How to Marry a Matador (Exclusive Sneak Preview) (17 page)

“It’s
Ms.,
if you must know.”

Some lucky fellow was off the hook.

“My apologies. I saw the wedding band
and…”

“It’s a relic, okay? I haven’t gotten used to
going without it.”

“I’m sorry, I had no idea. I understand it
takes a while.”

She leveled him a look, as if he were the
culprit. Hey, maybe in her eyes, all men were. Dan had met the type
before and could easily read the signs:
steer clear, not for you
buddy, a sexy woman’s not everything…
Sexy? Did he just think
sexy?
Gwendolyn Marsh wasn’t movie-star thin like most
females here. Her formfitting sundress hugged every curve in just
the right way. Wrong way, as far as he was concerned. This was just
another sign he’d been alone too long. It wasn’t like Dan didn’t
have his reasons. In fact, when he was being honest, Dan realized
he was likely worse news for her than she was for him. All women
after a while had hopes, dreams…and Dan Holbrook was just the man
to dash them.

Dark eyes sparked with fierce determination.
“I think I’d like to speak to Ms. Holstein myself.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

She arched one perfectly manicured eyebrow.
“Why not?”

This was just what Dan needed, a
hot-tempered, hot-bodied woman waltzing into his Santa Fe gallery
on a hot July afternoon. Okay, it wasn’t technically his
gallery…

Dan cursed himself for his soft spot in
agreeing to run the place while Nancy was away. He didn’t even like
being indoors.

“Ms. Holstein is in the south of France, will
be until next month.”

She pulled her naturally plump lips into a
thin pink line. “I see.” She faltered slightly, nearly losing her
composure. There was sheen to her eyes that made them look moist.
Dan hoped she wasn’t about to break down crying. Nancy had assured
him this would be easy, just a few clients flying in from out of
state. Surprise negotiations and weepy women weren’t in the mix.
Negotiations Dan could handle. Weepy women were another story.

A bell tinkled above the door, and a couple
of well-dressed patrons entered, a man in an expensive suit and a
woman wearing a tailored dress and high-end cowgirl boots.

“Be right with you folks,” Dan told them,
surmising these were the buyers from Los Angeles.

Gwen stood, apparently taking this as a
dismissal. “Well, I guess that’s it, then.” She tucked her clutch
under one arm and thrust forward the opposite hand. “Thanks for
your time.”

Dan sent a furtive glance at the Californians
perusing shelves of New Mexican pottery and pretending not to
listen. “Ms. Marsh, I’m afraid we got off on the wrong…” She tapped
a strappy sandal, sporting bright painted nails and multiple toe
rings. Heat rose at Dan’s nape as his gaze eased up shapely legs.
“…foot.”

She withdrew her hand and cocked her head
sideways, waiting.

“What I mean is, please sit back down, and
let’s discuss this like reasonable people. I’m sure we can work
something out.” Dan cringed at the sound of his own voice.
Groveling? Here was a word not even in his vocabulary, yet he was
being just about as placating as humanly possible. Dan wasn’t doing
it for himself, he remembered. He was doing this for Nancy. Other
than the day-to-day oversight of things, which really was no
problem, she’d given him only two jobs to do. Surely a man as
capable at cutting deals as he was wouldn’t have trouble selling a
few items to some Los Angeles industry execs and buying canvases
from an easy-going North Carolina native. Dan had a notion Nancy
had never met Gwendolyn Marsh face-to-face when she’d made the
latter assessment.

The hardness lining her eyes eased just a
little. “I suppose I could stay for a bit,” she said, her voice
taking on the lilt of the mid-Atlantic South. She took her seat,
splaying the lap of her flowered sundress across tightly nestled
knees.

The Californians tastefully removed
themselves to the back of the gallery to study a photographic
desert landscape series, and Dan sat as well. He plucked a hanky
from his suit pocket and dabbed the back of his neck, thinking it
had to be over a hundred degrees in here.

