Carter was flustered.
“Because as you said, you’re a good friend of the family’s and you and Bill Collingsworth go way, way back,” he said, drawing out the words with stinging emphasis. “And good friends like to help each other out.”
Carter’s complexion looked pasty. “This is manipulation.”
“This is business. I’m offering you a better deal.”
Dante wasn’t going to budge. He knew what he wanted, he wanted what he wanted, and he fought until he had it.
Daisy looked at him, the air still bottled in her lungs, her nerves screaming on edge, and knew he’d won.
He was a man who picked his battles carefully. He only fought for what he believed in and then he only fought the battles he knew he could win.
He knew he could beat Carter Scott. And he had.
CHAPTER FIVE
DANTE offered to drive Daisy home, and since Carter had abandoned her, she accepted the offer. Inside his car, she reached for her seat belt and then grimaced with pain.
“Still hurts?” he said, watching her struggle with her seat belt.
He leaned toward her, one long arm extended, and grasped the silver tab of the seat belt, pulling the strap secure. She felt his nose and mouth brush her hair, and her stomach tightened, a hot desire coiling in her belly.
“That’ll teach you to fight,” he said, lifting her hand and inspecting the swelling.
A knot formed in her throat. His touch made her feel almost frantic. “Please, not another lecture.”
Dante saw the emotion darken her eyes, her skin heating with a desire she hadn’t fully come to terms with. Well, that made two of them, he thought savagely, torn between duty and desire.
He wanted nothing more than to draw her onto his lap and kiss the creamy line of her jaw and the hollow beneath her ear. He wanted to touch his tongue to the rapid pulse at the base of her neck.
But he couldn’t do it. Not now, not the way things were between them.
Frustration roughened his voice. “If you’re going to throw punches, you should at least know how to fight. I’m surprised your father didn’t teach you.”
“He didn’t approve of girls fighting.”
“Smart man.” Dante knew he should start the car but he couldn’t stop looking at her. Her mouth was so soft. Her skin so sensitive. He just wanted to give her one kiss, there, on the corner of her lips.
But that one kiss wouldn’t be enough. He’d be driven to kiss her lower lip and then the incredibly soft side of her neck and—He turned the engine on. Scruples! He bit back an oath and shifted into gear. The car roared down the driveway.
Daisy’s soft voice penetrated his dark mood. “I thought you hated my dad.”
“I hate irresponsibility,” he said after a moment, easing his foot off the accelerator. “But I don’t hate your dad. However, I don’t think he did you any favors by retiring when the farm was deep in debt.”
He was about to continue when he caught a glimpse of her face reflected in the glass. She’d turned to look out the window, and he saw worry in her eyes, saw pain there, too. Daisy Collingsworth wasn’t all that tough.
Dante flexed one hand against the steering wheel, muscles tight with tension. Being alone with her was going to drive him mad.
“If you must throw a punch,” he said tersely, eyes on the road, the car’s headlights cutting through the darkness, illuminating scattered oak trees and miles of fence, “the power has to come from here.” He tapped her shoulder. “Never your wrist.”
Just the touch of his fingers on her bare shoulder made her ache. He was winding her up, turning her into a quivering ball of need. She was in over her head. But it had nothing to do with horses and debts. It was Dante. He was doing this to her. No other man had turned her inside out like this. She knew how to handle a spirited horse but she knew nothing about managing a virile, sexual man. Which was why working with Dante could be a disaster. If she wasn’t careful, he could—would—take advantage of her.
In front of her house he killed the engine and Daisy saw the front door of the farm house open and close. What was Zoe doing up?
She swung open her door, moonlight reflecting off her sequin top, casting shimmering dots against the car.
“Rosie, is that you?”
Daisy’s heart faltered. Dad. What was he doing outside at this time of night?
Conscious of Dante slowly climbing from the car, she rushed toward the house, high heels clicking against the brick walk. “Daddy, go inside.”
But her father moved forward into the light. “Who’s there?”
“Dad, it’s me, Daisy. Go inside.” She couldn’t let Dante see her father like this. Her father’s pajamas weren’t lined up straight, the blue and burgundy pinstripes going off in different directions. His hair was messy and his eyes vacant. She tried to push him into the house but he wouldn’t move. “Daddy, please.”
“Bill, do you have a minute?” Dante said sharply. He’d recognized her father and sounded angry.
“No, he doesn’t,” she retorted, shooting Dante a furious glance over her bare shoulder. She wouldn’t let her dad get drawn into this, wouldn’t let him face anyone’s ridicule. She held his hand between hers. “Go inside now. Please.”
“But I thought I heard a car,” her father said.
“You did. It was Dante Galván’s,” she choked, feeling a sense of doom. Things just kept getting worse.
“Who?”
“Dante Galván, from Buenos Aires.”
“Don’t know him.”
She saw Dante from the corner of her eye. His eyes were narrowed, his expression impossible to read. “It’s okay, Dad, and it’s late. Let me take you in.”
“Where’s your mother?”
Chest tight, heart aching, Daisy reached up to smooth the puckered pajama top. “Mom’s gone, Dad.”
“But she’s coming home soon.”
Her mother had been gone for twenty years. She’d died when Daisy was four, just hours after Zoe was born.
“Not that soon,” she answered gently, hating to see the confusion in his eyes, his eyes the same light blue shade as hers. Zoe’s irises were more lavender, while Daisy’s and her father’s were glacier blue. “Let’s go upstairs. Get you back to bed. Okay?”
Dante was waiting for her in the front hall when she came downstairs.
He didn’t speak, and she didn’t look at him. She
