “And a wonderful help around the house, always looking to give me time to relax and recharge.”

  She smiled dreamily, and it occurred to him she’d created the life she wished she had, and, if he was smart, he’d make her dream a reality. That’s how he’d get in with her. He could help around the house. Couldn’t be that hard—stick some dishes in the dishwasher, toss clothes in the washing machine. He already liked being with Bryce.

  She continued. “You appreciate all of my efforts at being a good mom. You surprise me with flowers just because.” Her eyes lit up. “And we do all sorts of fun things together, like horse-drawn sleigh rides in the snow, slow dancing in front of a toasty fire—”

  “Paint each other’s toenails?” He couldn’t help interrupting. Their life was beginning to sound like a chick flick.

  She shut her mouth with a snap. “You think it’s stupid.”

  “I think it sounds like a wonderful fantasy,” he said diplomatically.

  “What’s wrong with a fantasy? I have tons of blog readers—moms from all over the world—who find it inspirational.”

  “Nothing wrong with a fantasy. But do your readers know that? Because nobody has that kind of life, except in the movies.”

  She raised her chin. “I’m sure some people do. And I want it. It’s a good life.”

  “It’s a fake life.”

  Her brows knitted together. “Can you just pretend for one day?”

  “I can do better than that. Be right back.” He headed for his bedroom and returned with the laptop. “Pull up the blog. I’ll read every entry and make your dream a reality. I’ll be your fantasy come true.”

  She put a hand to her throat, her face flushing. “Really?”

  That flushed, breathless reaction was exactly the reason he was happy to do it. “Really.”

  He handed her the laptop. A moment later, the blog popped up. The title, Daisy Does It All, already had him thinking dirty. He began to read.

  The first blog posts weren’t that interesting. “The Joy of Sunday Cooking” caught his eye. Apparently she made rosemary leg of lamb with baby potatoes and steamed asparagus, and then doubled the recipe to freeze for “busy weekdays.” He kept going. She talked about food a lot—spinach and leek quiche, lobster tail with saffron rice, vegetable lasagna. His mouth watered. He turned to her. “You said you only cooked grilled cheese. Here you’ve got all sorts of complicated recipes, and I know I’ve had that lamb at Garner’s.”

  She smiled tightly. “I borrowed some from there, some from my travels.”

  “You’d better hope Jessica doesn’t ask you for a cooking demonstration.”

  “Don’t be silly. She just wants to interview me. Us.”

  He turned back to the blog. Trips to the doctor with baby, driving with baby while listening to classical music, dressing baby up for holiday pictures—Bryce had looked adorable in his Santa hat—the New Year, and keeping a journal to remember all of baby’s firsts. So far, only hints of Darling Husband—he agreed with her, helped her with pictures, and reminded her of baby’s first laugh. Easy enough.

  Oh, hey now, things were getting interesting. Valentine’s Day seemed to involve an elaborate seduction scene. Yup, he was all over that. Next was bedroom shenanigans—double yup—and a vacation with sex on the beach. Hell, yeah. He stopped reading and gave her a once-over.

  She squirmed.

  He laughed. “No worries. I got the gist. I’m your man.”

  She gestured to the screen. “I mean, this wasn’t exactly my fantasy life, more like what I imagined my readers might like.” Her cheeks flushed pink, giving her away.

  “Sure, sure.” He let her off the hook, for now. “We should have a first date story to tell everyone.”

  They’d never had a first date. Just one crazy drunken night.

  Daisy pursed her lips, trying to come up with a story they could actually tell people about. “How about we ran into each other at Garner’s one summer when I was home visiting my family? We caught up over dinner, sitting in a back booth, and ended up talking all night.”

  They’d never spent much time talking besides stuff about Bryce. “What did we talk about?”

  She turned to him, eyes bright. “Our dreams, our hopes for the future, what we love, what we hate.”

  He tugged a lock of her hair, unable to resist touching her. “Kind of generic. Fill
me in.”

  She gestured with her hands as if they helped her talk. “You know…like, I told you I dreamed of a career I was passionate about, though I hadn’t yet found it. I hoped to learn French and play the guitar. Maybe travel to Australia.”

