Читать книгу Latin Lovers Untamed - Jane Porter - Страница 7

“A HALF million dollars?” Daisy Collingsworth repeated incredulously, her lips curving tightly, heart thumping with sickening speed. “You might as well slit my wrists, Count Galván, I’d bleed faster that way.”

A trio of sleek glossy thoroughbreds pounded past, jockeys sitting high in the saddle, hooves kicking up fine pink-brown dust.

But Dante Galván ignored the yearlings in training. “I don’t want to kill you. I just want my share.”

“The lion’s share,” she retorted fiercely, grinding the heels of her boots into the soft racing track dirt, unable to fathom how fate, and her father’s mistakes, had so completely turned their lives upside down. This should never have happened. Not in a thousand years. The family farm was not negotiable. Never had been. Never would be.

But he clearly was unmoved by her argument. “I only take what is mine.”

She suddenly pictured him as a lion, a massive glorious leo sunning on a rock while a half dozen lionesses loyally, happily did his work.

The mental picture infuriated her. Yes, he was Dante Galván, the son of one of her father’s former business associates—an associate notorious for underhanded business practices—but that had no weight with her. She wasn’t about to be knuckled under. “I will get a lawyer and fight you all the way.”

“Lawyers are expensive, Miss Collingsworth, and in this case even an excellent lawyer will be a waste of money.”

Her lips parted to interrupt but he held up a finger, momentarily silencing her.

“And if I might use a cliché,” he continued smoothly, the expression on his handsome face genial, downright friendly. “Even with a good attorney, you have no legal leg on which to stand. Your father signed a contract. My stables provided the stallion. Your mare delivered a foal. It’s time you paid the stud fee.”

She didn’t need to look at the contract to remember the outrageous amount the Galváns had charged them for the stallion’s stud fee. It was so outrageous she’d actually laughed out loud the first time she’d seen the statement. “Nearly half a million dollars, Count Galván? Can we please be serious? No stallion is worth a halfmillion-dollar stud fee.”

“Your father seemed to think so.”

She colored, her face burning in hot fierce bands. “My father—” She broke off, swallowed hard, fighting the wave of nausea that threatened to overtake her. After a moment she felt calm enough to try again. “My father wasn’t thinking clearly.”

It was as close to the truth as she could admit. Anything else would be revealing too much of their own personal tragedy, and that she’d never do, especially not to a man as calculating and self-serving as Count Dante Galván. He was, she thought contemptuously, no different from his greedy, manipulative father. Nothing like a chip off the old block.

His eyes suddenly narrowed, his expression subtly hardening. “I’m not interested in excuses. Your father knew what he was doing.”

“Call a spade a spade, Count Galván! Your father knew exactly what he was doing. You know how much my father looked up to him—”

“If you hope to appeal to my heart,” he interrupted curtly, “you’re going about it the wrong way. There is no love lost between my father and me.”

“Even though he’s gone?”

“Especially now that he’s gone. Death doesn’t excuse or forgive incompetence.”

“My goodness, you’re cold.”

“Not entirely.” His hands went to his hips, pushing aside the soft suede coat, and he half-smiled, a small ironic smile. “I’m not immune to the plight of a beautiful young woman facing bankruptcy and eviction. I do feel for you and understand perfectly why your father sent you to meet with me.”

His lips were stretched into a smile, and yet she’d never seen more teeth or such an impression of a snarl. He looked like a big cat about to take down its prey. Her heart thumped double hard. “And why is that?”

“You’re to butter me up, sweet-talk your way into more time, perhaps a better deal?”

She felt herself blush. “If my father wanted to butter you up, he would have sent Zoe. My sister is the sugar in the family. I’m the vinegar.”

Dante Galván threw his dark head back and laughed, melting the tension from his shoulders, easing the lines from his mouth and eyes. He suddenly looked lazy, relaxed, completely at ease. “So you’re not trying to butter me up? You’re not going to ask for favors?”

His supple brown leather coat hung open over an oatmeal-colored knit sweater. The sweater clung to the hard curved planes of his shoulders and chest. He was gorgeous. And there was nothing worse than a man who knew he looked good.

