“Specifically how hot soup can scald your soft palate and/or tongue if you’re not careful,” Daisy added with what she thought was admirable poise.
“Yep. So, soup burns.” Daff nodded. Daisy could hear Mason snorting softly beside her, and she kicked him softly. He gripped her knee, his fingers tightening in warning when she drew back her foot for another tap. His hand lingered, sliding farther up her thigh, creeping up under her skirt. Daisy gasped and clamped her knees together, effectively trapping his hands between her thighs. She could tell from the slight smirk on his nearly impassive face that he wasn’t exactly dismayed by the turn of events.
“What an odd thing to be discussing,” Aunt Gert squeaked, and the other aunts sent her frankly disbelieving stares, since nobody else had fallen for the blatant lie.
“Anyway, so who will be going horseback riding tomorrow morning?” Daisy asked with false cheer, deliberately changing the subject and trying not to think of Mason’s warm hand resting so docilely between her thighs. The horseback ride on the beach was one of the events Lia had arranged for some of her more adventurous guests.
“I intend to be too hungover to even contemplate getting up at such a disgustingly early hour,” Daff said. The ride was at dawn, and Daisy secretly agreed with her sister that it was much too early to be up.
“Daff, you can’t be hungover, I’ll need my bridesmaids to be ready by nine,” Lia piped up. Were her eyes red-rimmed? Had she been crying? Daisy couldn’t tell for certain in the dim light of the restaurant, but it certainly looked that way.
“Crap, I forgot about that,” Daff groaned. Daisy had as well. Lia had organized a spa session followed by a champagne brunch for her bridesmaids. Clayton and his groomsmen as well as some of the other men would be playing golf.
“Mind giving me my hand back?” Mason whispered, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. “Not that I have any complaints about its current situation, you understand, but people may start to wonder why my hand is under the table. And probably jump to wholly accurate conclusions.”
Aghast at the possibility, she opened her knees immediately, and after one last little pat of her thigh, he moved his hand back to the table to pick up his knife.
“I hope your soup burns aren’t too bad,” he murmured wickedly. “You’re going to need that tongue later.”
She groaned; the man was irreverent and incorrigible, and she was starting to adore him. He made her want to throw caution to the wind and just be very, very bad. It was a giddy sensation. Entirely uncharacteristic for her, and she loved it.
Dinner wasn’t quite the ordeal Daisy had been expecting; the aunts were effectively muzzled by Mason’s appearance, but Daisy knew it was only a matter of time before they regrouped and started firing on all cylinders. For the most part it was a pretty casual, low-stress evening.
Casual and low stress until Daff decided that she needed to go to the bathroom and that Daisy really needed to go too. Her sister’s crazy eyes and not-so-subtle head jerks toward the powder room aside, Daisy played along because the “chat” was inevitable.
She excused herself, and Mason—who was having a very serious conversation with Aunt Mattie about the British royal family’s security details—gave her an absent nod. She reluctantly trailed after her sister’s slender figure and admired the way Daff’s sexy sheath dress clung to her perfect body in all the right spots. The same dress on Daisy would look borderline indecent, what with her abundance of curves. She smiled quietly to herself as, for the first time since puberty, she didn’t feel a pang of envy. Her sisters had often told her she was lucky because she had breasts, a booty, and a small waist, and she had always dismissed it as them being kind to the “fatty” in the family. She no longer felt like the “fatty.” She felt voluptuous, sensual, and she walked with an enigmatic smile on her lips and an extra sway in her step because she knew Mason would be staring at her butt as she left the room.
She wasn’t blind to the other appreciative male glances coming her way either, and it made her feel empowered and sexy and in control. She wasn’t used to so many eyes on her, but for once she didn’t hunch her shoulders in an effort to fade into the background. She owned her femininity and threw it down like a gauntlet.
Take me or leave me, but this is me, and here I am!
“Okay, what the hell is going on between you and Mason Carlisle?” Daff asked after a cursory glance around the powder room to confirm its emptiness. Daisy said nothing, going to the mirror to check her appearance. She was annoyed to note that her hair was coming out of the bun she had forced it into. Everything else still looked fine, and the pretty blue silk chiffon cocktail dress—one of several new items she had purchased for this weekend—looked nice too. It was a little bustier than she was used to—it felt weird to look straight down into her cleavage—but she was glad she’d bought it. It had a form-flattering sweetheart bodice, with tapered ruched straps, and flared from the natural waist into a deceptively simple circle skirt. The floaty skirt merely skimmed her body as it fell to her knees, but it kissed her curves when she walked, flowing beautifully with her slightest movement. The saleswoman had been genuinely enthusiastic in her recommendation after she’d seen Daisy in the dress. And the spark of desire in Mason’s gaze when he’d clapped eyes on her had made it worth the while and the expense.
“Hey, you look really hot tonight, so stop admiring yourself in the mirror and answer my question,” Daff said, folding her arms over her chest and glaring at Daisy.
“That’s between Mason and me,” Daisy said casually as she tried to tuck her hair back into the bun.
“Daisy, don’t get too involved with him. You’re going to get hurt.”
“He’s done nothing to hurt me so far.”
“You mean other than acting as his brother’s wingman at the hen party?” Daisy flushed at the reminder.