How to Marry a Matador (Exclusive Sneak Preview)

by Ginny Baird

  ****

  SANTA FE FORTUNE

  “I had a really great time tonight,” she said, beaming up at him and feeling very much as if it had been a date.

  “Me too,” he said, stepping a fraction of an inch closer. Sea-blue eyes washed over her, threatening to pull her under. And boy, did she want to get swept away. “I’m glad you agreed to see me tomorrow, even if it’s just an arrangement.”

  Gwen sensed Dan could rearrange her heart every which way, if she wasn’t careful. “I’m glad I’m seeing you too,” she said, feeling the warmth in her cheeks.

  “Ten o’clock work for you?” he asked, his tone growing gravelly.

  “Uh-huh,” she uttered, mesmerized by his gaze.

  He moved nearer now, his mouth just inches away. “I’ll be damned if I don’t want to kiss you,” he said, his voice a husky rasp.

  And she’d be damned if she didn’t want him to. “Dan…” she said, tilting up her chin and closing her eyes.

  “But I won’t,” he said, snapping her back to attention, eyes open. “Not now. Not here. Not like this…”

  She started to speak as he brought his fingers to her lips. “If ever I’ve seen a woman who deserves to be kissed well, it’s you. But the timing has got to be right. You have to be sure.” He cast a cursory glance at her wedding band and backed away. “I need to be sure. Something tells me we’ve both gone down a path neither of us wants to travel again…”

  ****

  Chapter One

  Gwendolyn Marsh leaned across the large oak table that served as a desk. “I’m going to be honest with you, Mr. Holbrook. I didn’t fly all the way out here to get swindled.”

  Dan stared in disbelief at the incredibly contentious woman. Swindled was an awfully big accusation coming from such a small frame. She couldn’t stand more than five foot five in heels, and she’d nearly tumbled off them striding into the place.

  “Like I told you, Mrs. Marsh, I’m not in the position to make that decision. If two thousand a canvas is what Ms. Holstein quoted you in the email, then I’m afraid I’ll need to stick by that.”

  Soft gold curls fell at uneven angles, framing a lovely face as deep brown eyes homed in on him. If she weren’t so hard-edged, he might consider her beautiful. Dan stopped himself, realizing appraisals of the clientele weren’t in his job description.

  “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.
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  Gwen felt a warmth surge through her, recalling their close encounter of the nearly carnal kind. There was more to Dan Holbrook than met the eye. Hadn’t he just proved that with his turn of kindness at the end? But the truth of the matter was that whatever sort of man he was, or wasn’t, was beside the point. Gwen had come to Santa Fe on a mission, and that mission involved dollar signs. She didn’t just want the money; she needed it. Twenty thousand in cash, and she wasn’t leaving New Mexico without it.

  Dan finished business quickly with the couple from Los Angeles after offering sincere apologies for making them wait. They’d prearranged to purchase the desert photo series, and everything, including price negotiations, thank goodness, had been settled with Nancy in advance. It was a simple matter of the pair presenting a check and Dan providing the receipt. In the morning, he’d arrange for shipping, and Nancy’s gallery assistant would be in to help with the details. That would be the simple part of Dan’s day. Lunchtime could prove more problematic.

  Dan chided himself for suggesting Gwen meet him at La Cantina rather than here. Outwardly, he told himself that he was being charitable. Gwen had seemed so uptight at the gallery, perhaps a more comfortable venue would be less intimidating. He’d read her résumé and understood that if she sold through Holbrook and Holstein, it would be her first real sale, her official launch in the art world. But deep in the veiled recesses of his soul, Dan suspected a slight ulterior motive. He hadn’t enjoyed the company of an attractive woman in ages, and this was a safe way to do it. Lunch in the middle of the day, a straightforward business deal? What could be more innocent? Raw doubts niggled at him as he warned himself against getting in too deep. The way he’d sprung the invitation on Gwen had been completely out of character. It had been a split-second decision, an act on impulse, and Dan was anything but an impulsive man.

  He would never have built his empire of custom-design homes for the moneyed set if he’d operated from a basis of anything but collected cool. In those circles, Dan was known for his keen eye and level head, as well as his effectiveness in putting together a team. From the highest-level architect to the most basic yet very skilled carpenter, every one of Holbrook Designs’ workers was treated with utmost respect and handsomely paid. This was particularly appreciated in the current economic climate but had always been the operational mode for Dan. Whether times were easy or hard, Dan’s business remained steady. While his homes certainly weren’t cheap, they were of a consistent quality the buyer could count on. Plus, Dan was a man of his word who stood by his product. People could depend on him to deliver the best and ensure they had a comfortable and stunningly beautiful place in which to live for years to come. It was an area in which Dan felt confident, competent.