Daisy cast his dark sun-streaked hair a critical glance. Just look at him! He wore his hair long, well past his collar. She saw the way he’d ruffled it earlier as he sighed, feigning boredom. What an ego. And now he was standing here, licking his chops, anticipating his money.

Fury surged through her, fury and indignation. He, who had so much, now wanted to strip them of the little they had left.

“I wouldn’t call it a favor,” she said flatly. “But we do need time. We don’t have a half million dollars in the savings account. We don’t even have five thousand dollars in the savings account. But we can work out a payment plan—”

“Your father said that a year ago but there’s been no payment. There’s been nothing at all.”

“I sent you a check last month.”

“Yes, and it bounced.”

His sarcasm made her wince, and her stomach plummeted, a speedy free fall that left her cold and clammy. Deeply embarrassed by the reminder, she felt the blood drain from her face.

The bounced check had been an awful, ungodly and yet ridiculous mistake, a mistake she rarely made with finances. Somehow last month, in her hurry to get bills paid on time, she’d failed to record a cash withdrawal from the ATM in downtown Lexington. The cash withdrawal hadn’t been huge, but it was large enough to insure that the check to the Galváns wouldn’t clear. And it didn’t.

Daisy cursed herself yet again, bitterly heaping blame on her head.

If she’d only double-checked her ATM slips, if she’d only waited an extra day before mailing off the payment to the Galváns, none of this would have happened.

If she hadn’t made that silly error, Count Galván would have accepted the delinquent but legitimate payment, and the Collingsworths would finally be working their way out of debt.

Instead Count Galván was here, and he wanted blood.

Daisy drew herself tall and met his cynical gaze head-on. “The check would have cleared the next day. If you’d given the check a chance to clear. But you wouldn’t do that.”

He didn’t look the least bit remorseful. “No, I wouldn’t. I learned my lesson. You weren’t serious about settling the debt. You’re playing games—”

“Not true!” Daisy couldn’t help herself. The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. An immediate blush followed, her face burning from brow to chin, her cheeks feverishly hot. “It’s not like that at all.”

His lashes suddenly dropped, his gaze intently examining her flushed cheeks and pinched lips. His voice lowered, too, taking on an almost caressing tone. “Then how is it, Daisy Collingsworth? Can you explain it to me?”

With his words he was asking for an explanation, but his eyes were asking for something else, something entirely different. He was subtly shifting the focus from business to personal, from work to her. She felt a bubble of warmth rise inside her, adrenaline and nerves. She’d never dealt with anyone like Dante Galván before, didn’t know the first thing about how to handle a man like him.

She drew a ragged breath, nails biting into her palms. “I can cut you another check right now for last month’s and this month’s payment. I promise it will never happen again. You have my word.”

Count Galván’s leather-coated shoulders shifted, a small, apologetic shrug. “I can’t accept that. I’m sorry.”

It felt as though he’d punched her in the ribs. Daisy sucked in air, trying not to flinch. He had no idea how hard she’d worked this past year, no idea the sacrifices made to free up enough cash to give him one month’s payment, much less two.

Jackass. Her eyes burned but she held the sting of tears back. He was such a jackass. He was so rich, so successful that he didn’t know what it was like to count every little penny, to scrape together loose change, to deny oneself the most basic of expenses to free up every dollar possible.

For what?

A horse farm. A bankrupt four-generations family horse farm.

The moment Daisy thought it, she felt worse than before. She didn’t hate the farm. She loved the farm. The farm was her life. It meant everything to her—the horses, the land, the farm buildings—this was home and to hell with Dante Galván if he thought he could take it from her.

Daisy tightened the muscles in her legs, locked her knees and pressed down through her heels, rooting her to the soil. “My word might mean nothing to you, but our cash should. You want to be paid, I’m telling you that you’ll be paid. I’ll cut the check now and accompany you to the bank.”

“What about next month? What happens in thirty days?”

He was trying to bait her but she wouldn’t do it. He wasn’t going to get another rise out of her. “You’ll be paid. Promptly.”

