How to Marry a Matador (Exclusive Sneak Preview) (21 page)

Gwen had considered putting on a flirty dress
for her meeting with Dan tonight but now worried that might send
the wrong message. She wasn’t seeing him for any sort of social
reasons, she reminded herself. They were convening to sign a
contract, for heaven’s sake. Gwen lifted her perfume bottle and
spritzed her neck, wrists, and the backs of her knees with its fine
aroma.

Gwen’s belly warmed as she recalled how Dan
had hesitated by her foot just an instant too long in retrieving
her dropped napkin. If he’d touched her then, even by accidentally
brushing her calf, she would have fainted. They would have had to
call in the rescue squad to scoop her limp form off the New Mexican
tile. It didn’t take an expert to see the super-studly Dan Holbrook
held more masculinity in one pinkie than the pallid and
self-possessed Robert contained from head to toe.

Coffee, Gwen reminded herself, noting by the
clock on the nightstand it was almost time. The sooner she got this
over and done with, the better. If she could negotiate the
paperwork without chancing to shake Dan’s hand, all the better.
Even after the coffee, Gwen didn’t trust herself to touch him. This
was what Marian called an unwelcome consequence of celibacy.

Gwen adjusted her bra, shifting her bosom
into its proper place, then, quite as an afterthought, she was
sure, gave her cleavage the tiniest little burst of Midnight
Jasmine perfume.

Dan looked up as the door chime sounded.
There she stood, looking as gorgeous as a desert sunset, the colors
of her sexy, short dress swirling about her in mauve, gold, and
russet browns. “Are you ready for me?” she asked, dark eyes
sparkling with anticipation.

Dan thought he was, in fact had prepared for
her all afternoon, but now he felt as awkward and uncertain as a
teenager. “Of course,” he said, working to get the words out in a
businesslike manner. “Come on in.” Her womanly scent overtook him
as his eyes trailed from her ankles to her cleavage to her faintly
colored cheekbones. “Please, have a seat.” He indicated a spot,
nearly missing his own chair. Dan scooted onto it as she pulled
hers in toward the desk just a tad too close. The sweet angles of
her knees pressed into his ever so slightly.

A crimson blush warmed her shoulders and
swept up her delicate throat. “Oh! Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry!”
she cried, backing up.

“No worries! Really,” he protested.

Gwen sat up a little straighter in her chair
and crossed her legs as Dan opened the file in front of him. He
passed her the paperwork with an appreciative gaze.

“You look lovely tonight,” he said, unable to
stop himself.

Gwen met his eyes, her cheeks still aglow.
“Thank you. You look…really super too.”

Dan reined himself in, applying his best
businesslike tone. “I believe everything’s in order there,” he said
as she fanned through the pages. “If you’d like to look it over, I
can answer any questions.”

The sun dipped low outside, casting a
tangerine hue throughout the wide-open spaces of the gallery as
Gwen sorted through the agreement. After a few moments of studied
concentration, she addressed Dan with a relieved smile. “It all
seems straightforward.” She’d worried it might be complicated,
filled with legalese and fine-print sections. On the contrary, it
basically laid out what they had discussed at lunch, with a few
boilerplate clauses she supposed were included in most contracts of
this kind. “Where do I sign?”

Dan indicated the line, then added his own
signature to the page.

“Have you come up with any contacts? I mean,
people who might buy my art?”

Dan smiled indulgently. “Don’t you think we
ought to get it here first?”

“Right! I’ll have Marian send it out
tomorrow. Like I said, it’s all boxed and ready to go. All she has
to do is call for shipping.”

Dan wrote some numbers on a small notepad on
the desk. “This is our account number for Southwest Express. Have
your sister call this phone number and bill it to us. She can let
them know where and when to pick up the packages.”

“Well, thanks, that’s very gracious. That
will help a lot.” Gwen couldn’t let him know that her wallet was
paper-thin or that her sister was destitute.

“I’ve actually already sent out a couple of
emails, feelers, if you will, to gallery contacts who might have an
interest in an East Coast ocean scene or two.”

Gwen felt her face warm with excitement.
“That’s wonderful!” She fought an urge to race around the desk and
hug him.