  “Yeah? That sounds good. So that’s dreams and hopes. Tell me what you love and hate.”

  “Love: wine”—she raised her glass—“chocolate, and horror movies.”

  He sat up straighter, surprised she was into horror movies. “I’m with you on the horror movies. What do you hate?”

  “Traffic, artificial sweetener, and people who don’t keep their promises.”

  “Exactly!” The more he got to know her, the more he liked her. “Me too. Just give me the damn sugar, and do what you say you’ll do. Traffic’s a bitch no matter where you go.”

  “So what about you?” She looked at him expectantly. “What does Travis O’Hare dream of, hope for, love, hate?”

  “Hoo-yah.” He blew out a breath, thinking fast. This was not the kind of thing he spent any time pondering, but he knew it was important to her. “Dream: retire young and travel the world.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really? You want to travel? I always pictured you wanting to stay here. Have you ever left Connecticut?”

  He snorted. “Of course I’ve left Connecticut. I’ve seen most of New England. And New Jersey, of course, that’s where I lived as a kid.”

  “Have you seen the rest of the country? Europe?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever been on an airplane?”

  “Nope. My family’s here and so is my business.”

  She looked disappointed for some reason. It wasn’t like he could just drop everything to see the world. He owned his own business. And now he had a son to raise. Besides, he loved Clover Park. Nothing he’d seen ever appealed to him as much as home.

  “What do you hope for?” she asked.

  He kissed her gently on the tender spot below her ear and inhaled her scent, a potent combo of citrus and Daisy. “Hope,” he said softly, “that’s easy. To marry you.”

  She blushed and ducked her head.

  He leaned back. He needed a little distance or he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her. “Loves: Bryce, fresh-cut grass, fast cars, horror movies.” He smiled. “Hate: nothing.”

  She cocked her head. “Really. Nothing bugs you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Huh.” She picked up her wine and sipped. “So it wouldn’t bother you if someone cheated on you?”

  “That’s never happened.”

  “What if it did?”

  He didn’t like where this was going. “What are you saying?”

  “Nothing,” she said a little too quickly.

  “I take the vows of marriage seriously. I’d never break that promise.”

  “Me neither.”

  He shoved a hand in his hair. “Then why are we talking about it?”

  She grinned and set her glass down. “You’re mad. Something did bug you.”

  He tickled her. She squealed in surprise and tickled him back. He’d spent years wrestling his brothers and had her wrists pinioned in one hand within seconds. He quickly raised her arms over her head and maneuvered her flat on her back, where he’d wanted her from the moment she’d stepped into his apartment.

  She stared at his mouth, breathing hard, and he slowly leaned down for their first real kiss. His lips were nearly on hers when she spoke.

  “Let me up.”

  He released her instantly. “What’s wrong?”

  She sat up and smoothed her hair. “Nothing. I just…I think we should take things slow. Rushing things has never worked out for me.”

  That horse was already out of the gate as far as he was concerned. They’d done the deed. He wanted more.

  She looked toward the door. “Maybe I should go.”

  “Stay. I promise not to pounce on you again. Slow is fine. Great, in fact. We can…” What was it women always liked to say? “…get to know each other better.”

  She raised a skeptical brow. “You don’t sound very sincere.”

  He folded his hands in his lap and tried for choirboy despite his raging hard-on. “I’m very sincere.”

  “You think I’m weird, don’t you? Asking you to marry me and then not wanting to—”

  “I think you’re a timid woman.”

  She smacked his chest and laughed. “No one has ever called me timid.”

  “No? The stylin’ outfits, the huge laugh, all your adventures. No one ever said, ‘That Daisy Garner is one timid girl?’”

  She made a face. “I do not have a huge laugh.”

  He tossed his pretend long hair over his shoulder. “Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

  “Shut. Up.” She picked up her wine, leaned back on the sofa, and shook her head. “You’re a goof.”

  “Anything else I should know before we go national?”

  She waved a hand toward the laptop. “Everything’s in the blog.”

  “I’ll memorize it.”

  She laughed.

  “Oh, I just remembered something. Be right back.” Trav went to his bedroom and slid open the nightstand drawer. Inside was the diamond engagement ring he’d bought for Daisy and matching gold wedding bands he’d picked up earlier today. They’d need them for both the wedding and for their TV appearance.

