Argentinian Billionaire (Blood and Thunder 2)

by Susan Stephens

  That wasn’t big and bold, that was just plain stupid, Rose concluded as Lucifer snuffled the breast pocket of her shirt where she kept his mints. No one had been able to ride Lucifer apart from Dante, until Rose came along. Dante wasn’t riding him until Lucifer finished his training with Rose.

  Dante had moved from one difficult horse to another, Rose reflected as an image of his fierce black stallion striking sparks off the cobbles with his impatient hooves sprang into her mind. She’d work on him next, given half a chance.

  Stallion, not Dante, she told herself firmly.

  Fiend to friend was just a matter of love and trust, Rose concluded as she rested her face against Lucifer’s smooth, warm neck. “Shame about your owner. I doubt I could change him.”

  Not that she’d want to. Dante Formosa regarded women as a step down from a hot dinner—essential to his sexual well-being, but of variable quality, and he never kept them around long enough to get cold. Rose, on the other hand, in spite of growing up surrounded by fierce men, still had hearts and flowers in her eyes when it came to romance. Otherwise, she’d do without, she had vowed, which was pretty much where things were.

  “I’ve never been frightened of you,” she whispered to Lucifer. “And I’m not frightened of your master either.” Though if Lucifer had once been known as the demon horse of Isla Celeste, then Dante must be the dark angel.

  Lucifer responded by exhaling noisily, which prompted Rose to drop a kiss on his velvety nose. When Lucifer stilled and pricked up his ears, she stilled too.

  And groaned inwardly. Wasn’t it bad enough having to work alongside randy polo players without intruding on them when they were obviously doing things she didn’t want to see?

  The stable block was huge and the noise was coming from close to another entrance, which was some distance away. Pa had always said she had ears on stalks. She regretted it now. She’d been so busy thinking about Dante, she’d missed the fact there were others in the block.

  Creeping down the line of stalls, she peered cautiously around a dividing wall, and pulled back fast. A man with his eyes closed was being serviced; Dante Formosa was getting a blowjob.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t pulled back quickly enough. He’d seen her. She should have remembered Dante was every bit as intuitive as she was. Opening his astonishingly beautiful eyes, he stared straight at her. She could either sneak out the way she’d come, or…

  There were some people Rose would happily leave to their own devices, allowing nature to take its course, and there were others, like Dante Formosa, where the idea of throwing a spanner into his abundant works proved totally irresistible. She only had to remember his enchanting chat-up line at the wedding to know that revenge was a dish best served cold. “You’re the only girl I haven’t fucked yet. How about it, horse whisperer?” At which point, he’d consulted his watch. “I’ve got time now, if you’re ready?”

  “I swoon at your feet,” she’d responded, blinking rapidly as she tried to get her country head around such an unexpected invitation. Years of banter with her brothers didn’t let her down. “But I suggest you ask someone who gives a damn you’ve got a shlong for brains and a peanut where your cock should be.” This, of course, was untrue. Dante Formosa was known as educated muscle, and anyone with one eye open could see he had a majestic schlong. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d had to spend the rest of the day chanting the mantra: He’s my boss; I love my job; please don’t be rude to him again…

  So maybe she was a little jealous of Ms. Pants-Down, Rose conceded. She didn’t flatter herself she was Dante’s type, other than for a quick shag, which was not on her agenda, but she had just discovered she didn’t like the idea of him doing it with anyone else either. Especially not Lucinda, who considered herself a cut above everyone else on the island, and who would almost certainly brag about her fling in the stable with the Gypsy King. Rose hated that idea. She hated the fact she was stuck here, an unwilling eavesdropper.

  Okay. She’d heard enough. Seizing her instrument of revenge, she stepped out of hiding.

  Chapter Two

  “Fucking hell!”

  Lucinda’s screams hurt Rose’s ears. Dante barely seemed concerned as he deftly slotted his oversized cock into his unzipped breeches.

  “Apologies. I never did get the hang of these things,” Rose said, hosepipe still dangling from her hand as she stared straight at Dante. “I hope I didn’t wet you?”

  Was that the hint of a smile playing around his hard, sexy mouth?

  “Maybe I can help to dry you off?” she offered as she tossed a well-used pony towel in his general direction.

  Lucinda, meanwhile, had backed away, shrieking, “Get away from me, you Irish tinker!”

  Even Rose was startled by the change in Dante. “You’re dismissed,” he told Lucinda in a calm, quiet voice. “Your services are no longer required. And I don’t just mean the special services you offer,” he added as Lucinda snatched up her clothes. “You can pack your bags and leave the island. There’s a ferry at nine o’ clock.”

  “You’re choosing her over me?” Lucinda stripped Rose with a look.

  “I’m not choosing anyone,” Dante said coldly.

  Rose almost felt sorry for Lucinda. She guessed the other girl hadn’t heard that because of his Romani heritage, Dante was ultra-protective of all minorities. As Lucinda flounced off, Rose turned to face him. Dante stared coolly back.

