Latin Lovers Untamed: In Dante's Debt / Captive in His Bed / Brazilian Boss, Virgin Housekeeper

CHAPTER FOUR

DAISY gazed at her reflection in the mirror, dazzled by the shimmer of silver sequins, glitter drop earrings and the elegant upswept hairdo.

If she didn’t know herself, she’d think the sparkling blonde lived a glamorous life on the social circuit far from farm life. But since it was her, she knew exactly what she was seeing—fake diamond earrings, a cheap sequin top and Zoe’s white taffeta skirt left over from her debutante party two years ago.

Was she out of her mind? Was she really going to the Lindleys’ preauction party with Carter Scott dressed like this?

She looked like Carter’s dream date, she told her reflection morosely. Ugh. A fate worse than death.

Knots formed in her shoulders, and distaste rippled through her middle. She couldn’t believe Carter was making her play this game. She couldn’t believe she was agreeing to it.

The only one she really wanted to see tonight was Dante. And he wouldn’t even be at the party.

Thank goodness.

Tentatively Daisy touched the waist of her long white taffeta skirt, the skirt full with layers of stiff petticoats. The skirt would pass, but her top’s silver spangles practically blinded her. As she looked up, blue eyes mirrored her uncertainty, and she felt a tremor of trepidation.

The Lindleys were not going to welcome her with open arms. The Lindleys might even try to embarrass her.

She closed her eyes, found her courage and a little of her old backbone. If she was going to go through with this, then she’d do it her way. She couldn’t be fake. The Collingsworths were good people. They didn’t have to put on airs.

Carefully using her bruised hand, Daisy unpinned the coil of hair, and the long pale mass came tumbling down, falling past her shoulder blades to the middle of her back. Stick-straight hair, the blond of flax, the texture of corn silk. Next she wiped off most of the lipstick, reducing the fuchsia stain to a soft pink. There, at least she looked more real.

So real that when she gazed into the mirror she saw herself as a little girl, perched on the bathroom counter watching her father adjust his black bow tie. She could see him wink at her in the mirror, creases fanning from his cornflower-blue eyes, still so young and movie star handsome. Her father was amazing. He’d been a wonderful father.

He still was.

The bathroom door opened and Zoe popped her head in. “Mr. Scott’s here,” Zoe said. Then she caught sight of her sister. “Daisy. You look … you look beautiful.”

“No.”

“Yes. You look like Mom.”

Daisy’s eyes welled with tears, and she looked at the ceiling, stared at the bubble-dome light fixture and counted to ten, counted to keep the tears from blinding her and ruining her mascara. “Mom was so much prettier than me,” she said, voice husky. “Mom was Miss Texas.”

“You look like Miss Texas.”

“Stop, Zoe. You’re going to ruin my makeup.”

Her sister laughed, and then they were hugging. “Have fun, Daisy. Show Lexington we’re still the best.”

Carter smiled his approval when Daisy descended the stairs. “I wish you’d wear dresses more often,” he said as he escorted her to his car, a big black Rolls-Royce. “You look like a real lady in dresses.”

She smiled tightly. “Thank you.” But she didn’t want dresses and the life of a Southern lady.

“I could make you happy, Daisy.”

Already he was referring to a life together. She knew it would happen but hadn’t expected the pressure to start so early. “Let’s just enjoy the party, okay?”

Ten minutes later they were turning off the main road, heading down the Lindleys’ private drive. Through the thicket of trees Daisy could see the white canvas party tents dotting the endless manicured lawn, the enormous tents shimmering with light.

Daisy had expected gawking. She’d expected a few scandalized whispers, but not the turn of every head as she and Carter made their appearance. People were staring. Everyone was staring. Openly.

Even for Daisy it was tough to bear. Yet when the whispers reached her ears, whispers about her father and speculation that they’d lost everything because he was a drunk and a gambler, she found her spine and her strength. Instead of cowering she grew taller, lifted her chin higher. She refused to crawl beneath a rock and hide. They didn’t know the first thing about the Collingsworths.

