Latin Lovers Untamed. Jane Porter

Zoe wasn’t doing very well, either. Her skin looked ashen. Her lavender-blue eyes were enormous. “I guess Dad is participating now in the hospital program?” she asked.

      Zoe nodded. “He’s on new medication. We go in to the hospital once a week for follow-up and blood tests.”

      Daisy didn’t speak.

      Zoe’s hands clenched, nails digging into her fists. “I can’t give up on him. I want him back. I want him the way he used to be.”

      Daisy’s eyes burned. It would kill Zoe to watch their dad wither away, and it would happen before their eyes. His memory would go. His control would go. His mind …

      She shook her head, not wanting to think that way. This was hard on her, but it would be doubly painful for Zoe. Daisy’s sister had never got to know their mom, as she’d died just after Zoe was born. Now Zoe would lose Dad, too.

      How could she blame Zoe for fighting for Dad? How could she blame her for loving him so much? “I’m glad you did it, Zo. I wish I’d done it.” Her voice broke. “Somebody should try to save Dad.”

      It was a great sentiment, Daisy thought a half hour later as she stood on the farm house’s front porch, but it didn’t change the fact that they were now indebted to two people for three quarters of a million dollars. And that wasn’t including interest.

      It also meant she had to talk to Dante.

      She knew he carried a cell phone but she didn’t have that number so she phoned his hotel. He wasn’t in. Daisy left a message for him to call, and then she remembered that he’d mentioned a business function this evening. He’d said he was meeting someone at the Derby Club for drinks before a dinner engagement.

      Daisy glanced at her watch. If she hurried, she might still be able to catch him at the Derby.

      The club exuded old-world comfort and class; the walls were paneled, the furniture all large sturdy pieces upholstered in butterscotch and burgundy leather. The club provided owners and breeders with a place to gather and discuss the subject they loved best—horses.

      Daisy pushed through the entrance, ignoring the discreet, suit-and-tie employee trying desperately to wave her out. “Members only, miss,” he said, stepping in front of her, his smile politely frigid.

      “Yes,” she said, smiling stiffly before sidestepping him and walking past. “I know.” They used to be members. Back when they could afford luxuries.

      Daisy ignored the proliferation of brass plaques mounted to the wall, plaques reading No Denim in Clubhouse, Members Only and Men Only in the Lounge.

      She entered the library, her gaze roving the clusters of men and women. The suit-and-tie staff member who’d stopped Daisy at the door cornered her. “You can’t be here. This is a private club.”

      “I need to see someone. I won’t be long.”

      Members were watching. Even the smokers standing around the library’s brandy cart paused to see what the commotion was about.

      She felt a crackle of electricity, a new hum of tension. “What’s the problem?” It was Dante.

      Daisy swung around, feeling an inexplicable thrill at seeing him. She hadn’t expected to feel a ripple of excitement, but he did something to her, made her pulse race. “I need to talk to you.”

      “Is she your guest, sir?” The club employee wasn’t pleased.

      “Yes.”

      “Denims aren’t permitted in the clubhouse, sir.”

      “We’ll talk outside, then.” Dante placed a hand on her lower back.

      He didn’t push her or pressure her, and yet his touch made her tense, her spine shuddering at the razor sharp sensations rippling beneath her skin. All her nerve endings were alive and connected. She felt so much. She felt too much.

      “I’m sorry about that,” she said, referring to the awkward scene in the library.

      “I’ve dealt with worse,” he answered as they stepped outside onto the broad front porch. “So what’s wrong? Something serious must have happened if you chased me down here.”

      Daisy turned her back on the views of darkened, endless emerald-green pastures. The air smelled ripe and fresh, a welcome change after the club’s smoky interior. She might as well get this over with. “We’ll have to put off signing the sale papers tomorrow. There seems to be a small problem with some of the documents.”

      “You’ve changed your mind.”

      His tone sounded ominously flat. She suddenly sensed he’d be ruthless in negotiations and realized she didn’t want him as an adversary. “No,” she denied swiftly. “It’s not that at all.”

      “Then what is it?”

      “Just details.”

      His narrowed gaze swept her face, searching for a sign of deception. “You’re not shopping her around, are you?”

      “No. I promise.”

      Tension emanated from him in waves. His jaw jutted, and grooves formed on either side of his mouth. “Because I won’t pay more, Daisy, and I won’t jump through hoops. We made a deal. I expect you to honor it.”

      “Just as I intend to honor it,” she answered tightly.

      His jaw eased. “Good.” He was smiling again. “When I saw you in the library I hoped you were here because you’d changed your mind about going to the Lindleys’ tomorrow night. You haven’t, have you?”

      “No. I’m sorry.”

      His smile was one of pure regret. “No, I’m sorry.”

      Later that night, at home in bed, Daisy lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. The roof sloped above her head and the dormer window let in moonlight. The trees outside patterned her ceiling with the outline of leaves, and it was like a mosaic, she thought, the texture and shape of leaves and branches against the white paint.

      Dante wasn’t going to let her off the hook. He wanted Kentucky Kiss and he didn’t want to be jerked around over the purchase. She didn’t blame him. He’d been jerked around enough by her family.

      So if Dante wouldn’t back down, it meant Carter Scott would have to.

      Daisy closed her eyes. She dreaded going to see Carter Scott, but that’s what she’d do, first thing tomorrow.

      But the next morning the truck had a flat tire, and one of the stable hands never showed up for work, so Daisy tackled his feeding and grooming chores after painfully jacking up the truck to get the tire changed.

      Lunch was a rushed affair at the house, and there were phone calls to return and more stable chores to finish before she could finally break away to see Carter.

      It was quarter to four when she climbed in her truck. Carter Scott lived on a wide residential boulevard in an exclusive Lexington neighborhood where the houses looked remarkably alike and were blueprints for the classic Southern mansion—brick steps, stately white columns and wrought-iron gates.

      Her truck sputtered as she parked in the circular driveway, and as she rang the doorbell she noticed the dust on her boots and the grime on her jeans. She was filthy. This wasn’t exactly the right approach to take with Carter. He appreciated fine things. He would have appreciated Daisy more if she were … clean.

      Carter’s housekeeper ushered Daisy to the formal high-ceilinged parlor at the front of the house, and Carter appeared almost immediately. He greeted Daisy warmly, offered her iced tea, which Daisy declined, and then something stronger, which Daisy also declined.

      Five minutes of small talk was the best she could stomach. At the first conversational lull, Daisy brought up the problem. “Carter, something’s happened that shouldn’t have happened, and I need your help.”

      “Anything,