How to Marry a Matador (Exclusive Sneak Preview) (19 page)

“I insist that you call me Dan,” he said as
their plates were cleared. “Mr. Holbrook hardly seems right with me
calling you Gwen. You’re making me feel like an old man.”

“Oh, I suspect you’re not that old,” she
said, feeling as if she was flirting.

He colored slightly around his open collar.
“Thirty-nine next month. Practically over the hill.”

He was dressed casually today, in khaki
slacks and an azure polo shirt that complemented his eyes. The
shirt fit him nicely, stretching evenly across his broad and
muscled chest. Gwen found herself wondering what it would be like
to press her hands against it, feel the strength and power there.
Maybe that margarita was getting to her after all.

“Well, I’m thirty-two, so not that far behind
you.”

He took a long, slow sip of his drink,
surveying her over the rim of his glass. “Something tells me it
will be some time before Ms. Gwendolyn Marsh makes it over that
hill.”

Now was he flirting with her? The way he
studied her made Gwen think Dan had more than painting on his mind.
She imagined removing his shirt and applying a deep massage oil,
stroking the musculature there. Heat welled within her, sending
electric currents from her fingertips to her toes. Gwen reminded
herself to stay on track. Maybe the margarita was getting to him as
well. Although that seemed difficult to believe, given his sturdy
and scrumptious build. Oh dear, there she went again. It was a
relief when Dan changed the subject by suggesting dessert. Anything
to take her mind off further explorations of that come-hither
chest.

“It was a wonderful lunch, but I honestly
don’t have room for more.”

“Not even jalapeño custard pie?” Dan tempted.
Gwen had the sense that Dan Holbrook could tempt even the most
sensible woman into almost anything.

“Maybe next time,” she said, combating a new
rush of heat with a long drink of water, which, instead of hitting
her lips, splashed in her lap. “Oh dear!” Gwen brought her palms to
her cheeks as Dan sprang from his chair.

“Take mine,” he said, pressing his cloth
napkin to her skirt. Suddenly, his warmth spread through her nether
regions. She gasped, and he glanced up, their eyes locking.

“I’ll get it, thanks,” she stammered as he
pulled his napkin aside, and she took to the task with hers,
promptly dropping her napkin on the floor. “My goodness.”

Dan scooped low to retrieve the soggy rag. He
hesitated briefly to study her dangling ankle bracelet, then
righted himself slowly, his sky-blue gaze grazing hers.

Dan reddened as he handed Gwen back her
napkin. “I’ll call the waiter over and ask for more.”

“Don’t bother,” she said sweetly. “I think
that’s got it.”

Gwen couldn’t believe what a klutz she’d
been. What was it about this man that made her all butterfingered?
Okay, the truth was Marian had sometimes accused her of being a
teensy bit clumsy, but she’d never been an out-and-out wrecking
ball like this. It was probably a combination of things. Her
mission for money complicated by Dan’s inexcusable hotness. She
found herself wishing briefly that his sister Nancy had been here
to meet with her instead. A split-second later, she realized that
was a lie.

The hard fact was Gwen was attracted to Dan.
Seriously attracted. And perhaps he’d given indications that he was
the slightest bit interested in her as well. But what was wrong
with that? Colleagues could enjoy a simple flirtation, for heaven’s
sake. Gwen was sure it happened all the time. That certainly didn’t
mean it had to go anywhere. Gwen hadn’t come to Santa Fe to find a
man. She’d come to launch her art career and help her sister. Over
time, she’d also be helping herself. After a while, she could do
less and less of her day job and more of what gave her pleasure and
caused her spirit to soar.

“You know,” Dan said as coffee arrived for
the two of them. “I’ve gone on at length about my work, and you
haven’t really talked about yours. Have you been painting
long?”

“I did a bit in high school, but then sort of
let it go.”

“How’s that?” he asked.

“When I started applying to colleges, my mom
encouraged me to pursue something a bit more practical.” She
shrugged, resigned. “She may have had a point. I’m not sure what
sort of job I might have gotten as an art major. I couldn’t imagine
teaching something I loved so much and found so personal. I’m
afraid it would have taken the passion out of it for me. So I
decided to finish in music instead.”

