Jane Porter - Latin Lovers Untamed

At last the private lane to the estancia came into view. Daisy switched on the blinker and signaled her turn. Driving onto the narrow road, she approached the alley of trees, and there, near the front of the trees in the shade, walked Anabella.

Daisy couldn’t believe it. Trembling, she pulled the car to the side of the road, faced the startled Anabella and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

Daisy was so angry she could hardly see straight. Anabella’s mascara formed smudged crescents beneath her eyes, and her lipstick was worn away. “What happened? Where were you?”

The girl shifted. “I went to the ladies’ washroom but when I came back you were gone.”

“I waited a half hour for you.”

“I went to the—”

Daisy wasn’t in the mood for this. “You left the bakery, you left me there, Anabella. Where did you go?”

“Nowhere. I told you—”

“Don’t, Anabella, don’t tell me another lie. I trusted you. And you know it, too.” Seething, hands still shaking, Daisy shifted into drive and wordlessly drove them the rest of the way home.

Pulling in front of the house, Daisy spotted a luxury sedan parked off a ways, a slate-colored Mercedes gleaming in the early evening sun.

“Uh-oh,” Anabella whispered, “Dante’s home.”

It was worse than uh-oh. Dante was furious. He’d come back a day early, eager to see his sister, and he’d been waiting nearly two hours for their return.

The moment Daisy turned off the ignition, Dante wrenched her door open. “Where were you?”

Words died on Daisy’s tongue. She’d seen him angry, but this was something else. This wasn’t just fury, it was worry, fear, insecurity.

Anabella jumped into his arms. “Did you miss me?”

He pushed her back. “You didn’t have permission to leave the estancia .” Then he turned on Daisy. “What were you thinking? You didn’t have permission to take my sister off the ranch, and if you’d wanted to go, you should have called.”

Daisy climbed out of the car. She couldn’t argue with him, and after having just gone to hell and back with Anabella’s disappearing act, she realized that it could have been much worse.

But he wasn’t finished with her yet. “The housekeeper said you were gone for almost six hours. Six hours. Where were you?”

“Shopping,” Anabella answered blithely. “Daisy took me to lunch in Santa Rosa and we did some shopping before stopping for a coffee. It was lovely. It was Daisy’s idea, and we had an absolutely wonderful day.”

Daisy’s idea. How clever of Anabella. Set Daisy up so Daisy would feel too awkward, too guilty, to tell Dante about Anabella’s escapade.

But Daisy knew what Anabella had done. She knew the girl had left the restaurant, gone somewhere with who knew whom, and—

Daisy couldn’t even finish the thought, wondering how she could have possibly been so foolish as to think she could trust Anabella. She should have listened to Dante. He’d warned her. But Daisy thought she knew everything.

Her stomach burned. She felt like she’d swallowed acid. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

“But we had fun,” Anabella insisted, shooting Daisy a worried side glance. “Didn’t we, Daisy? It was a great time, and I owe all my thanks to you.”

“Anabella, you go to your room, I want a word with Daisy.”

“Don’t be mad at Daisy, we had such a good time—”

“Go,” he interrupted harshly, pointing to the house. “And stay there until I come for you.”

Anabella cast Daisy a pleading last glance before fleeing into the house.

Dante jammed his hands into his olive-green slacks, white shirt open at the collar, exposing his tan throat and the hard, taut planes of his chest. He looked too raw, too virile, and Daisy felt an inarticulate craving to touch him, unbutton his shirt and slide her hand across the tanned skin.

“You had no business taking her off the property.” His voice was curt. “You should have called me, you should have asked permission.”

“If you can’t trust me, then fire me, or send me home or take some kind of action, because I’m sick and tired of words.”

“This isn’t about you and me.”

“That’s where you’ve got it wrong, Dante. This is totally about you and me. It’s about you not trusting me and you not respecting me—”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Call it what you want, but I’m not going to stand here and take another lecture from you. I’m doing my best. I’m sorry it’s not enough. But maybe you expect too much out of people. You certainly want the impossible from me.”

She walked away from him. She had to. Or she’d say something she’d regret ….

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