“And the month after that?”

“Stop it.” She didn’t snap, but she wasn’t smiling, either. She was too tired to do this. She didn’t have the patience. Her father had been particularly difficult last night, and instead of waking Zoe as they’d agreed, Daisy let her younger sister sleep, knowing that Zoe needed her rest. But the generous gesture last night meant that Daisy was worn out this morning and Count Galván’s patronizing attitude was wearing her raw.

His lips, full and overtly sensual, twisted. “Miss Collingsworth, I’m not trying to be rude. I’m simply trying to make the point that I can’t afford to wait to be paid. Your farm is clearly struggling. If we don’t settle the debt now, I think it’s highly unlikely it will ever be settled.”

She was tall, five ten without her boots, but he was a good head taller. She jerked her chin up, her gaze colliding with his. “You really do like to hit below the belt.”

“Never with a woman, especially not with a woman like you.”

She averted her head, half closing her eyes, denying the honey warmth flooding her limbs.

His husky pitch did as much damage to her nerves as his words. He couldn’t have meant anything by that, and if he did, she wouldn’t let herself feel flattered. “We own the house free and clear. We’re not about to lose the house—”

“But you’ve taken out second and third loans on the property itself. You’re behind in payments to the bank.”

How did he know that? She felt sick to her stomach. “But the bank won’t foreclose. I’m working on a payment plan with them.”

“Just like you’ve been working on a payment plan with me.”

For a moment she almost thought she was going to lose her breakfast, throw up her coffee and cold cereal all over his polished leather loafers. But she clamped her jaw tight, ground her teeth and held back the sick wave of nausea.

Daisy couldn’t imagine a more awful torture. She, with all her pride, forced to endure his condescension and pity. The poor Collingsworths … those hapless, helpless down-on-their-luck Collingsworths …

No. She wouldn’t buy into it. They were struggling but they weren’t down and out. She’d find a way out of this. She’d get her family through this. One way or another.

Daisy pushed up the brim of her taupe cowboy hat, and her long blond ponytail fell forward, slipping over her shoulder in a silvery sheen. “Count Galván, I realize we owe you nearly a half million dollars for the stud fee and I realize two small monthly payments seem like a drop in the bucket, but I’m attempting to settle this debt. However, you won’t work with me, and I can’t make you work with me, but I can consult an attorney and get some legal advice—”

“Advice?” His tone turned deceptively soft.

“Regarding harassment,” she hurriedly continued, trying to ignore the fact that his cheekbones had hardened, the high curve turning to granite as his lips compressed.

“Muneca, you don’t want to take me to court.”

His husky voice trickled down her spine like fingertips, and she shivered inwardly, more deeply affected than she’d admit. “I can file Chapter Eleven. We’d be protected while we reorganized our debt. You wouldn’t see a penny for a long, long time.”

He didn’t say anything. He simply stared at her, a mixture of disgust and amazement lighting his eyes. She’d surprised him.

Daisy wondered why she didn’t feel more victorious. In truth, she felt a little afraid. Only fools turned the Galváns into adversaries. The Galváns were incredibly powerful people. Her father had always tried so hard to keep the peace with the late Tino Galván.

Thankfully Dante’s cellular phone began to ring, and he fished inside his leather coat, retrieving the phone from an inner pocket. The phone was minuscule, barely larger than a credit card. Of course he’d carry the newest form of technology. Nothing but the most modern and most expensive for Count Dante Galván.

He turned away to take the call but Daisy watched him converse, his dark head tipped in concentration, lashes lowered to conceal his expression. Suddenly he looked at her from beneath his lashes and caught her staring.

He lifted his eyebrows slightly as if to say, “Well? Do you like what you’re seeing?” and Daisy blushed deeply, a frisson of warmth bursting to life within her. She hated that she even found him interesting. He shouldn’t be interesting to her. He was shallow, superficial, spoiled. He—but no, she didn’t want to think about him, didn’t want to waste even a second on him.