“Music?” he asked with surprise. “Are you
talented?”

“Not in the least,” she said with a laugh.
“In fact, do you know that expression?”

Dan grinned. “Those who can, do; those who
can’t, teach?”

“Precisely. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket,
and I’m impossibly inept on the keyboard.”

Dan leaned forward on his elbows. “Then
how…?”

“Oh, I have a great ear for things. I mean,
when someone else is doing the playing, I can pluck the mistakes
right out. Not that I’m hard on my students. I’m really a very
encouraging teacher.” And she was too. The children appeared to
love her, and their parents praised her abilities. Gwen was just
thankful that none of them had borne witness to her botchery of
university piano recitals. It was a blessing that she could
graduate in teaching without having to prove her own exceptional
skill.

Dan gave a delighted chuckle. “What grades do
you teach?”

“Elementary during the school year. In the
summertime, I take private piano students on, all ages up to
adults.”

“So you could teach me?” he asked invitingly.
Uh-oh, there he went, flirting again. Gwen doubted very seriously
that she could teach the dangerously capable Dan Holbrook anything.
At thirty-eight, he was bound to have seen a bit of the world and
more than his share of women. Gwen reminded herself not to be
foolishly flattered by his probably practiced attentions.

“I’m not sure about that. Something tells me
you might not be the most cooperative student.”

Dan raised his brows in surprise, then
released another belly laugh. “You’ve probably got me there. Nancy
tried to teach me ‘Chopsticks’ once when I was ten, and I never
quite got through it.”

Gwen couldn’t help but soften at his
self-effacing honesty. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to
start liking the man, and that might cloud her judgment in any
business dealings. She finished her coffee, realizing lunch was
nearly over and they’d not yet talked turkey.

“Some people have more natural talent than
others,” she said kindly.

“Like you do for painting, for instance,” he
said, turning the conversation in what Gwen hoped would be the
right direction.

“I appreciate you thinking so,” she said,
feeling her heart warm. “I really enjoy what I do. The thought that
it might also bring happiness to someone else is just
wonderful.”

“When did you start painting again?”

“Oh, I did it off and on. Just for me, you
know. Could never entirely let it go over the years. Then on my
thirtieth birthday, my little sister, Marian, gave me the most
beautiful gift, a completely new set of oils and brushes. I’d been
getting by with old things, mostly cast-offs from the school art
teacher who’d been sympathetic to my cause.”

“Marian must know you very well.”

“We’re super close,” Gwen said, feeling the
burn in her throat. “The gift was extra special because oils are
expensive, and Marian… Well, she…she doesn’t have a lot of
money.”

“So that’s when it really started? When you
began painting more regularly?”

Gwen nodded, willing away the unpleasant
memory of Robert coming in and upending her very first seascape.
“Ridiculous,”
he’d said.
“Where do you think you’ll get
with that? You sure as hell can’t sing. What makes you think you
can paint?”

Gwen blinked, briefly turning away. When she
turned back to Dan, she found herself caught up in his sky-blue
gaze. The way he looked at her was soothing, as if he had all the
time in the world to listen to what she had to say, and like none
of it was ridiculous.

“I did start painting more then, yes. It was
easier without the resistance.”

“Resistance?”

“That doesn’t really matter anymore,” she
said, forcing a smile. “I found a way to move beyond it.”

“And the clients at Holbrook and Holstein
will be glad. I assure you.”

“I’m glad you brought that up so I didn’t
have to.”

He looked at her earnestly. “Gwen, I’ve had a
great time at lunch with you, really I have. But I have no
illusions about why a beautiful young woman like you would spend
time with a washed-up old bachelor like me.”

Gwen blushed at the compliment but wasn’t
about to let herself get derailed by his manly attentions. As long
as he’d started the ball rolling, she needed to push it along. “You
underestimate yourself, Dan. But it’s good to know you’ve
reconsidered underestimating my work.”

His gaze filled with admiration. She was
being a little saucy, and he apparently liked it. “I spoke with
Nancy like I promised. Holbrook and Holstein is prepared to set a
fair price for your art. We can’t quite go up to four thousand, but
if you’re willing to agree to three-five, we think we can cut a
deal.”

