Latin Lovers Untamed: In Dante's Debt / Captive in His Bed / Brazilian Boss, Virgin Housekeeper

She snapped upright. She hadn’t realized he’d finished his call, nor heard him approach.

“I understand,” she answered tightly, irritated by his superciliousness. His superiority grated on her. How could he think he was more virtuous simply because he had money and they had none? “But people around here also know the Collingsworths are honest. We’ve been in business more than eighty years. We’ve hit rough patches before and pulled through.”

He didn’t immediately speak, and she couldn’t bring herself to turn and face him. He was wreaking havoc on her nerves. She definitely had lost the upper hand.

The silence seemed to last forever. At length he spoke. “Where is your father?”

His tone had lost its brusqueness. He sounded almost conciliatory. She turned slightly, glanced at him. “He’s retired.”

“I wouldn’t call it a good time for him to retire.”

“In our business there’s never a good time to retire.”

His jaw tightened, deep grooves forming along his mouth. “But he’s left this … disaster … to you?”

“This disaster is our farm, and yes, I manage the farm now, so unlucky for you, you’re going to have to deal with me.”

“Oh, I’d say lucky me,” he corrected softly.

It was the last thing she expected him to say. Daisy flooded hot, cold and began to shiver.

She could deal with sarcasm, deal with intimidation, but she couldn’t handle this—this …

Suggestive sort of foreplay. Or whatever it was. She’d never been particularly sexual or confident about herself as a woman. She knew she was smart and strong, but not …

Daisy flushed and ground her teeth, digging her hands into the back pockets of her jeans to hide her trembling. He was making her incredibly self-conscious, and suddenly she didn’t know how to handle this conversation anymore.

In the old days she would have thrown a punch. It was the way she grew up solving problems but she hadn’t thrown a punch in years, not since Tommy Wilcox had made fun of thirteen-year-old Zoe’s braces and she left Tommy with a black eye, bruised ego and a new, healthy respect for the Collingsworth sisters.

What Daisy wouldn’t give to teach Dante Galván a similar lesson.

But she was done with her fighting days, done acting the part of a rough-and-tumble tomboy. At twenty-four she knew a quick temper wouldn’t solve the problems facing her family. Only a cool head would get them out of this crisis.

Dante glanced at his watch and with a sigh shook his sleeve down, covering the gleam of gold on his wrist. “As much as I’m enjoying this little tête-á-tête, a problem has come up in Buenos Aires. I have to return to the hotel to handle this, but I will be back, Miss Collingsworth. Sooner than you think.”

He couldn’t be pleasant. Not even if he tried. But Daisy forced a smile even though it made her jaw ache. “Is that a promise, Count Galván, or a threat?”

He laughed, and the early morning sunlight cascaded over him, forming a halo around his dark head, creating the impression of impossible strength and energy. “You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

Again his eyes smoldered, his expression both personal and tangible. He made her feel so aware of herself, and aware of him. He made her realize that they were very different people and somehow he made it seem like an intriguing premise. “I’ll be back later today.”

Daisy swallowed hard, quivered inwardly, stung by the spark of heat, and took an instinctive step backward. “I’ve appointments until noon,” she said. He didn’t need to know that she’d be home, helping her father with his morning routine.

“We can meet after lunch then. I want to go over your books, see the records.”

“Those are private.”

“Daisy, I’m trying to keep this civil. It doesn’t have to be war—”

“Afraid you’d lose?”

His smile was small. He gave his head a brief, benevolent if regretful shake. “No. You’d lose. And you’d lose everything.”

Daisy’s heart pounded as she drove the short distance home. His parting words filled her with dread. It wasn’t that his tone had been cruel. Far from it. He’d actually spoken most gently. Rather, she was troubled by the stark realization that he was right. Legally, morally, financially. They owed him.

She parked the old work truck in front of the house and climbed the four front steps leading to the covered porch. Stepping through the front door of the two-story Victorian farmhouse, she smelled the faint tang of the lemon oil and the musky spice of antique English roses, varieties planted by her mother over twenty years ago.

She yanked off her hat and shook her long hair loose from its ponytail, the heavy mass reaching the dip in her back. She tossed the hat on the stair banister, passed the mirror without giving it a glance and headed straight for the kitchen.

Twenty-year-old Zoe turned from the sink where she was washing pots and pans, her blond hair twisted into a knot on top of her head. Even though they were four years apart, people often mistook them for twins.

“More calls,” Zoe said softly, lavender-blue eyes wide with apprehension. “Five of them today.”

Creditors were always calling. They started early, sometimes before seven. Daisy’s stomach knotted, but she forced a smile, wanted to somehow reassure her sister. “It’ll be all right, Zoe. I’ll call them back this afternoon.”

Straddling one of the kitchen’s ladder-back chairs, Daisy sat down and rubbed her temples, trying not to be overwhelmed as the mountain of worries kept getting bigger. “How’s Dad this morning?”

Zoe leaned against the sink and slowly wiped her sudsy hands dry. A long blond tendril had slipped from the knot and fluttered against her cheek. “Not so good. He’s been asking for Mom.” She stared at her hands, rubbing the dish towel across one hand and then the other.

Daisy watched her sister methodically rub the towel, her hands constantly moving, her anxiety palpable.

Finally Zoe looked up, her eyes wide and wet with tears she wouldn’t shed. “I never know what to tell him anymore.”

Zoe shouldn’t have to go through this, Daisy argued silently. She’d never even had the chance to go to college or get out on her own. She’d jumped from teenage innocence to adult responsibility.

Daisy felt like a failure. She should have somehow been able to protect Zoe from all this. She should have shielded her better. “I’m sorry, Zo.”

Zoe twisted the dish towel tighter, her knuckles shining white. “But what do I tell Daddy when he asks for Mom?”

A lump wedged itself in Daisy’s throat. “The truth, I suppose.”

“But the truth makes him cry.” Zoe looked up, caught her sister’s eye, her lips trembling with emotion she could barely suppress. Her expression was pleading, the lavender-blue depths filled with an agony that neither knew how to deal with. “Daddy’s never going to get any better, is he?”

Daisy stood and headed for the stairs without answering Zoe’s question. She couldn’t answer. She didn’t need to anyway. They both already knew the answer.

He should let her off. Nearly half a million dollars! It wasn’t that much money, at least not now that he’d restored the Galván fortunes. But if he let her off, his adversaries would know and would broadcast his weakness. They were sniffing for his Achilles’ heel, certain that sooner or later they’d expose it.

They probably would, too, he thought with a sigh, changing hands on the phone as he paced his hotel suite.

First there were problems with the Zimco acquisition, and now trouble was brewing with his young half sister, seventeen-year-old Anabella.

It had not been a good day so far and it was about to get much worse because he was forced to deal with his stepmother who couldn’t roll out of bed without at least one or two good stiff drinks. It was now almost noon in Argentina, which meant Marquita must be halfway through a liter of vodka by now.

If he didn’t care it would be so much easier. He could walk from his family, walk from the unbelievable debt his late father had left them, walk away from all of it and just do what he pleased.

Unfortunately, what pleased him was knowing he wasn’t like his father. What pleased him was providing for his younger sisters. What pleased him was proving that he was as unlike his father as possible.

The screech of Marquita’s voice in his ear brought him back to the moment. The phone dangled from his fingers as he paced the floor of his suite. Marquita was drunker than usual for noon. She must have finished her liter and started on a new bottle already.