They moved through the crowded ballroom to the stone terrace at the back of the house. From the terrace there was another flight of stairs to the party tents on the lawn.

The moon was high, and the evening felt warm. It was a perfect night for a party.

“A drink?” Carter asked, placing his hand on her arm.

“Please.”

“Cocktail or wine?”

Daisy forced a smile, even as she wished he’d take his hand off her arm. She didn’t dislike Carter but she didn’t welcome his touch. “Anything.”

“All right, wait here,” he said, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing the back of it.

He left her at the balustrade. Daisy stood at the low stone wall and gazed down on the lawn. Throngs of partygoers moved below. Tuxedos surrounded by glistening ruby, gold, sapphire gowns. The fabrics of the gowns were equally luxurious, dresses made of silk, chiffon and velvet. The ladies shone like exotic jewels next to the men in their formal black tie.

Leaning forward, she watched one man make his way through the crowd. He was tall, taller than the rest, and very broad through the shoulders. She couldn’t see his face, but something deep inside her turned inside out.

Dante Galván.

He was walking slowly, greeting people now and again, shaking hands with one older gentleman before acknowledging another.

Even from the terrace he looked too tall, too strong, too imposing. He didn’t creep through life, she thought faintly. He dominated it, dictated it, drove it.

How long she watched him, she didn’t know, but then slowly he turned, and as if aware of her, looked up. His gaze immediately riveted on her.

Her breath suddenly caught in her throat. She’d thought all men looked handsome in tuxedos, but Dante Galván defined one. The black silk tie set off his Roman nose and chin, the white shirt played up the bronze in his coloring and the elegant cut of the jacket gave him old-world glamour.

He was beautiful. Too beautiful.

His gaze seemed to embrace her. He was taking her in, studying every detail, from the strands of her loose silvery blond hair to the tips of her white satin heels, before inching up to rest on her silver sequin halter top with its plunging décolleté and skimpy coverage.

She was sure he could see beneath the flimsy fabric, was sure he was aware she’d gone braless. A peculiar curl of warmth centered in her belly, extending in bright tingling rays, heating her skin, gathering in her breasts and creating an ache deep within her pelvis.

She’d never felt such an intense physical response before—and all he’d done was look at her.

Daisy couldn’t move. Dante remained at the bottom of the staircase. She wanted him to climb the stairs, join her on the terrace, but he waited where he was.

Nervously she took a step down the marble stairs and then hesitated, nerves on edge. He wasn’t saying anything. He wasn’t moving. He was simply waiting for her.

She was nearing the bottom of the stairs. Her legs felt like Jell-O, but suddenly she didn’t think she could take another step. “Won’t you say anything?” Her voice sounded strangled.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

“Really?”

“Might as well tell me what’s on your mind. I know you asked me here tonight, and yet here I am with someone else—”

“I’ve been rejected before.” He was smiling faintly and his expression was wry.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Do I dare ask about Kentucky Kiss?”

Her throat sealed closed. Heat burned across her cheekbones. “No,” she whispered.

“I see.” He cocked his head, studied her intently, his gaze so hard and real it was almost a physical thing. “That doesn’t leave us much to talk about.”

Daisy’s heart fell, plummeting to her stomach and then all the way down. She couldn’t explain it, couldn’t justify the disappointment, it just was. “You’re angry.”

“No. I’m curious, and a little surprised, but definitely not angry. How could I be angry with you? You look—” and his mouth twisted into a lazy, sinful smile “—incredible. Good enough to eat.”

It was true, Dante thought, as she took a step closer. She was putting ideas in his head, making him want to try things he was quite sure she’d never done before.

He watched her descend the rest of the staircase, focused on the swing of her hips, the shape of her legs, the slight bounce of her breasts. He’d bet a thousand dollars she wasn’t wearing a bra, and it made him ache to touch her, to slide his hands up her back, around her rib cage and cup her breasts. He wanted to feel her body, her skin, her incredibly lush curves.

“I’m here with an old family friend.”

“Carter Scott. Yes, I know him.” Dante couldn’t keep the contempt from his voice. “What does he want from you now?”

Daisy’s head jerked up. “How do you know? What do you mean?”

