called her by her given name, and the way he said her name undid her. He made her feel hot, awkward, self-conscious. She’d never felt uncomfortable in her skin before, but he was peeling away a protective layer and exposing raw nerves, tender nerves. How could he do this to her? How could he make her feel so—so … naked?
Feeling oddly undone, Daisy gathered the loose papers on her desk, the bills that he’d asked to see, the pedigrees on the new foals. She struggled to organize her thoughts even as her hands shuffled the paperwork. “I don’t know, but I would have. I could have. I always do what I say I will.”
“Always?”
Something in his voice made the air catch in her throat, and she looked at him, hands stilling, heart stopping. His dark gaze held hers.
He didn’t believe her. But then he didn’t know her determination or her sheer will. If she set her mind to something, she succeeded. Without a doubt. “I haven’t broken my word yet.”
He didn’t say anything. He just kept looking at her, looking into her, and it was then she realized his eyes weren’t dark brown. They were considerably lighter, almost the color of toffee ringed by a darker gold. What made his eyes appear dark was the intensity in his expression. His eyes were beautiful. Like the rest of him.
She felt heat rise through her, wave after wave of warmth until her cheeks burned and her lips felt as though they were melting.
“You’re so sure of yourself,” he said softly.
Her mouth tasted like sawdust. “I have to be.” Was that her voice? “I love my home. If I can’t find a way to keep the farm, then I’ve failed my family.”
“But you didn’t create this mess.”
He was doing something to her, taking hold of some emotion inside her chest and shaping it, changing it, making it his. She didn’t like it but she didn’t know how to stop it.
Daisy rose to her feet. “It doesn’t matter. It’s my job to straighten it out.”
He suddenly reached out and caught her hand in his, stopping her from moving away. “One person can only do so much. You’re a smart woman, a strong woman, but you’re just one person. This, muneca, is a huge farm. Right now you’re understaffed, overworked and hip deep in red ink. Daisy, beyond the debt you owe to my family, what are you going to do?”
His fingers slipped to encircle her wrist. The pad of his thumb stroked her racing pulse. She felt as though she were melting, starting on the inside, deep down in her belly. The heat spread, as did the honey warmth, everywhere, making her aware of her thighs, her breasts, her oversensitized skin.
Her cheekbones felt scalding hot. She stared at him in mute fascination. His lips were perfectly shaped, his chin hard, a hint of a beard shadowing his jaw. She swallowed.
“Daisy?”
Her gaze lifted, and her eyes met his again. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to know what his mouth would feel like. Wanted to know what a mouth like that could do.
“Daisy.”
His voice was impossibly deep, increasingly husky. Even his accent sounded thicker, and she shivered inwardly, fearful and yet thrilled.
He tugged gently on her wrist, drawing her forward. She sucked in air, her head feeling far too light. She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt this way. If she’d ever felt this way. A kiss was just a kiss, but she wanted this kiss badly.
Yet just before his lips brushed hers, he hesitated, and his hesitation brought her firmly back to reality.
Was this any way to do business? Is this how she hoped to save Collingsworth Farm?
She must be out of her mind.
Daisy broke free and walked on wobbly legs to the far end of the office. She moved the window blind aside. The sun came through the glass in faded golden rays, highlighting a dust spiral in the middle of the floor.
“Now you know where the money’s gone,” she said, voice shaky, more breathless than usual.
He hadn’t moved. He still sat in the leather chair at her desk. “Not exactly.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. Her eyes met his. It was like touching a live wire. Every glance, every touch was a jolt, and the intensity of the jolts was making her tremble from head to toe. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t understand about the stable. Why isn’t there any record on the insurance settlement from the fire? Is there a reason you’ve kept it off the book?”
They’d kept nothing off the books. That would be illegal. Not to mention just plain wrong. “We don’t operate that way,” she answered flatly, wondering how he could say such things. Did he really think so little of them?
She drew a rough breath, trying to ignore the turbulent beat of her heart, and turned to look at the stable. The building was less than six months old, the siding unpainted, the wood still fragrant.
“Then tell me about the fire.”
No, he wasn’t going to put her through the third degree about the fire now, was he? Did he really have so little trust? “The fire is private. It’s nobody’s business but ours.”
“Answer the question, Daisy.”
“No.”
“If you don’t work with me, I can’t work with you.”
She spun on him, her hair slapping her shoulder, hands on her hips. “There you go, throwing your weight around. It must be wonderful having that kind of power. But I’m not going to go there, Count Galván. I’m not going to lay down and grovel just because you want to feel superior.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s not why I’m asking.”
“No? What is your point then?”
“The settlement on the stable would have been at least a quarter million dollars. It would have gone a long way to paying off your debt. But there’s been no record of a settlement in your books. Why?”
“Maybe because there’s been no settlement.”
“You haven’t received a payout?”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
She almost felt like laughing. It must be nerves. “Not even a penny.” She saw his incredulity. “We were insured, but it’s all tied up in litigation.”
He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. She could see exactly what he was thinking. The rumors were everywhere —in Lexington, in the neighboring farms, at the track. It was whispered that the fire had been purposely set. The Collingsworths had risked cashing in on their bankrupt farm. They were trying to bail out of the business before they were chased out.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
But Count Galván didn’t care about facts. He’d already formed his own opinion. She saw his horror,
