Santa Fe Fortune & How to Marry a Matador

kissable, he couldn’t help but reason, face. And, when her eyes sparked with delight at the thought that he might help her, could actually sell her canvases in this absurd ten-day timeframe, Dan’s heart had done an unexpected flip-flop.
    “I’m fine,” he lied to Megan. “Why don’t you go on ahead? I’ve got an artist stopping by at closing. I’ll lock up.”
    Megan grabbed her colorful straw bag that looked large enough to hold a weekend wardrobe and pranced out the door.
    Dan strode to the desk and withdrew Gwen’s contract from the nearby filing cabinet. He glanced through the folder for maybe the tenth time today, ensuring everything was in order. The paperwork was all lined up. Now all Dan had to do was steel his heart. He was getting far too carried away with this. Just because Gwen looked like an angel and spoke in a sweet Southern twang that was sexy as sin, that didn’t mean he’d have to give in to her. He was a rational man, by all accounts, savvy at business dealings and skilled at keeping his emotions in check.
    Okay, he’d made that one mistake. But it wasn’t like it was going to come back to haunt him. It had been more than a month now, and he’d heard nothing further about it. It had been a harsh lesson in letting sleeping dogs lie. Once you make a pact to move on, there should be no looking back. Looking ahead wasn’t sounding so safe at the moment either. Gwen was scheduled to be in town only ten days. She had her life back East to lead, and Dan had his own ghosts to contend with here. He shook off a gloomy feel, determined to make the best of their meeting. Dan was sensible enough to know he could assist a damsel in distress without falling into bed with her. And just to make certain he hadn’t forgotten, the fates had pressed a branding iron to his chest a mere six weeks ago to drive that message home.

    Gwen tugged at the zipper of her skirt, sliding it up her ample hip. She’d put on a few pounds since her divorce but still looked okay, she supposed. She’d never been accused of being overly thin. Marian was the slight one in the family, while Gwen fought the perpetual battle of the booty. Breasts, hips, and thighs had a will of their own. No matter how she tried, they relished maintaining their prefab form. After a while, Gwen had just given up and decided to enjoy life. As long as she operated within reason, didn’t diet or exercise too much, she could stay within the same five-pound range that she’d grown accustomed to and certain men seemed to appreciate.
    Gwen flushed at the memory of Dan’s sky-blue gaze. At first she’d thought he’d just been flattering her, trying to put a gallery contact at ease. But the more she pondered it, the less she thought so. As they’d sat there discussing canvas pricing, his heated perusal had washed all over her like the clearest Caribbean wave. Gwen imagined the two of them on a distant beach, Dan bare-chested in the sun. He’d tell her once more how beautiful she was, and, half-naked in her tummy-control swimsuit, she’d feel forced to believe it. He’d take her by the waist then, pull her soft body to his, taut stomach muscles tensing as he wrapped his arms around her… Gwen heard the surf crash, water swirling furiously at their feet, as he brought his glorious mouth to hers.
    Suddenly, she realized she’d stalled in applying her lipstick and was standing there all puckered up like a ridiculous guppy. “That’s the price I pay for that second Shiraz,” she scolded herself, vowing to make coffee. She was glad the suite’s miniature kitchen supplied what she needed for that. Now where was the sugar cube she could find to quell her outlandish fantasies?
    Gwen had considered putting on a flirty dress for her meeting with Dan tonight but now worried that might send the wrong message. She wasn’t seeing him for any sort of social reasons, she reminded herself. They were convening to sign a contract, for heaven’s sake. Gwen lifted her perfume bottle and spritzed her neck, wrists, and the backs of her knees with its fine aroma.
    Gwen’s belly warmed as she recalled how Dan had hesitated by her foot just an instant too long in retrieving her dropped napkin. If he’d touched her then, even by accidentally brushing her calf, she would have fainted. They would have had to call in the rescue squad to scoop her limp form off the New Mexican tile. It didn’t take an expert to see the super-studly Dan Holbrook held more