Too convincingly. Daisy surreptitiously dragged her hand beneath the table and rubbed her palm against her jeans, hoping the roughness of the denim would eradicate the lingering sensation of his warm lips from her flesh. If they were going to do this she had to remember that this was all pretend, that Mason Carlisle’s overwhelming charm—no matter how convincing—was not real. It would be so easy to forget that fact, so easy to buy into their little deception and become the victim of her own dumb plan.
“So, are we doing this thing?” he asked, refilling their wineglasses. His hand seemed a little unsteady, and his voice sounded thicker than usual. Daisy briefly wondered about that before shrugging the tremor off as Mason readjusted his grip on the bottle and dismissing the gruffness she had heard in his voice as her imagination. Especially since he sounded perfectly normal when he prompted her again moments later, “Are we?”
Daisy took a fortifying sip of her wine before inhaling deeply. She thought back to all those other family events, Lia’s engagement party, Shar’s behavior just minutes before, and considered the impotent anger, frustration, and resentment she’d felt with every well-meaning auntie patronizingly informing her that her parents were so lucky to have her to look after them in their old age. Showing up with Mason Carlisle on her arm would definitely make them pause for thought. A smile tilted her lips as Daisy imagined the looks on their faces. Then there was Shar and her ilk . . . Mason had been a wonderful balm on her bruised ego earlier, and while Daisy knew she had to fight her own battles, Lia’s wedding probably wasn’t the place to start doing so. She briefly considered his strange warning that he wasn’t nice, not quite sure what to make of it. She scrutinized his face carefully, but no trace of that earlier broodiness remained. His current expression seemed aloof, but his eyes were warm and gently encouraging.
“Yes. Let’s do it,” she decided with a firm nod, and Mason’s lips stretched into a wonderful grin, one that showcased his dimple beautifully.
“No more wishy-washy bullshit, Daisy. No more changing your mind. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, giving him a little salute, and he shook his head.
“That was the worst salute I’ve ever seen in my life,” he chastised.
“How do you do it in the British navy, then?”
“Army,” he corrected.
“Sorry, army.”
“Easy, palm facing outward, index finger just on the brow. See?” he demonstrated with a smart and snappy salute that impressed her more than it should have.
“You must have looked really handsome in your uniform,” she breathed appreciatively, and he chuckled.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who goes sappy at the sight of a guy in uniform?” Not any guy, just Mason. Daisy figured she’d melt into a puddle of unrequited lust if she ever saw the man in uniform. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.
“The navy uniform is kind of sexy,” she admitted with a grin, and his brow furrowed.
“I was in the army,” he reminded, with that inborn male arrogance that told her he assumed that she must have made a mistake.
“Yes, so you said. Pity. You would probably have looked quite nice in navy whites.”
He winced and then laughed.
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“Totally.”
“You don’t often see them in whites, you know? They usually muck around in something less glamorous.”
“Ssh.” Without thinking, she lifted her hand and placed her fingers over his lips. Then self-consciously snatched them back when she realized what she had done. Damn it! Just when she was getting over that kiss too. Her gesture had effectively silenced him, and she watched in fascination when the tip of his tongue ran over the same spot her fingers had just been. As if he were sampling her taste.
She shook herself, a little irritated to be thinking such ridiculous thoughts, and focused on their conversation.
“Don’t destroy the fantasy,” she admonished, embarrassed by the unfamiliar throatiness of her voice. A tiny smile kicked up one corner of his mouth, and his eyes narrowed.
“What fantasy?”
“The, uh . . . the navy thing. You know?” Shut up, Daisy, her inner voice shrieked, shut up!
“What does this navy fantasy guy wind up doing to you exactly?”
“Nothing.” She shifted uncomfortably.
“So he just stands around doing nothing? Lame.”
“I just think it’s a flattering uniform, that’s all,” she said, trying to insert some firmness into her voice and take command of this crazy conversation.
“I could borrow a buddy’s navy whites,” he suggested with a wicked grin. “And wear them for you. But I’ll probably do a hell of a lot more than merely stand around modeling it.”
Don’t ask!
“Like what?” Crap!
“I’ll probably start with a sloooooow strip tease.” Daisy was captivated by his eyes; they were staring into hers with scorching intensity, and she was finding it hard to breathe. Her mouth was bone dry, and she took another desperate gulp from her glass.
“I’m surprised you’d know how to do that,” she croaked. Why wasn’t she putting a stop to this conversation? It was unlike any other discussion she had ever had in her life, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted it to continue or end.
“What? A striptease? I’ve seen it done enough times. It seems pretty easy. Put on some sexy music, do a hip-swaying, raunchy dance, and strip. But make it last, build anticipation . . . reveal only a tiny”—his hand drifted to the top button of his Henley and popped it—“sliver”—another button.