Santa Fe Fortune & How to Marry a Matador

have guessed.”
    “What’s that’s supposed to mean?”
    “The Taurus and the toreador? And you tell me there’s no fate?”
    She set her jaw, her eyes boring into his. “Fernando Garcia de la Vega, I want you to show me to an Internet connection this minute!”
    “That might be a bit complicated. You see, out here en el campo , we have limited…” His voice fell off as he took in her increasingly enraged form. It was one thing to lightheartedly provoke someone. But at this very moment, Fernando sensed he was putting himself in mortal danger. “Okay, all right,” he said, flagging a hand in her direction. “I can see when I’m not wanted.”
    His expression took a downcast turn that almost made her feel sorry for him. The truth was, Jess had wanted him, wanted him in the worst way , which was precisely what had gotten her into this mess! She pulled her cell from her purse and checked it for the tenth time this morning. She still wasn’t picking up service. Just how far from civilization were they?
    Fernando gestured grandly toward the door that led downstairs. He unlocked it, then held it open. “Fair’s fair, Jessica. After all, no one’s holding you prisoner in an ivory tower. So, here’s what we’ll do. You and I will have a civilized talk about everything that happened last night. Then, if you’re still determined to get out of this marriage, I won’t stop you. I’m far too proud a man to hold a woman against her will.”
    Jess’s heart skipped a beat as something raw and unanticipated burned inside her. She couldn’t say whether it was relief she felt or something more akin to disappointment. Why, oh why did his admission that he was fine in letting her go resonate with something so utterly painful in her core?
    Jess shook off the odd déjà vu and met his gaze, his green eyes playing the soft serenade of a Spanish guitar. Jess caught her breath, lost for a moment in their music.
    “I also believe,” he said slowly, “that sometimes things happen for a reason. And often that reason is far too grand for us to originally understand.”
    But Jess didn’t want to think about reasons or fate or star-crossed lovers—or any of that other nonsense Evie so ardently believed in but that she’d never been able to wrap her own head around. Jess was a practical person who saw the world for what it was. The fact that she’d long ago stopped believing in fairy tales had only worked to her benefit.
    “The only thing I need to understand,” she said, “is why you persist in saying this…accident of nature…was somehow preordained. “
    He massaged his temples, apparently growing exasperated. “I already said I’ll explain everything.”
    “Good,” she said, stepping past him. “At last, you’re talking sensibly.”
    Jess hurried down the stairs, desperate to get away. He smelled of sandalwood soap and lime, and the aroma awakened her memory of his showering kisses last night. The sooner she got herself out of this mistake of an arrangement, the better. And it better be before nightfall, lest she find herself tempted to leap back into that manly matador’s bed.
    “I’ve never been accused of being unreasonable,” he said, trailing after her. “But I am known for keeping my commitments.”
    Jess halted in her tracks, fearing this was going somewhere. Somewhere that was going to land dangerously close to further confounding her emotions.
    He captured her in his gaze, stilling her heart for a fraction of a second. Somehow, when he looked at her, it was as if he could see into her depths and behold her every weakness. And yet, his gaze soothed her, smoothing old hurts in tender ways. Warmth surged in her cheeks as he descended the steps two at a time, then gently cupped her face in his hands.
    “And I always honor my commitments,” he said, his voice a husky rasp.
    Her pulse beat wildly, and for a second, she feared he would kiss her. Next, she was terribly afraid he might not.
    “Most especially,” he continued with an enigmatic smile, “to my mother.”

Chapter Two

    Jess couldn’t believe she was having lunch with Fernando’s mother. Everything was totally out of control. Señora Garcia de la Vega took a slow sip of wine, surveying the American seated before her. “Tell me again, dear,” she asked, the sweetness of her tone slightly acerbic, “how is it that you know my Fernando?”
    Fernando dabbed his mouth with a napkin, then set the cloth aside. “We met in Madrid . I