The Dreaming Of... Collection. Оливия Гейтс

was an old woman—still sending what money she could to her mother. It was never enough. Her mother had no idea about saving, or making do, or even working for a living. But if Danny stayed here she would never have the chance to build a nest egg. She would never own her own place—

      So it was time to get moving—get on with life and make as much of a success of it as she could. She had more sense than to waste her time daydreaming about Tiago Santos.

      * * *

      She woke to a chilly grey dawn. Grimacing, she pulled the covers up to her chin. Chico and Lizzie had started improvements on the house Lizzie had inherited from her grandmother, but nothing had been spent on Rottingdean for years, and replacing the entire central heating system in the big old house was still a work in progress. The ancient radiators clanked noisily but gave off little heat—though Danny suspected she was shivering because she was tired as well as cold, having only dozed on and off through the night.

      The reason for that was Tiago Santos.

      So much for banishing the man from her thoughts! Tiago’s touch on her body was as vivid now as it had been when he’d held her on the dance floor. She’d been warm in his arms.

      She was a hopeless case, Danny concluded, swinging out of bed. Her only excuse was that Tiago Santos was the type of distraction that could make an arrow swerve from its course.

      She showered, and grabbed a towel to rub herself down until her skin glowed red. Clearing a space on the steamed-up mirror, she examined her face. The bruise under her eye had turned an ugly yellow-green. Attractive! But at least the swelling had gone down, thanks to Tiago’s horse liniment.

      She laughed, remembering the look on his face when she had mentioned the stink. She knew that ointment well. They all used it. It had been a kind thought, but the sort of thing any man would do, she concluded wryly, throwing on as many layers of clothing as she had brought with her. She would have to put on everything she possessed to keep the bitter cold at bay.

       It would be warm in Brazil.

      ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ she exclaimed out loud.

      Glancing out of the window, she jumped back fast, seeing Tiago in the yard. So he hadn’t gone back to Brazil yet...

      With her heart beating like a drum, she took a second look. Tiago had stopped on his way across the yard to speak to a fellow guest, and was being his usual charming self. He made time for everyone, and even from this distance his smile made her smile.

      It was such an attractive flash of strong white teeth in that stern, swarthy face. It was a smile that made her stomach clench and her limbs melt as she wondered, for the umpteenth time, what it would feel like to have a man like Tiago Santos do more than just hold her in his arms. She had experienced his concern and his friendship, and now she wanted more—she couldn’t help herself.

      Safe in the knowledge that he couldn’t see her looking, she surveyed the well-packed jeans, the calf-gripping riding boots and the heavy sweater he was wearing today—which she found sexy, for some reason—under a jacket that moulded his powerful shoulders to perfection. The collar was turned up against the wind, and with his thick, wavy black hair blowing about he was an arresting sight.

      And she should be arrested for what she was thinking.

      She stood back quickly when he stared up, as if he could sense her looking at him.

      Leaning back against the wall—out of sight, she hoped—she swallowed convulsively and closed her eyes, wondering if she had been too late and he had seen her.

      What if he had? There was no law against looking out of the window.

      She stole another look. Tiago had quite a crowd around him by this time. Even Lizzie’s sophisticated wedding guests were thrilled to chat to a polo player of Tiago’s standing, and particularly one whose success on the field of play was almost as legendary as his success with women.

      To be fair to him, though, Tiago was also famous for turning his grandfather’s failing ranch into a world-class concern. And his relationship with women was none of her business. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t enough to stop her thinking about Tiago’s women—all wearing outfits composed of cobweb-fine lace, or nothing at all, and smelling of anything other than horse liniment...

      She should be going down to breakfast—not staring at one of the wedding guests, Danny reminded herself firmly. She was a home bird—not an adventuress on the hunt for a barbarian mate. She should be outside by now, exercising Lizzie’s horse as she had promised Lizzie she would. There was nothing like a ride across the heather to blow the cobwebs from her mind.

      * * *

      Where was Danny? He was waiting to speak to her about his plan. Why hadn’t she come down to breakfast?

      He glanced at his watch impatiently. Had she made other arrangements? Had he missed her? Had she slipped away without him noticing?

      Pushing his chair back, Tiago began to pace the room. Was he wasting his time in Scotland? His manager at the ranch had reported a group of trustees sniffing around Fazenda Santos. In its current condition the ranch was worth a fortune, but if men who didn’t know what they were doing took it over it was doomed to fail. He wouldn’t risk it—couldn’t risk it.

      Danny was his best hope if he was to comply with the terms of his grandfather’s will, and she had mentioned her frustration at still being here at Rottingdean, where she had worked all her life. Surely she would accept his offer of a scholarship to train in Brazil? But what about the other part of his deal?

      ‘Good morning, Tiago.’

      He swung round with relief. ‘So, there you are,’ he said as she walked into the room

      She seemed surprised. ‘Were you waiting for me?’

      ‘Yes, I was.’

      ‘Well, here I am,’ she said brightly.

      A freshly showered Danny, with tendrils of honey-soft hair still damp around her temples, was an arousing sight that forced him to remember that what he needed was a short-term wife. His freedom meant too much to him to consider anything else.

      ‘You seem recovered.’

      ‘I am,’ she said, frowning. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

      ‘Good.’ That suited him perfectly. ‘I trust you slept well?’

      Wrong question. His groin tightened immediately at the thought of Danny naked, stretched out in bed. It was important to keep this confined to business. He didn’t have much time. But it wasn’t easy when she leaned over him to scan the delicious-looking breakfast the housekeeper had laid out.

      ‘I just came to say goodbye to you,’ she said, grabbing a piece of toast. ‘Annie said you had to get back today. I thought you might have left for Brazil last night.’

      She was fishing. He took that as a good sign. ‘Sit down?’ he suggested. ‘Eat breakfast with me. Why are you in such a hurry to get away?’

      ‘Because I’m going riding in a minute. I don’t have time to sit down and eat.’

      ‘You’ll need something to keep the cold out.’

      Her glance flashed over his warm sweater. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m wearing Arctic layers,’ she explained.

      She wasn’t joking. She wore a thick-knit sweater with a fancy pattern, heavy winter breeches, and soft tan leather riding boots, which clung tenaciously to her shapely legs, hiding almost all the outline he had delighted in when he had danced with her last night. The thought of unpeeling her ‘Arctic layers’, as she’d called them, occupied all his thoughts for a moment.

      ‘Why don’t we ride out together?’

      She stilled, with the toast hovering close to her parted lips. ‘Do you have time?’

      ‘I’ll make time.’

      ‘In