  He slipped one of the gold bands on his ring finger. The jeweler had told him it went on the left hand because it was supposedly closer to the heart. It felt weird to wear a ring, but he’d get used to it. He brought the other two rings out to Daisy.

  “We have to wear wedding rings,” he told her. “Most married people do.”

  “Oh! I completely forgot about that. I’m so glad you remembered. Good thinking.”

  He took her hand and slipped on the diamond engagement ring. She admired it from all angles. “It’s gorgeous.”

  He held her hand and looked at the square solitaire diamond set in gold under the light. He’d spent a fortune on it, so it better look good. “Yeah, it is gorgeous. Wait. The wedding band goes on first.” He slipped off the engagement ring, slid on the band, and put the other ring on top. “I now pronounce you my wife.”

  She stared at it, her brow furrowed, like it was a spider sitting there instead of 14-carat gold.

  ~ ~ ~

  Daisy literally couldn’t move. The wedding band on her hand taunted her with her failed marriages, the fallout for her son’s future, Trav’s expectations of her—whatever they were—that she would surely never live up to. Trav tipped her chin up, and she met his hazel eyes, feeling tangled and confused inside.

  “Daze, if we want to be believable as husband and wife, we need to practice kissing so it looks real natural for the cameras.”

  Her jaw dropped, and her heart started pounding. Practice kissing like husband and wife? Now? When she was ready to run straight out of this apartment?

  He stroked her hair. “Come on, you know I’m right.”

  She snapped her jaw shut. Took a long swallow of wine. Breathed in and out. She could do this. She flashed him a quick smile that she was sure neither one of them believed was sincere. “Of course.”

  She gave him a quick peck on the lips. He slipped his hand around the back of her head and kept her close when she would’ve pulled back. His lips nearly brushed over hers when he spoke. “Not so fast, Miss Speedy.”

  He took his time, kissing her cheek, her jaw, working his way up to her ear and down her neck. She felt herself relax as a languid warmth stole through her. She slid her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. His lips met hers, soft at first, then more demanding. She opened for him, and his tongue slid along hers, stroking, imitating the mating she was starting to crave as long-dormant parts of her heated and came to life again.

  She slipped both hands around his neck, giving herself over to the sensations. Long, slow kisses. His large, warm hand stroked her back under her sweater. Her hands moved to his chest, gripping his
shirt. Lord, she was already hot and wet and aching for more. He slipped his other hand under her shirt, and she felt her bra spring open.

  She broke the kiss. What was she doing? She was supposed to be getting to know her future husband not sleeping with him every time he kissed her. Okay, just the one time, but look what happened then. Hello, Bryce!

  “That’s enough for tonight,” she said.

  He pulled back and stared at her, his eyes hazy with lust. She couldn’t screw this up. The stakes were high with Bryce’s future happiness in the balance. Maybe if she did everything the opposite of how she’d normally act with a guy, they might actually stand a chance.

  “What?” he asked, though she was sure he must’ve heard her.

  “Slow, remember?”

  He stood and adjusted himself. “Sure.”

  She stood, grabbed her coat, and slipped it on. She avoided his eyes. “I think we’ll do fine on Friday. Thank you for dinner.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He walked her to the door, and just as she thought she might escape, he snagged her by the belt loop on her jeans, pulling her close so they were within kissing distance again. He cradled her face with one hand, giving her plenty of time to pull back, but something kept her there, lips parted in anticipation. He kissed her long and hard, and her knees gave out. His hands went to her bottom, holding her up, pressing her against his hardness. She moaned and rocked against him.

  He pulled back and looked at her, his hands still firmly on her ass. “Daze, I want you.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. It was too soon. Her brain knew that. Down under was sending different instructions. Let us play!

  “I should go,” she said, pushing gently against him.

  He released her, and she turned away, relieved he’d offered no sweet words of persuasion. Or worse, another scorching kiss.

  “I expect a wedding night,” he said in a commanding tone that at once inflamed and irritated her. “And our wedding is Saturday.”

  She whirled. “I know our wedding is Saturday! But that doesn’t mean we have to rush—”