“As soon as the pieces arrive,” he continued,
“I’ll start making follow-up calls. I’m hoping to have some serious
buyers in looking by the end of the week. Assuming the shipment
goes as planned.”

Gwen sprang from her seat and lunged for his
hand. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said, taking his hand in
hers and holding it firmly.

His gaze wrapped around her, trapping her in
his heat. “It’s my pleasure, really,” he said, exerting delicate
pressure against her palm. Little tingles raced up Gwen’s arm, and
instantly she knew she’d made a mistake. She’d told herself to keep
her distance. Now, all she wanted to do was get closer still. Gwen
released his grip, attempting to steady herself on wobbly knees. If
merely shaking hands had this much effect, she’d hate to see the
pool of putty she’d be in if he’d dared to kiss her.

“Have you eaten anything since lunch?” he
asked with concern.

Gwen pulled herself together, realizing she
must have suddenly paled. “I had some wine and cheese back at the
inn.”

“Havarti?” he asked, with uncanny
insight.

“How did you…?”

He repressed a grin, pointing to the back of
her head. Gwen ran panicked fingers through her hair, finding a
nice little chunk of cheese caught up in her curls.

She stared at him, mortified. “I’m so
embarrassed,” she began.

“Don’t be,” he offered kindly. “I get
Camembert in mine all the time.”

She scanned his face for the hint of a smile
but couldn’t detect one beneath his deadpan.

“This time, I know you’re teasing,” she said,
and the moment between them lightened.

Small lines tugged at the corners of his
mouth as blue eyes crinkled. “Something tells me you’re getting to
know me too well.” His gaze held a hint of longing mixed with
caution. “Wine and cheese isn’t much of a dinner. I know a place
with great steaks, if you’d like to join me?”

Gwen knew she was wrong to say yes.
Everything inside her screamed
caution, slippery roads
ahead
. But all Gwen wanted to do was get in that spectacular
sports car and drive.

“I’d love to,” she said, accepting his
invitation.

Dan led them down a side street to an elegant
outdoor restaurant set a few blocks from the plaza. The shaded
pathway to its entrance bypassed the abutting Loretto Chapel, a
notable nineteenth-century structure in Gothic Revival style,
complete with buttresses and spires.

“Have you been in there?” Dan asked as they
strolled by the wind art adorning the chapel’s lawn.

Gwen admired the huge hands of the whimsical
brass structures cupping and turning in the breeze as the sun sank
low. “Not yet.”

Her view panned to a fanciful wood carving of
a man guarding the chapel door.

“Saint Joseph,” Dan said, indicating the
statue. “I’ll tell you the story over dinner. You do believe in
miracles?” He was smiling at her in a playful way.

A shiver shimmied down Gwen’s spine, as she
thought it was nothing short of miraculous that she was here, right
now, with him. Dan Holbrook was not just a feast for the eyes, he
was funny and kind and apparently enjoying her company. Plus, he
made her feel beautiful. Not just because he’d said it. It was in
the way he looked at her, all the time.

“I’ll keep an open mind,” she said, smiling
back at him.

Dan shoved his hand in his pocket to prevent
himself from reaching out and taking hers. In some ways, it would
have seemed natural as he led her toward the maître d. In others,
it was completely absurd! Dan heaved a sigh, grateful good sense
had prevailed.

“Are you all right?” she asked,
chocolate-brown eyes imploring.

“Just taking in the evening,” he said,
thankful there was no wait for a table.

He ordered them filet mignon with a mushroom,
red pepper, and sherry reduction, Caesar salads to start, and a
choice bottle of Chilean red wine. Dan didn’t want to mess this up.
Gwen’s dinner had to be perfect. He’d slipped the maître d an
unseen tip to ensure it. He’d also told Gwen upfront that the meal
was on him. He’d seen the way her brow had knitted slightly as
she’d surveyed the menu prices. Dan wasn’t sure what sort of money
trouble she was in, but he could bet her budget didn’t include
places like this one.

“The service is fabulous here,” Gwen said as
her water glass magically refilled.

Dan had the impression Gwen wasn’t used to
men treating her right. He was glad to be able to change that, to
show her that not all men were schmucks, maybe just the ones she’d
previously run into. “Wait until you taste the food.”

She smiled sweetly over the rim of her
wineglass. “This carménère is delicious. I’m so glad I got to try
it.”