The way he’d said that made it almost seem
real, as if this was actually going to happen for her. Gwen tried
to contain her excitement. “Excellent,” she said, giving him what
she hoped was a warm, even smile. “I’m open to discussing
that.”

“Of course, I’m sure you’re familiar with how
things work,” he continued. “Gallery sales are commission based, so
whatever price we arrive at is provisional.”

The corners of Gwen’s mouth took a downturn.
The fact was, she didn’t know this at all. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure
what you’re saying.”

Dan set his empty coffee cup aside and laced
his fingers together in a sincere fashion. “I’m saying the gallery
takes a commission. That’s how it stays in business. Your work for
sale there is basically on consignment.”

The shock and horror hit her in the stomach
like a sucker punch. “Consignment? But nothing in Ms. Holstein’s
email said anything about—”

His gaze softened, genuinely apologetic. “I’m
sorry, Gwen. She probably thought you knew. Most of the artists we
deal with are…experienced.”

Gwen felt a flash of anger, but she quelled
it, realizing nobody had intentionally tried to mislead her. “Are
you saying I won’t be getting any money now?” she asked, trying to
mask the desperation in her voice.

“Now?” he asked, as if he’d never considered
the possibility. “You mean, like during your ten-day trip to Santa
Fe?

“Gwen, we’re dealing with a process, here. We
agree on what we think a reasonable buyer might pay in this market.
That is the sale price. The two of us sign a contract, and then you
ship the canvases. Once they’re here, we hang them up for sale. As
money comes in, it’s funneled directly to you, less the gallery’s
twenty-percent commission.”

Gwen felt her entire world crumbling in on
her. Maybe it was her fault, hoping for too much in just one visit.
But what if things didn’t sell? What if enough money didn’t come on
time? What if the bank failed to extend its credit?

Gwen thought of Marian and her kids, of lives
pulling apart… Of Robert’s repeated infidelities… Her art box being
tossed into the ocean… Something cut loose inside, and she felt
like she might lose it at any second, break down sobbing on this
already soppy napkin. She opened her purse and pulled out a
tissue.

Dan reached a steadying hand across the table
and laid it on hers. “Gwen? Are you all right?”

“Excuse me,” she said, dabbing the corner of
her eye. “I’ll be right back.”

Dan sat there for the longest time, wondering
what he’d done wrong. Could Gwen truly have thought she’d fly out
of here in just over a week with wads of cash lining her pockets?
Were her circumstances really that bad? She’d seemed so fragile
when she’d rushed out of here, as if she might break apart at any
minute. Dan had no idea what sort of situation she was in, but he
did know one thing. If he could, he wanted to help.

After what seemed like an eternity, Gwen
resurfaced, all fresh-faced with newly applied lipstick and powder.
Dan was finally starting to understand why women kept so much
nonsense in their purses. It was for emergency situations like
this.

“Any better?” he asked with concern.

She gave a sniff and lifted her chin.

“Allergies. Never know when they’re going to
hit me.”

“Glad you’re okay.”

“Yes,” she said, taking her seat. “Just fine,
thanks.” She noted the credit card receipt on the table. “Oh,
you’ve already paid the bill. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you
to—”

“My pleasure,” he said, meaning it. He hadn’t
had a lunch this interesting with a woman in a decade. Everything
he’d learned about Gwen had been fascinating. But what intrigued
him most was all that he didn’t know. “Gwen,” he began, hoping to
broach the subject lightly. “I couldn’t help but notice you were a
little…thrown by our arrangement.”

“The consignment, you mean?” she asked
proudly. “Oh no, I knew all about it. I suspected that’s how things
went.” It was a brave cover, but Dan saw straight through it.
Didn’t help her that her chin still trembled slightly.

“That’s how it normally goes,” he answered.
“But there’s really no need for us to go getting all bogged down in
normalcy, wouldn’t you say?”

She knitted her delicately sculpted brow.
“I’m sorry? I’m not sure I follow.”

A few gold tendrils broke free from their
pins and spilled forward. Dan had an idiotic impulse to reach out
and sweep them back, chancing a touch of her alabaster skin. He
stopped himself just in time, tucking away the bill receipt in his
pocket instead. “How soon can you get your canvases out here?”