head jerked up. “How do you know? What do you mean?”
“The last time your father and my father talked, apparently your father mentioned that Carter had proposed. Your father was against it.”
“My father lets me make my own decisions.”
Dante glanced at her sleek fair head, her long silvery hair hanging straight to the dip in her back, the pale strands brushing the shimmering sequins at her narrow waist. “Has he proposed again?”
She drew herself back, blue eyes flashing with indignation. “That’s really none of your business.”
Her lips were the fullest, softest pink he’d ever seen. “He’s too old for you, Daisy.”
“He can’t be much older than you!” She flashed the words back.
He smiled and realized he’d found another American rebel.
The first American rebel hadn’t even been his, but one of his father’s girlfriends. Dante was ten when he met the first of his father’s many girlfriends, bumping into the beautiful blond American by the side of an exclusive Buenos Aires hotel swimming pool.
Kate was her name, short for Kathleen Lyons, heir to the United States East Coast Lyons chemical and plastic fortune. Smart, funny, breezy, Kate wasn’t impressed by the Galván money—she just loved being around Tino.
Kate didn’t last. None of the girlfriends lasted. Although eventually Dante met many other girlfriends, he remembered almost none except for Kate. And he remembered blond, smart, cynical Kate because she was nothing like his mother and nothing like the other proper women who were his mother’s friends. Kate was a rebel.
Dante had a soft spot for rebels.
Daisy Collingsworth was another rebel. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk. I think a dance would be better.”
“I’d rather wait and dance with Carter.”
Daisy had meant to prick his pride, and yet her words had the opposite effect. Dante laughed, a genuine laugh that exposed the smooth column of his bronze throat, and the rich sound rolled out, deep, sexy, very powerful. If all eyes weren’t watching before, they were now.
His burning gaze slid over her, settling on her mouth. “Liar. You want to dance with me as much as I want to dance with you.”
His suggestive tone sent shivers up and down her spine, and her breasts ached, nipples hardening against the cool mesh of her top.
Shyly she glanced up, her eyes skimming past his perfect mouth to the smoky golden warmth of his eyes. She saw her reflection there, and she saw something else, something altogether new. He wanted her.
He wanted her.
It was a heady realization, and she felt her heart slow, her lips part.
His head dipped, and he cupped her cheek. She felt shivery and alive, and instinctively she lifted her face to his, eyes on his lips.
“Daisy,” a voice interrupted, “your drink.”
Carter had returned. Daisy took the cocktail glass from him. Dante stepped back—but not very far.
“No champagne?” Dante said.
Carter looked momentarily confused. “Daisy, did you want champagne?”
Daisy shot Dante a dark glance. What was he doing? Why did he want to cause trouble? “This is wonderful. I’m happy with a cocktail.”
“I can get you champagne,” Carter said more forcefully. “I didn’t know you wanted champagne.”
“I don’t want champagne. I like my cocktail. Really.” She could happily dump her drink over Dante. He was standing there enjoying Carter’s discomfiture. Well, to hell with him. “Carter, would you like to dance?”
She caught the lift of Dante’s eyebrows and was grateful when Carter moved forward, blocking Dante from her view. “Yes, let’s. It’s a nice slow song.”
A slow song. Not what she wanted, but if it gave her some distance from Dante, then it was a good thing.
“Goodbye, Count,” Carter said with a nod of his head.
“I’ll catch up with you soon,” Dante answered, still smiling, still looking infuriatingly amused.
Carter held her hand and led her through the enormous white party tent. A band played on a wooden stage, and white twinkling lights were strung from the tent poles.
They still held their drink glasses, and at the edge of the dance floor Carter faced her. “Let’s toast the start of something wonderful.”
Her hand shook slightly. “And what is that, Carter?”
“A great future.”
Daisy felt like she was losing control. This wasn’t working out the way she’d imagined. She shouldn’t have come here tonight with Carter. This wasn’t business. He was making the contract personal.
She set her glass down without drinking. “What about Kentucky Kiss?”
“Let’s not ruin a lovely evening—”
“That’s why I’m here, Carter. This is about Kentucky Kiss. This is about contracts and negotiations.” She broke off as Peter Lindley bore down on them.
“Carter, hello,” Mr. Lindley greeted. “Enjoying yourself?”
“It’s a beautiful party. You couldn’t ask for nicer weather. Peter, you know Daisy Collingsworth, I believe?”
Peter’s smile faded perceptibly. His guard was instantly up, and he shifted away. “We’ve met.”
Oh, yes, they’d met, Daisy thought, only about a thousand times. He’d been her father’s best friend for nearly twenty years. “Good evening, Mr. Lindley.”
“How are things?” he asked stiffly.
“Dad’s doing fine.”
Peter’s jaw tensed, lips compressing. “I meant with regards to the farm.”
“The stable’s rebuilt,” Carter interjected. “A state-of-the-art facility. Thirty-six stalls, and they’re developing their stallion barn next.”
Peter’s forehead creased. “Is that true?”
Daisy opened her mouth, but Carter answered first again. “I’m considering moving my stallion to their barn.” He shot Daisy a swift glance. “If things continue to improve as they have.”
“What about trainers?” Peter rubbed his chin as he glanced from Daisy to Carter and back again. “Since McCaw passed on, you haven’t had any big name on board. You need one. While there is considerable interest in your foal, no one will pay top dollar for a yearling that hasn’t been started right.”
McCaw
