Latin Lovers Untamed. Jane Porter

fear, insecurity.

      Anabella jumped into his arms. “Did you miss me?”

      He pushed her back. “You didn’t have permission to leave the estancia.” Then he turned on Daisy. “What were you thinking? You didn’t have permission to take my sister off the ranch, and if you’d wanted to go, you should have called.”

      Daisy climbed out of the car. She couldn’t argue with him, and after having just gone to hell and back with Anabella’s disappearing act, she realized that it could have been much worse.

      But he wasn’t finished with her yet. “The housekeeper said you were gone for almost six hours. Six hours. Where were you?”

      “Shopping,” Anabella answered blithely. “Daisy took me to lunch in Santa Rosa and we did some shopping before stopping for a coffee. It was lovely. It was Daisy’s idea, and we had an absolutely wonderful day.”

      Daisy’s idea. How clever of Anabella. Set Daisy up so Daisy would feel too awkward, too guilty, to tell Dante about Anabella’s escapade.

      But Daisy knew what Anabella had done. She knew the girl had left the restaurant, gone somewhere with who knew whom, and—

      Daisy couldn’t even finish the thought, wondering how she could have possibly been so foolish as to think she could trust Anabella. She should have listened to Dante. He’d warned her. But Daisy thought she knew everything.

      Her stomach burned. She felt like she’d swallowed acid. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

      “But we had fun,” Anabella insisted, shooting Daisy a worried side glance. “Didn’t we, Daisy? It was a great time, and I owe all my thanks to you.”

      “Anabella, you go to your room, I want a word with Daisy.”

      “Don’t be mad at Daisy, we had such a good time—”

      “Go,” he interrupted harshly, pointing to the house. “And stay there until I come for you.”

      Anabella cast Daisy a pleading last glance before fleeing into the house.

      Dante jammed his hands into his olive-green slacks, white shirt open at the collar, exposing his tan throat and the hard, taut planes of his chest. He looked too raw, too virile, and Daisy felt an inarticulate craving to touch him, unbutton his shirt and slide her hand across the tanned skin.

      “You had no business taking her off the property.” His voice was curt. “You should have called me, you should have asked permission.”

      “If you can’t trust me, then fire me, or send me home or take some kind of action, because I’m sick and tired of words.”

      “This isn’t about you and me.”

      “That’s where you’ve got it wrong, Dante. This is totally about you and me. It’s about you not trusting me and you not respecting me—”

      “That’s ridiculous.”

      “Call it what you want, but I’m not going to stand here and take another lecture from you. I’m doing my best. I’m sorry it’s not enough. But maybe you expect too much out of people. You certainly want the impossible from me.”

      She walked away from him. She had to. Or she’d say something she’d regret ….