CHAPTER 30
Daisy
My stomach is stilla tangle of nerves as I press the buzzer outside Edward’s front door—an imposing slab of wood that must be at least one and a half times my height.
I smooth down my knee-length knitted skirt. It’s so tight, I’m certain it’s cutting off circulation to several vital organs. I’ve paired it with a fitted white top. The overall effect?Posh librarian who has sex toys hidden in her desk drawer at work.
The door swings open, and—
Oh.
Edward stands there in a navy cashmere jumper and jeans. My ovaries practically curtsey.
His gaze drags over me. “You look beautiful, Daisy.”
“Thanks,” I reply, breezy, as if I didn’t spend two hours in front of the mirror to elicit this exact reaction. “You’re not too bad yourself.”
His lips twitch.
“Please, allow me to take your coat.” His voice is edged with something rougher than simple politeness. His fingers linger as he slides the fabric from my shoulders.
I flick my hair over one shoulder, andyep—that’s the look that got me into trouble in the church. And, if I play my cards right, the one that’s going to get me into troubleagain.
What hedoesn’tknow is that underneath this librarian outfit, I’m wearing crotchless knickers—because apparently, I cope with stress by being absolutely shameless.
I’m a walking contradiction. Tweed meets temptation. Trying desperately to belong in his world while being unapologetically myself.
“It’s weird being back here for, uh,verydifferent reasons,” I blurt.
Edward groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps we could avoid references to your previous . . . visit.”
I cringe. “Right. Sorry.”
A beat of silence stretches between us. The kind of silence where I should just shut up.
But, obviously, I do the opposite.
“Does it . . . bother you? That I have history with your brother and, um, nephew?”
His jaw tenses slightly. “Let’s just focus on us this evening,” he says evenly. “On the present.”
Oh, okay.
I nod, swallowing as he steps closer.
His fingers graze under my chin—the ghost of a touch—but my breath catches. My heart forgets its job entirely.
I issue myself a stern warning.Do not fuck this dinner up, Daisy.
He leads me down his enormous hallway—lined with art I was far too distracted to notice last time—and into his kitchen.
The scents filling the air areincredible.
Except—he still hasn’t kissed me.
That little detail sends a flicker of panic through my chest.
“This smells lovely. Did you cook?”