“The last time your father and my father talked, apparently your father mentioned that Carter had proposed. Your father was against it.”

“My father lets me make my own decisions.”

Dante glanced at her sleek fair head, her long silvery hair hanging straight to the dip in her back, the pale strands brushing the shimmering sequins at her narrow waist. “Has he proposed again?”

She drew herself back, blue eyes flashing with indignation. “That’s really none of your business.”

Her lips were the fullest, softest pink he’d ever seen. “He’s too old for you, Daisy.”

“He can’t be much older than you!” She flashed the words back.

He smiled and realized he’d found another American rebel.

The first American rebel hadn’t even been his, but one of his father’s girlfriends. Dante was ten when he met the first of his father’s many girlfriends, bumping into the beautiful blond American by the side of an exclusive Buenos Aires hotel swimming pool.

Kate was her name, short for Kathleen Lyons, heir to the United States East Coast Lyons chemical and plastic fortune. Smart, funny, breezy, Kate wasn’t impressed by the Galván money—she just loved being around Tino.

Kate didn’t last. None of the girlfriends lasted. Although eventually Dante met many other girlfriends, he remembered almost none except for Kate. And he remembered blond, smart, cynical Kate because she was nothing like his mother and nothing like the other proper women who were his mother’s friends. Kate was a rebel.

Dante had a soft spot for rebels.

Daisy Collingsworth was another rebel. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk. I think a dance would be better.”

“I’d rather wait and dance with Carter.”

Daisy had meant to prick his pride, and yet her words had the opposite effect. Dante laughed, a genuine laugh that exposed the smooth column of his bronze throat, and the rich sound rolled out, deep, sexy, very powerful. If all eyes weren’t watching before, they were now.

His burning gaze slid over her, settling on her mouth. “Liar. You want to dance with me as much as I want to dance with you.”

His suggestive tone sent shivers up and down her spine, and her breasts ached, nipples hardening against the cool mesh of her top.

Shyly she glanced up, her eyes skimming past his perfect mouth to the smoky golden warmth of his eyes. She saw her reflection there, and she saw something else, something altogether new. He wanted her.

He wanted her.

It was a heady realization, and she felt her heart slow, her lips part.

His head dipped, and he cupped her cheek. She felt shivery and alive, and instinctively she lifted her face to his, eyes on his lips.

“Daisy,” a voice interrupted, “your drink.”

Carter had returned. Daisy took the cocktail glass from him. Dante stepped back—but not very far.

“No champagne?” Dante said.

Carter looked momentarily confused. “Daisy, did you want champagne?”

Daisy shot Dante a dark glance. What was he doing? Why did he want to cause trouble? “This is wonderful. I’m happy with a cocktail.”

“I can get you champagne,” Carter said more forcefully. “I didn’t know you wanted champagne.”

“I don’t want champagne. I like my cocktail. Really.” She could happily dump her drink over Dante. He was standing there enjoying Carter’s discomfiture. Well, to hell with him. “Carter, would you like to dance?”

She caught the lift of Dante’s eyebrows and was grateful when Carter moved forward, blocking Dante from her view. “Yes, let’s. It’s a nice slow song.”

A slow song. Not what she wanted, but if it gave her some distance from Dante, then it was a good thing.

“Goodbye, Count,” Carter said with a nod of his head.

“I’ll catch up with you soon,” Dante answered, still smiling, still looking infuriatingly amused.

Carter held her hand and led her through the enormous white party tent. A band played on a wooden stage, and white twinkling lights were strung from the tent poles.

They still held their drink glasses, and at the edge of the dance floor Carter faced her. “Let’s toast the start of something wonderful.”

Her hand shook slightly. “And what is that, Carter?”

“A great future.”

Daisy felt like she was losing control. This wasn’t working out the way she’d imagined. She shouldn’t have come here tonight with Carter. This wasn’t business. He was making the contract personal.

She set her glass down without drinking. “What about Kentucky Kiss?”

“Let’s not ruin a lovely evening—”

“That’s why I’m here, Carter. This is about Kentucky Kiss. This is about contracts and negotiations.” She broke off as Peter Lindley bore down on them.