Something tender welled in Dan’s throat, and
he realized he wasn’t just doing this for Nancy. For some
inexplicable reason, he felt driven to be nice to Ms. Marsh for her
own sake. Never mind that she’d practically bulldozed right over
him crashing in here. After all, he’d dealt with worse in business
before. The truth was Nancy had given him some leeway. If Marsh
really pushed, Dan could go up as high as three thousand a pop,
mostly because Nancy had faith in Marsh’s work and thought it was
good. Nancy also believed that Marsh could develop a Santa Fe
following. Many of the buyers here came from the West Coast, and
Marsh’s oils capturing snippets of sea life would be a ready sell.
Dan had seen the slides, and they were impressive. Borrowing more
from impressionism than realism, Marsh had a way of zeroing in on
the smallest, seemingly inconsequential detail, like an isolated
seashell, and illuminating it in a special and grandiose way.

She opened her purse and withdrew a thin
ledger. “If you’d let me show you my figures, I’m sure you’ll
understand why my prices have gone up.”

Dan scanned the haphazardly arranged numbers,
deciding she was no mathematician. He pointed to one clumsily
assumed total. “I can understand where material costs have climbed,
but how exactly is it that your hourly rate has doubled?”

“Hard times, Mr. Holbrook,” she said without
flinching. “Don’t you read the papers?”

“
Wall Street Journal
and you?” he
bantered without skipping a beat.

“Well, I…read, of course.” With that, she
awkwardly angled an elbow and sent her clutch crashing to the
floor. “Oh no!”

A small cloud of makeup powder-puffed up from
beneath them as a rolling lipstick assaulted Dan’s loafer. To this
day, he’d never understood the mysteries of a woman’s bag.

“Here, let me,” he began.

“No! I’ve got it!”

They bent simultaneously toward the mound of
sprawled purse contents, nearly knocking heads. “I’m sorry!” he
said, down on hands and knees to help her.

“My fault!”

A scent overtook him as cunning and fine as
the most succulent desert flower. Dan looked up into bewitching
brown eyes less than six inches away. Whatever was happening here,
he had to put a halt to it. This was no sensible way for a man
pushing forty to behave. He was reeling like a raving teenager. He
hadn’t been in a position this compromising with a woman in a
while, and it showed. All sorts of crazy thoughts went racing
through his head, like how it might feel to kiss her good and hard
as she probably deserved.

“You guys okay over there?” a pair of cowgirl
boots called from the corner.

“Thanks, we’ve got it!” Gwen replied,
scooting back on her knees. She couldn’t believe this mess! What
had she gotten herself into? Here she was with this hunky beast of
a man, trapped beneath a solid yet decorative desk.

He had a rugged face, tanned like he was used
to working outdoors. His sandy hair held a hint of sunlight too.
Toned muscles strained beneath his suit jacket as he posed on all
fours, looking far more like a predator in the wild than a staid
art collector. Gwen had an improbable instinct to flee but was
powerless to run away. He’d been an impossible man above board, but
down here in the shadows, he revealed something more. Instinct told
Gwen that Holbrook was the sort of man who knew how to kiss a woman
and kiss her right. She imagined getting swept into his powerful
arms, his mouth moving down on hers…

“Are you all right?” His gaze dove into her
as heat crept up her cheeks.

“Yes, fine. That’s all, I think,” she said,
scooping the remainders into her clutch.

Gwen didn’t know why his gorgeous stare had
unnerved her so. It wasn’t like she was attracted to him, for
heaven’s sake. If her take on Holbrook was correct, he had plenty
of women falling all over him already. What would a sophisticated
Western entrepreneur like him want with a Carolina girl like her
anyway? Apart from a quick good time, probably not a lot, and
Gwendolyn Marsh was quite done with being somebody’s goodtime girl,
thank you very much.

Little lines pulled at the corners of his
mouth, and she realized suddenly they were still both on the floor.
“If you’ve got all you need, don’t you think we should…” He gave a
thumbs-up, and she pushed back, standing awkwardly.

Holbrook brushed off his trousers, the slight
tugs showing off powerfully muscled thighs. Clearly not just a
gallery owner, she thought, cheeks flaming as he caught her
staring.

A tense moment ensued as both appeared to
forget where they were or what they were there for. As if to remind
them, the California man loudly cleared his throat.

“Just finishing up,” Dan told him. “Ms.
Marsh,” he began, addressing her.

“Gwen, please. I’d be happy if you called me
Gwen.” She smoothed the wrinkles from her dress and straightened
the neckline.

“Gwen,” he said, offering up his first true
smile since she’d arrived, and boy, was it a winner. If a
heartbreaker contest existed in all of the Southwest, Gwen would
bet on Holbrook to take the prize. “I’m afraid I’ve already taken
up too much of your time.”

