Spooning Daisy by Maggie McConnell Page B

Daisy, I don’t have an opinion on everything .”
    If he had intended to shut her up, he succeeded. Daisy eased back in her chair with a look that reflected insult. She opened her menu and put her icy attention there.
    His shoulders drooped. Individuality aside, when it came to being pissed, women were all the same. He debated an apology, but the silence was a welcome relief. At least he was no longer groping for a response to unknown questions. After a final glance at the blonde, he vowed that he’d now pay attention to Daisy. He opened his menu. After all, he was working up the nerve to ask for her cabin. There would be plenty of time later for blondes.
    “Can I get you something from the bar?”
    Max and Daisy looked up from their menus at a twenty-something waiter they hadn’t seen coming.
    “Bombay and tonic,” Max answered first. “Sapphire if you’ve got it.”
    “And for you, miss?”
    She flashed him a dazzling Irish smile that lit up her eyes like sparklers. Or so Max thought.
    “A Coke would be lovely. Thank you, Andrew.”
    Max frowned at the pair, until he realized that a name tag was pinned to the waiter’s crisp white shirt.
    “Our dinner specials are listed on the insert. Everything is fresh. The halibut has been going over very well and we’ve had a lot of compliments on the scallops. The seafood salad is always popular. I’ll give you a few minutes and be back with your drinks.”
    “Thank you, Andrew,” Daisy said.
    Why can’t you be that sweet to me? Max wanted to ask, but reached for the wine list instead. “Would you like a bottle of wine?”
    A half smile in his direction and her voice dripped honey, but the sparklers had become daggers. And no amount of honey could dull those blades.
    “No. Thank you.”
    Yep, still pissed. “They have some nice wines here.”
    “Yes, I know.”
    “That’s right—” Max stopped himself.
    Daisy kept smiling. As if her lips were frozen into that curl.
    “Not even a glass? We can toast to . . . our truce.”
    Daisy leaned into him, her voice as soft and seductive as the dark auburn spirals drizzling past her cheeks. “I would, Max, but I’m such a klutz that my wine might end up in your face.” That smile, those daggers.
    “I’ll ask the waiter for a lid and a straw.”
    “It’s going to be tough flying with just one eye.”
    Max couldn’t help but smile. “Call me crazy, but I think I’m safe.”
    The daggers slowly disappeared until only a teasing glint remained.
    However much Daisy annoyed him—and oh, how she annoyed him—she was equally entertaining. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced this kind of mental calisthenics where he was simultaneously exhausted and invigorated. And tonight, with her green sweater sparking her eyes and her hair tamed into finger-tempting waves and her mouth glossed so the light shimmered on the lush swell of her lower lip—
    “I suppose I do have an opinion on pretty much everything,” Daisy said.
    —and the alluring tendrils of her perfume . . .
    “A virtual cornucopia. But —” Max said, accepting her apology, “there are worse things in life than having opinions. At least you think about things.”
    It sounded like a compliment. “Charity says I over think.”
    Max was gratefully spared a response by the waiter, who unloaded their drinks from his small tray.
    “Sir, you may want to try your Sapphire and tonic,” he said with a pointed look at Max’s napkin. While Max reached for his drink—peeking at the blue ink on the underside of his napkin—Andrew asked Daisy for her dinner selection.
    Daisy looked up from her menu. “What do you recommend?”
    “Everything is good. The seafood salad is light, but with a nice variety of salmon, crab—”
    Over the top of Daisy’s head, Max saw the blonde rise from her chair, her skirt—no panty lines—as short as her sweater was tight. Their eyes met, they exchanged smiles while her companion studied the dinner bill. Max