“Carter, hello,” Mr. Lindley greeted. “Enjoying yourself?”

“It’s a beautiful party. You couldn’t ask for nicer weather. Peter, you know Daisy Collingsworth, I believe?”

Peter’s smile faded perceptibly. His guard was instantly up, and he shifted away. “We’ve met.”

Oh, yes, they’d met, Daisy thought, only about a thousand times. He’d been her father’s best friend for nearly twenty years. “Good evening, Mr. Lindley.”

“How are things?” he asked stiffly.

“Dad’s doing fine.”

Peter’s jaw tensed, lips compressing. “I meant with regards to the farm.”

“The stable’s rebuilt,” Carter interjected. “A state-of-the-art facility. Thirty-six stalls, and they’re developing their stallion barn next.”

Peter’s forehead creased. “Is that true?”

Daisy opened her mouth, but Carter answered first again. “I’m considering moving my stallion to their barn.” He shot Daisy a swift glance. “If things continue to improve as they have.”

“What about trainers?” Peter rubbed his chin as he glanced from Daisy to Carter and back again. “Since McCaw passed on, you haven’t had any big name on board. You need one. While there is considerable interest in your foal, no one will pay top dollar for a yearling that hasn’t been started right.”

McCaw meaning Teddy, who’d died in the fire. A lump filled her throat. “I’m aware of that.” She was grateful she could keep her tone calm even if it was just an illusion, because right now on the inside she was miserable.

Peter nodded brusquely. “Fine. Best of luck.” He turned to Carter. “May I have a word with you?”

Carter excused himself, and Daisy stood alone on the edge of the dance floor wondering yet again what she was doing at the Lindleys’.

“Your friend Carter could be a little more attentive.”

Daisy turned and smiled. “Dante Galván, what a surprise.”

“If you were my date, I’d never leave you alone.”

Her smile stretched. “I’m not your date, and you haven’t left me alone.”

“Touché.” A light shone in his eyes. His grin looked careless, devilish, relaxed. “Sequins and spurs, Daisy Collingsworth. You’re a very intriguing woman.”

“Kentucky Kiss can’t mean all that much to you.”

“Kentucky Kiss has nothing to do with this. I happen to like you.”

His deep voice rumbled through her, rich and intoxicating, and she felt herself grow warm and weak. “The Collingsworths are trouble,” she retorted, fighting for the right flippant note.

“I’ve always liked trouble.” He lightly touched the small of her back. “Dance with me.”

His hand burned through her sequin and mesh top. She felt herself grow impossibly warm. “Carter wouldn’t like it.”

“I’m not asking Carter to dance. I’m asking you.” His palm slid down, coming to rest on her hip, his fingertips just brushing her bottom. “Would Daisy like it?”

She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His hand felt incredible, and her body felt wildly sensitive. Suddenly she wanted to be daring and dangerous. She wanted to be all the things she’d never allowed herself to be.

A waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes passed by. Dante reached out and lifted a glass from the tray and handed it to her. “If you’re going to drink, you should drink champagne. The color suits you.”

“The color?” Her voice was all but inaudible.

“Pale gold, crisp, not too sweet and yet full and ripe in the mouth.” He lifted the glass, with her hand still on it, and drank.

She blushed at the intimacy of the gesture, and her skin glowed, taut and warm all over. “I think you’re projecting, Count Galván.”

“Call me count again and I’ll kiss you here, in front of all these nice people.”

Her blush deepened. “A promise, or a threat?”

His head dipped, and his lips brushed her cheek and then the curve of her ear. “You’d like it, Daisy.”

She ought to be outraged. Instead she was captivated by the warmth of his breath against her ear and the feel of his lips against her cheek.

The crowd disappeared and the band faded to the background. Her head tipped and she gazed at him, momentarily lost in his intensely expressive eyes.

He was beautiful. Everything about him was hard and sensual. His face was a canvas of gorgeous lines and planes. Even his mouth had the perfect shape, the lower lip slightly thrust out with a small flat indentation.