“Should go well with the steak,” Dan said,
hoping he’d scored a point. For the life of him, he wanted to
impress this woman. She looked prettier than ever, sitting there
relaxed in the candle’s glow. He compared her now to how she’d
appeared yesterday afternoon in the gallery, anxiously combative,
like if he didn’t see things her way, there’d be hell to pay. He
probably liked this Gwen better. Though the truth of the matter was
Dan didn’t really mind the other one much at all. He could see a
man getting used to a balanced measure of them both.

Dan took a sip of wine, knowing he was
letting his emotions get the best of him. That was a dangerous
mountain to climb when he understood what was on the other side: a
clean downhill slide where his heart would take a tumble. Elena had
been quite detailed in enumerating his faults.

A crescent moon rose as a smattering of stars
poured onto the canvas of the night sky above them. Their salads
arrived, artfully served and in a timely fashion.

“So, are you going to tell me the story?” she
asked eagerly.

Dan was happy for the chance to take his mind
off his gloomy thoughts. “Ah yes, the story of Loretto Chapel,” he
said, setting down his glass. He leaned forward on his elbows and
lowered his voice. “And its mysterious spiral staircase.”

“Staircase?” she asked with surprise.

“Legend has it the staircase in Loretto
Chapel arrived as a miracle. Some to this day may dispute it, but
many others do not.”

“Go on,” she pressed, intrigued.

“Rumor holds that when the chapel was
completed in the eighteen hundreds, the dear nuns who lived there
noted there was no staircase to get them to the choir loft on the
upper level.”

“Oh my!”

“So they prayed for nine days for a miracle.
On the tenth day, an unknown carpenter appeared and offered to
complete the task. He built the freestanding staircase all by
himself without using glue, nails, or any central support. Then, as
soon as he was done, the stranger disappeared just as mysteriously
as he’d arrived, without ever having identified himself or
demanding any payment. The good sisters of Loretto naturally took
this as a miracle, and the man to have been Saint Joseph himself.
The proof I believe lies in the number of steps of the freestanding
structure, made of a wood not even found in this region.”

“Well?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.

“Thirty-three. The age of Jesus Christ.”

Gwen leaned back in her chair with a
delighted laugh. “That’s wonderful! What a fantastic story.”

“It’s not a story,” he said with mock
defensiveness. “It’s a miracle.” The corners of his mouth twitched
slightly, and Gwen could tell he was repressing a smile. She was
finally starting to read him, and for a girl who didn’t like to
read, that said a lot.

Gwen cocked an eyebrow and shot him an impish
smile. “Do you believe in miracles, Dan?”

He captured her with his gaze, stilling her
heart for a fraction of a second. “Let’s just say I believe most
things in life can be rationally explained.”

“Most things don’t mean all,” she bantered
lightly.

He raised his glass to hers as their salad
plates were cleared and the entrées arrived. “You’ve got me there.”
Everything smelled delicious. Gwen couldn’t wait to dig in. She
hadn’t realized how hungry she’d gotten subsisting on complimentary
inn food these past few days.

“How’s your filet?” he asked as she took a
heavenly bite that literally melted in her mouth. “Cooked all
right?”

He was incredibly handsome in the soft light,
flames from the outdoor fire caressing the solid lines of his
face.

“Perfect. Everything’s just perfect. I
couldn’t have had a better night.”

“I’m glad,” he said with a grin. “That just
leaves tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve got a bit of time to kill while the
shipment comes in. Got any plans?”

“I thought I’d take in an art museum or
two.”

“That sounds great. I’ve been considering
taking the day off myself.”

Gwen set down her fork. “Are you…asking me on
a date?”

“You mean unlike this one,” he
deadpanned.

She gasped with surprise. “This was a
date?”

“It could be if you wanted it to.”

Gwen’s heart went fluttering in all sorts of
wild directions. Why on earth was he doing this? Surely there was
no sense in it. She’d be gone by the week’s end. “I’m not so sure
that’s a good idea.”

“Which one?”

“This a date… Tomorrow. I…I don’t know.” And
she didn’t, she really didn’t. She was feeling all jumbled up
inside, like she’d desperately wanted something and now didn’t know
what to do once she’d gotten it.