Santa Fe Fortune (5 page)

Gwen heaved a sigh, knowing she couldn’t continue to beat herself up over Robert’s shortcomings. When she was thinking clearly, as Marian often encouraged her to do, she understood that her marriage falling apart had more to do with him than her. Or perhaps it was due to them both and the fact that, once they’d escaped from the
cocoonlike
sanctuary of the university, neither of them truly fit together. Gwen wondered sadly if she was destined to fit together with any man. Perhaps that wasn’t in the cards for her, and maybe that was okay. If her art took off and she built herself a career, something that she adored and was really proud of, that might be enough.

She considered her meeting this evening with Dan, realizing she’d been acting like a silly schoolgirl. It wasn’t his fault she hadn’t dated since her divorce, so why should she hold him accountable for her surging hormones? Any nice-looking man who’d paid her attention would likely have made her feel the same. As an elementary schoolteacher, she simply hadn’t had much opportunity for that. All the men she met were either married or formerly married and quickly reattached. It seemed the decent ones didn’t last long on the market. From what she’d gathered from her quick perusals of Internet dating sites, the perpetual bachelors all seemed to have something wrong with them. Then again, Dan appeared normal. Exceedingly normal, healthy, and sexually enticing as well. So why hadn’t a tamale-hot catch like him been snapped up already?

Gwen decided to head back to the inn to cool off for a few hours before her gallery appointment. This praying business didn’t seem to be going too well. She thought she’d probably done it wrong. It had been such a while, she couldn’t tell. In any case, she was grateful to Dan for granting her this chance. At the heart of it, Gwen understood that was all this really was, a chance to sell some of her art to a very fine place and hopefully help turn her sister’s life around. That was worth a few
amens
, no doubt. She dipped her head, offering them quickly, and bowed out of the cathedral before anyone could stop her and ask her for money. That was one part of going to church she hadn’t forgotten. There was a lady near the door collecting donations for the restoration fund. Gwen slipped silently past her and out into the sunshine before the woman could hold up a brochure. Maybe once Gwen was rich and famous she’d feel a bit more philanthropic. At the moment, she scarcely had cash for dinner. She’d have to hurry to catch the wine-and-cheese hour before the other guests cleaned out the Havarti.

Dan paced the redwood-pine floors, double-checking the time on his BlackBerry. The afternoon couldn’t have dragged out more if he’d planned it. It all seemed to go in slow motion, as if he were deep-sea diving, arms and legs battling against ocean pressure.

The occasional browsers stopped by, and there was the shipment to get out to Los Angeles, but Nancy’s assistant Megan had come in to see to that. She wore a nose piercing and a puckish haircut that added to her image of a small sprite sprinting around the gallery. Dan had never seen a twenty-three-year-old with so much energy. She was very astute though, her nimble mind eager to acquire anything and everything about gallery running. She hoped to manage a place of her own one day and apparently did some sort of printmaking on the side.

“That’s it, then,” Megan said, peering up at him through heavily
mascaraed
eyes. “Think that I might sneak out early? I’ve got a date for drinks at Nines.” Nines was the hipster bar on an adobe rooftop overlooking the mountains.

“Don’t let me hold you back,” Dan said.

“Are you all right?” Megan asked. “You’ve seemed a little…off this afternoon. Maybe you should head out early too.”

Dan was more than a little off; he was distractingly discombobulated. He’d spent over three hours poring through Nancy’s customary client list, trying to discern those who might be interested in Gwen’s work. If he’d had his head on straight, the task might have taken him forty-five minutes. Instead, he’d caught himself daydreaming at every turn, reliving his lively lunch with Ms. Gwendolyn Marsh. Just as in the gallery the day before, he’d been sucked in by the feminine scent of her. Didn’t help one iota that she obviously perfumed her legs, legs that were attached to one knock-out of a womanly body, teamed with a damnably adorable and kissable, he couldn’t help but reason, face. And, when her eyes sparked with delight at the thought that he might help her, could actually sell her canvases in this absurd ten-day timeframe, Dan’s heart had done an unexpected flip-flop.

“I’m fine,” he lied to Megan. “Why don’t you go on ahead? I’ve got an artist stopping by at closing. I’ll lock up.”

Megan grabbed her colorful straw bag that looked large enough to hold a weekend wardrobe and pranced out the door.

Dan strode to the desk and withdrew Gwen’s contract from the nearby filing cabinet. He glanced through the folder for maybe the tenth time today, ensuring everything was in order. The paperwork was all lined up. Now all Dan had to do was steel his heart. He was getting far too carried away with this. Just because Gwen looked like an angel and spoke in a sweet Southern twang that was sexy as sin, that didn’t mean he’d have to give in to her. He was a rational man, by all accounts, savvy at business dealings and skilled at keeping his emotions in check.

Okay, he’d made that one mistake. But it wasn’t like it was going to come back to haunt him. It had been more than a month now, and he’d heard nothing further about it. It had been a harsh lesson in letting sleeping dogs lie. Once you make a pact to move on, there should be no looking back. Looking ahead wasn’t sounding so safe at the moment either. Gwen was scheduled to be in town only ten days. She had her life back East to lead, and Dan had his own ghosts to contend with here. He shook off a gloomy feel, determined to make the best of their meeting. Dan was sensible enough to know he could assist a damsel in distress without falling into bed with her. And just to make certain he hadn’t forgotten, the fates had pressed a branding iron to his chest a mere six weeks ago to drive that message home.

Gwen tugged at the zipper of her skirt, sliding it up her ample hip. She’d put on a few pounds since her divorce but still looked okay, she supposed. She’d never been accused of being overly thin. Marian was the slight one in the family, while Gwen fought the perpetual battle of the booty. Breasts, hips, and thighs had a will of their own. No matter how she tried, they relished maintaining their prefab form. After a while, Gwen had just given up and decided to enjoy life. As long as she operated within reason, didn’t diet or exercise too much, she could stay within the same five-pound range that she’d grown accustomed to and certain men seemed to appreciate.

Gwen flushed at the memory of Dan’s sky-blue gaze. At first she’d thought he’d just been flattering her, trying to put a gallery contact at ease. But the more she pondered it, the less she thought so. As they’d sat there discussing canvas pricing, his heated perusal had washed all over her like the clearest Caribbean wave. Gwen imagined the two of them on a distant beach, Dan bare-chested in the sun. He’d tell her once more how beautiful she was, and, half-naked in her tummy-control swimsuit, she’d feel forced to believe it. He’d take her by the waist then, pull her soft body to his, taut stomach muscles tensing as he wrapped his arms around her… Gwen heard the surf crash, water swirling furiously at their feet, as he brought his glorious mouth to hers.

Suddenly, she realized she’d stalled in applying her lipstick and was standing there all puckered up like a ridiculous guppy. “That’s the price I pay for that second Shiraz,” she scolded herself, vowing to make coffee. She was glad the suite’s miniature kitchen supplied what she needed for that. Now where was the sugar cube she could find to quell her outlandish fantasies?

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.