How to Marry a Matador (Exclusive Sneak Preview)

by Ginny Baird

  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. G
wen 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.

  “How about if we just call it an appointment, then? An arrangement between associates to go and see some art. Besides,” he added temptingly, “I know who serves the best chile rellenos in town.”

  It was patently unfair of him to play the food card. Gwen absolutely adored chile rellenos, almost as much as she was starting to adore this man. “It’s a deal,” she said, smiling broadly.

  Dan walked Gwen back to the inn, night sounds singing around them. He’d really jumped in headlong with this one, but Dan couldn’t completely blame himself. With her lovely looks and warm and charming personality, Gwen had led him right to it. He’d been having such a good time with her at dinner, he couldn’t bear having the evening end. The only remedy for that was to suggest seeing her tomorrow. He didn’t have much going on at the gallery, and what was left to do Megan could take care of.

  Dan stole a glimpse of Gwen strolling beside him in the moonlight and wished for a moment that things weren’t transitory. But they were, and he’d need to remain aware of that. Just because they’d planned to spend the day together didn’t mean they’d have to become any more involved than they already were. He liked Gwen, dammit. She was sensitive and sweet, and he felt good when he was around her. Dan hadn’t felt this good about himself in a very long while. He decided it was time.

  They got to the exterior patio door of Gwen’s private suite, and she opened her purse to withdraw the key, her cheeks still aflame.