Latin Lovers Untamed. Jane Porter

couldn’t afford to lose his focus. He couldn’t risk Anabella’s stability or happiness.

      Once he’d allowed his own interests to cloud his judgment, and the results had been devastating. While his younger brother, Tadeo, had self-destructed in Buenos Aires, Dante had embraced New York and his highprofile job on Wall Street. He had lived with a beautiful American blue blood in an expensive Third Avenue town house as though he had no ties, no obligations, no responsibilities but his own desires.

      It wasn’t until he’d stood at Tadeo’s funeral that he’d faced the bitter truth. Dante had failed Tadeo. Just as their father had failed them.

      Dante understood then that his needs must come second. They had to. It didn’t mean that he didn’t have needs, but he could prioritize, and he did. He couldn’t bring Tadeo back, but he could ensure his sisters’ well-being.

      Now, three years later, Dante was sharply reminded of those priorities, particularly since his responsibility was cohabitating with his desire.

      Roughly he lifted the phone again and dialed the estancia’s number. Daisy answered.

      “How is Anabella?” he asked curtly. No hello, no how are you.

      Daisy felt his anger. She didn’t understand it, either. Everything was fine at the estancia. She and Anabella had been getting on very well, and Anabella had resumed her independent studies thanks to Daisy’s supervision. “She’s fine. She’s out riding right now. I can have her call when she returns.”

      “Shouldn’t you be riding with her?”

      “Why? She’s seventeen.”

      “And has a penchant for running away.”

      “She won’t run away.”

      “How do you know? You just met her less than two weeks ago.”

      Daisy closed her eyes, tipped her head against her hand. What did he want from her?

      “You have to watch Anabella closely,” he added. “You can’t trust her too much.”

      “I’m careful.”

      “And you’ll call me if she does become a problem?”

      “Yes. But we’re fine. She’s fine. I’m fine.”

      “That’s what you always say.”

      His voice rasped, and she felt his frustration. “But isn’t that what you want me to say?”

      “Only if it’s true.”

      “It is true. I grew up taking care of Zoe, and taking care of Anabella isn’t as difficult as you think. She’s a great person. I enjoy her company quite a bit.”

      He didn’t speak for quite a long time. “But who looks after you?”

      She felt a lump swell in her throat. “I don’t need looking after.”

      “Haven’t you ever wanted someone to take care of you?”

      “I’m not helpless. I can take care of myself.”

      Again silence stretched over the phone line. Daisy felt his tension. It fairly vibrated through the phone. “I’ll be back Friday.”

      “I know. And please don’t worry, Anabella and I are managing just fine.”

      Phone call over, Daisy gave herself a mental pat on the back. She and Anabella were doing fine, too.

      In fact, Anabella had been on such good behavior that four days later, on Thursday, Daisy proposed an excursion.

      “What would you like to do, Anabella? Go for a drive, out to lunch, maybe do some shopping?”

      “All three,” Anabella answered, pouncing happily on the idea. “We can go to Santa Rosa. It’s not too long a drive, and we can shop and have lunch there.”

      Hours later, Daisy sat in the plaza restaurant, clasping her cup of café con leche and leaning back in her chair to savor the warm sunshine.

      It had been a wonderful afternoon, just what they needed, and Daisy couldn’t help congratulating herself for her brilliant suggestion. They’d shopped, enjoyed a wonderful meal and finally stopped for coffee at a bakery on the old town square.

      The clock in the city hall tower chimed, and Daisy counted the hours. Half past four. As soon as Anabella returned from the washroom they’d need to head home.

      Bill paid, sunglasses perched on the end of her nose, Daisy continued to wait for Anabella. But the minutes crept by without a sign of the teenager, and as fifteen minutes turned to twenty and twenty to twenty-five, Daisy felt dread.

      Something was wrong. Anabella had been gone far too long.

      Gathering their shopping bags, Daisy checked the women’s washroom and found it deserted. She asked the bakery staff if they’d seen Anabella leave. No one knew anything. Heart in mouth, Daisy rushed to the car, but Anabella wasn’t there either.

      Daisy’s dread turned to denial. How could this be happening? How could Anabella disappear? It was impossible. It hadn’t happened. Daisy just wasn’t thinking clearly.

      Fishing the car keys from her purse, she climbed into the car and began driving the city streets, scouring the neighborhoods, searching the narrow cobbled alleys as well as the newer boulevards. But there was no sign of Anabella anywhere.

      She’d have to call Dante.

      Daisy’s stomach cramped, filled with pins and needles. She couldn’t even imagine how she’d break the news to him. He’d be livid. He’d blame her. And so he should.

      She didn’t have permission to leave the estancia. She hadn’t watched Anabella closely enough, especially considering the girl’s history of running away. Daisy had been lulled into complacency, and look what had happened—disaster.

      But maybe Anabella hadn’t run away. The girl was an heiress, incredibly beautiful; she might have been kid-napped … or worse.

      Daisy shuddered at the thought and silently blasted herself for not being more careful, not being more aware. This was not supposed to happen. Temper, anger, nerves and fear wrestled for the upper hand. Daisy’s hands shook on the steering wheel as she drove, and she chewed her lower lip, so sick at heart that the twenty-five miles back to the estancia felt like hours.

      At last the private lane to the estancia came into view. Daisy switched on the blinker and signaled her turn. Driving onto the narrow road, she approached the alley of trees, and there, near the front of the trees in the shade, walked Anabella.

      Daisy couldn’t believe it. Trembling, she pulled the car to the side of the road, faced the startled Anabella and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

      Daisy was so angry she could hardly see straight. Anabella’s mascara formed smudged crescents beneath her eyes, and her lipstick was worn away. “What happened? Where were you?”

      The girl shifted. “I went to the ladies’ washroom but when I came back you were gone.”

      “I waited a half hour for you.”

      “I went to the—”

      Daisy wasn’t in the mood for this. “You left the bakery, you left me there, Anabella. Where did you go?”

      “Nowhere. I told you—”

      “Don’t, Anabella, don’t tell me another lie. I trusted you. And you know it, too.” Seething, hands still shaking, Daisy shifted into drive and wordlessly drove them the rest of the way home.

      Pulling in front of the house, Daisy spotted a luxury sedan parked off a ways, a slate-colored Mercedes gleaming in the early evening sun.

      “Uh-oh,” Anabella whispered, “Dante’s home.”

      It was worse than