Jane Porter - Latin Lovers Untamed

“Carter, you’re a friend and a nice man but I don’t love you, and I can’t marry someone I don’t love.”

“You’ve never given me a chance.”

Daisy looked at him and felt the hopelessness of her situation. She knew she’d already told Dante no about the party and it seemed wrong—no, it was wrong—to accept a date from Carter. But did she have a choice? “If I go with you, you’ll consider tearing up the contract?”

“I’ll consider it.”

“And what would it take for you to actually do it?” She couldn’t believe she put the question to him, but she might as well have it out in the open. If he wanted to barter, she needed to know what was on the table.

He swigged the rest of his whiskey. “I don’t think we need to go there … yet.”

Daisy had her answer. He’d break the contract if she married him.

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.