Abruptly Daisy moved away, walking on stiff legs to the edge of the track. Drawing a deep breath, she leaned against the painted fence railing and waited for the trio of horses to round the bend.

The thudding hooves shook the ground, sending a rumbling sensation through her boots and into her legs. She watched as the horses galloped closer, and Daisy moved near the fence to get the best view possible. She held her breath as the horses thundered past, the jockeys a blur of red and yellow in their training jackets.

Oh, how beautiful they are.

For a blissful moment she forgot everything—her father, the debt, Dante Galván—too immersed in joy.

Her gaze clung to the yearlings, enthralled by the vision of long legs flying, arched satiny necks, tails sailing. Her horses, her farm, her future.

“You file Chapter Eleven and you might as well close Collingsworths’ doors.” His voice came from behind her. “Horses are big business, particularly in Kentucky. You don’t play with people’s investments.”

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.

“What’s Anabella done now?” he asked with exaggerated patience.

Countess Marquita Galván immediately launched into an incoherent diatribe, gibberish words about Anabella and boys and running away from school.

Dante closed his eyes and drew a slow, deep breath. “Where is she?”

“At school, of course. She can’t come here.”

“Why not?” he asked. “She is your daughter.”

“Because I can’t deal with her. I can’t handle her problems. I have problems of my own.”

Yes, liquor, laziness, extravagance. His jaw hardened, a muscle popping close to his ear as he fought to contain his anger. Why had his stepmother ever had children? How could she have three and then abdicate all responsibility?

He suddenly pictured Tadeo, the lost one, the half brother who’d never made it to eighteen. Dante’s heart felt wrenched. It actually felt broken in places. Would he never get over Tadeo’s death? Would he ever be able to think of Tadeo without wanting to scream?

Tadeo was a great kid. Smart, funny, compassionate, sensitive. Sensitive. And it had killed him.

Dante was damned if he’d let Marquita’s indifference destroy Anabella, too. “I’ll be back in a couple days. Leave Anabella to me. I’ll call the headmistress. I’ll work this out.”

“Thank goodness,” Marquita breathed with relief. “I have a massage at two. I’d hate to miss that.”

“That’d be a real tragedy.”

Dante hung up, paced the suite another half dozen times before hesitating in front of the mirror hanging over the fireplace mantel.

Dark hair, light eyes, wide mouth. But he didn’t see himself. He saw his father. Dante looked just like his father. It was a curse, he thought, a curse because he was constantly reminded that his father had not only failed him, but had failed all of them—his father had brought them all to the brink of destruction and abandoned them there.

Dante felt his father’s sins again. Dante had saved the Galván family corporation from disaster, turned the bleak financial picture around, but that success meant nothing if he couldn’t save Anabella.

And he couldn’t do that here. He had to get back to Buenos Aires, which meant straightening out this mess with the Collingsworths and closing the door on what had been a very bad business deal.

Resolved on action, Dante picked up the phone, looked up the Collingsworth phone number, then punched in the seven digits. A soft voice answered on the second ring.

“Daisy Collingsworth?” he said sharply. He didn’t want to be harsh, but he didn’t like what he was going to do. He didn’t want to nail the Collingsworths to the wall, but he couldn’t afford to waste more time here. He needed to get on a plane. Needed to return home. One had to be tough to survive, he thought cynically. One had to take no prisoners.

“This is Zoe. Did you want Daisy?”

Zoe. Her voice was so gentle, almost tender, and he realized she couldn’t be much older than Anabella.

His gut burned. His chest tightened. He felt like hell. “Yes. Is she available?”

He waited a good several minutes before someone picked up the phone. “This is Daisy.”

Daisy’s voice was firmer than Zoe’s, a little huskier but no less feminine, and Dante suddenly pictured Daisy as she’d faced him at the track—pink T-shirt outlining full breasts, long legs sheathed in tight denim and the barest, softest lips he’d ever seen.

She was tall, blond and beautiful. And while her blue eyes looked cool, he’d seen enough of her temper to know she burned fire.

“Dante Galván here,” he said, and then almost smiled when he heard her swift inhale. “It’s time to get serious, muneca.”