Spooning Daisy Read Online Free PDF

careful. I once had a creepy experience when I tried to sell my car on Craigslist. Now I carry pepper spray.”
    “Thanks for the warning. So, why are you here?”
    “I guess because . . . I’m not the type to leave a guy hanging.”
    “Your psychologist friend made you come.”
    Daisy smiled. “That, too. But... I would’ve come without the nudge.”
    She leaned close as if to divulge a secret and Max caught the provocative scent of her perfume. Spicy. Lusty. Sensual. Just what Max would’ve expected . . . had he previously thought about it.
    “The truth is, I’m afraid of your mother. And since she knows where I live . . .” Daisy retreated to her space and drank from her tall glass.
    “But not for long.”
    “Meaning?”
    “The SOLD sign,” he explained, resisting an inexplicable urge to kiss Daisy. Daisy . Daisy . . . what ?
    Max shrugged it off. It wasn’t the lack of a last name that had him baffled, it was his ambivalence about a woman he didn’t know, didn’t want to know, but definitely wanted to . . .
    “Right, the SOLD sign,” she said, bringing Max back to the moment.
    “So what do you do, Daisy, when you’re not working garage sales?”
    She took another drink. “I’m a chef.”
    “Really.”
    “Truth is, I used to be the chef de cuisine at Fireflies, which is why it wouldn’t be such a hot idea to go there. It’s all kind of connected to my breakup.”
    He had no idea what a chef de cuisine was, but it sounded like he should be impressed. “That’s quite an accomplishment . . . for someone so young.”
    Daisy glowed. “I have four stars and a Golden Spoon.”
    He stared.
    “It’s a big deal for a chef.”
    Max picked up a hint of sadness. A woman in transition . Eager for something new. Something out of character. Something wild and crazy. Something to make her forget—for one night—whatever it was she was leaving behind. His kind of woman. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Are you staying in town? Moving to Timbuktu?”
    Daisy let out a half grunt, half chuckle. “Some people think Timbuktu. Actually, for the first time in my life, I’m doing something really wild and crazy—”
    Max kissed her. Just enough to tempt her, but not scare her. Then, of course, he apologized. “Sorry. I should’ve asked.”
    “That’s okay. I mean, it was a surprise, but not a bad surprise, and I was kind of thinking about it, well, not thinking about it, I mean, it crossed my mind when I first sat down and saw how you look, y’ know, without that stubble and T-shirt. Not that you looked bad, you just look better now. Really . . . better , but then who am I to talk . . .”
    Her words barely registered as Max considered the rambling redhead he’d been paired with for the evening. Watching Daisy stumble her way through this explanation was like watching a puppy learn where his paws were. It was almost endearing—not that he was scouting for warm and fuzzy feelings. But if anyone needed a night with Max Kendall, it was Daisy . . . what’s-her-name. He signaled the bartender for another drink and then the same two fingers pressed her lips to shut her up. “Compliments aren’t your strong suit, are they?”
    “I haven’t slept for forty-eight hours.”
    “Then maybe we should get you to bed.”
    Their eyes locked; then, as if the inference was more tempting than she wanted to admit, Daisy swiveled her stool away from him.
    Surveying her surroundings, she started babbling again. “I used to come here for lunch, but it’s been a while. A few years ago they redecorated and added the fountain.” A tastefully compact, three-tier fountain gurgled in the middle of the dining room. “And they got rid of the horrible orange carpet and put down tile. It gives it kind of an outdoor terrace—” Daisy froze midsentence. Then she spun back toward the bar and Max. “The food here really isn’t all that good. Let’s go someplace else. For dinner,” she hastily added.
    “I thought you