Gwen spied the California couple circling
closer like sharks, apparently having grown tired of waiting, and
panic set in. What a terrible two days she’d had. First, her flight
to Atlanta was delayed. Then, she’d missed her Albuquerque
connection, causing her to miss her originally scheduled gallery
appointment. To top it off, when she finally got a replacement
flight, she’d chipped a nail stuffing her bulging carry-on into the
overhead compartment.

Making Santa Fe from the airport last night
was easy. Finding the craftily concealed entity of Holbrook and
Holstein on Canyon Road this morning proved more elusive. Even her
GPS was miffed, telling her to make legal U-turns wherever
possible, no matter that the prospect involved going round and
round in the Vegan Market parking lot.

Now, after making a wreck of this business
call, she’d be leaving here having done no business at all. Not one
sale to the gallery, despite her tumultuous flight and
anxiety-producing encounter with Dan Holbrook.

Gwen pulled herself up a little straighter
and squared her small shoulders. She couldn’t leave New Mexico
without getting what she came for. Too many people depended on her,
and this was the one shot she had.

“Maybe we can continue this conversation
later?” she asked with a hopeful twist to her lips.

“I was just about to suggest that.”

“You were?” she asked with surprise.

“Ms. Marsh…” He stopped himself. “Gwen… Do
you really think Holbrook and Holstein would have had you come all
this way if we didn’t have a genuine interest in your work?”
Crinkles formed at the corners of his blue eyes, and Gwen’s heart
soared.

“But I thought you said the prices quoted to
me in the email were…”

“Everything in life is negotiable. Well,
almost everything. Tell you what, why don’t you give me a few hours
to put through a phone call to France, and I’ll see what I can
do.”

In an instant, Gwen retracted every
uncharitable thought she’d had about him. When she’d first walked
into the swanky, upscale warehouse and spied him double-checking
the pricing on a large wall weaving, she’d imagined him incredibly
stuck-up. Who wouldn’t be with that six-foot build and
well-proportioned frame that spoke of power and unerring
self-control? She’d pegged him as the rigid sort who never took no
for an answer and considered his own words the final determinant.
Now that he was showing a small sliver of humanity, she realized
she might have misjudged him.

“I’d love to talk again,” she said, meaning
it sincerely. “When’s best for you?”

“How about tomorrow at lunch? Will that
work?”

Ms. Holstein, his business partner, Gwen
presumed, had proposed that Gwen make a little vacation out of her
stay in Santa Fe while she was at it. Her sister Marian had thought
it was a fine idea too.
“Go for it, Gwen! Now’s your chance to
finally get away!”
What Marian didn’t know, and Gwen hadn’t
been prepared to tell her, was that Gwen’s coming to Santa Fe had a
whole lot to do with her.

“I’m booked at the inn for ten days,” she
said, smiling softly. “So, lunch tomorrow is fine.”

Holbrook surprised her with a smile of his
own. “Awesome.” He nabbed a gallery card and quickly penned
something on the back. “Let’s meet here. Something tells me the
conversation might flow a little better between us given a couple
of avocado margaritas.”

“Avocado?” she retorted, half stunned, half
horrified.

Holbrook gave a genuine chuckle as she
accepted his card. “Nobody’s forcing the hard stuff on you. I’m
sure there will be tea and soda available too.”

There was a twinkle in his eye that set her
tailbone tingling. Slow down there, sister, Gwen told herself. This
is strictly business now. Not anywhere near a date.

“What time?” she asked primly, pinning her
clutch to her side.

He studied her in an amused way. “One o’clock
okay?”

“One sounds fine!” she said, scurrying toward
the exit before she could do or say something absurd.

“Watch the…!”

Gwen spun toward him, noting she’d nearly
upset a pretty, handblown glass vase with the edge of her bag. She
grimaced, slinking out the door as the gaping Californians gawked
on.

Once outside and beyond sight of the
gallery’s windows, Gwen snatched her bag from beneath her arm and
whacked herself soundly on the forehead. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She might have blown the whole thing. And not just by breaking a
priceless piece of art. The way she’d started things out had been
nothing short of shameless. Crafting a confrontation with the
primary gallery owner. Clearly, that could lead to nothing but
butting heads.