  “You interrupted something, horse whisperer, so you have to finish it.”

  Only a man as beautiful, as indulged, and as broken inside, Rose’s sixth sense insisted, could say a thing like that. Instead of antagonizing her, Dante had only made her more determined to know what made him tick.

  “I think we’ve been here before,” she said mildly.

  “Aren’t you the cool little thing?” he murmured.

  Rose’s thoughts were divided. She could save her job by walking away, or she could stand up to Dante. He might be broken, but it wasn’t in her nature to stand mutely by while he rode roughshod over every woman on the ranch. That wasn’t a stark choice; that was no choice.

  “If it’s an emergency, I’m sure you can sort yourself out.”

  His expression turned cold.

  Cue: exit, Rose decided. She glanced back as she walked away. His harsh expression had softened into speculation. There was even the hint of that smile on his mouth. It was the smile that reminded her that Dante wasn’t all bad. He was just accustomed to women fawning over him and accommodating his smallest whim. And she’d never been good in a crowd.

  “Unfinished business, Rose,” he called after her.

  “Only as far as the ponies are concerned—”

  She held her ground when he came to tower over her, though her knuckles were white on the handle of the tack room door.

  “Is that so?” he murmured.

  “Yes.” She stared boldly up at him, but he was such a potent force, it was a battle not to tremble with awareness. His voice was dark chocolate with a hot chili twist, and that faint smile could reduce her to a puddle of lust in an instant.

  Which made it all the more crucial to keep moving and get out of there.

  “Where are you going, Delaney?”

  “About my business, Senor Formosa. Forgive me, but I’m a country girl with country manners, and this episode has shaken me up.”

  “You’re also a hopeless liar,” Dante countered. “I can smell the pheromones from here.”

  Firming her jaw, she tried to ignore him, though her body was running riot. She made a point of stopping by each of the pony stalls, spending as much time as she needed to make sure the storm hadn’t frightened them and they had everything they required. No way was she going to be chased away from her work by Dante Formosa.

  “Has Lucifer bitten you yet?”

  She hadn’t realized Dante was right behind her, and jumped. “No. Why would he? Lucifer’s an angel, aren’t you, baby?” she murmured as she fondled the chestnut’s velvety
ears.

  “A dark angel,” Dante commented dryly.

  “Misunderstood,” Rose insisted.

  Like his master?

  Lucifer nickered in agreement.

  Having checked the big chestnut’s legs, she straightened up to find herself toe to toe with Dante. “You’re an excellent trainer,” he conceded. “Some people might say almost as good as me.”

  “Would that someone be you?”

  When he smiled his lazy smile, it drew her attention to his mouth… His hard, sexy mouth. “Lucifer obeys my smallest command. Will you do the same for me?”

  Breath locked in her lungs as Dante stared down at her, but this was the man speaking, not her boss, and she quickly recovered. “Nothing on God’s good earth could persuade me to obey you, unless your instruction is connected to my work.”

  “In which case, you’d do anything I ask?” Dante pressed.

  She could sense a trap coming but didn’t know which way to jump to avoid it. “That’s correct.”

  “So if I say I want you to train some ponies in Argentina?”

  That wasn’t a question, it was a command, Rose sensed. Argentina? Is he serious? “I’ve got a lot of work here,” she excused, wanting to give herself time to think.

  “You work for the team,” Dante reminded her evenly. “Your contract stipulates that you go wherever the team directs.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. “But does the team want me in Argentina, or do you?”

  “You flatter yourself, Senorita Delaney.”

  Embarrassment flooded her cheeks with heat, and she was careful not to brush against him as she left Lucifer’s stall. Dante seemed more the Romani chieftain than ever in the shadows of the dimly lit stable block. Saturnine, sexually charged, and extremely dangerous hardly made for a comfortable chat.

  “I start work at dawn,” she reminded him politely. “Five thirty. And there’s a lot to do before I go to bed—”

  “Alone?”

  That was none of his business, but for the sake of her job, she curbed her tongue in favor of a polite, “Good night, Senor Formosa. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Walking to the barn door, she held it open and stood back as he walked past.

  ~~o0o~~

  Intuition was great sometimes—most of the time. He knew what Rose was thinking. She wanted him, but she wouldn’t risk it. She thought she’d be hurt in the process, and her flawless reputation would be gone. The odds were too high for Rose Delaney. She thought herself strong and adventurous, but she was basically a conventional, home-loving girl who lavished all her love on her ponies.

  As his beach house was some distance away, he’d traveled to the party on his Harley, and he straddled it now. Gunning the engine, he glanced at the stable block, where he guessed Rose would be working for some time. This wasn’t over yet. By holding out, she kept his interest. She might be the most infuriating woman he’d ever met, but she was also the most intriguing. She was a unique challenge and certainly irreplaceable when it came to his horses.

  Wheeling the bike around, he powered away, confident the next woman in his bed would be Rose. He’d never yet set a goal he hadn’t achieved. The only hurdle remaining was that as much as Rose refused to risk her job, he wouldn’t risk losing her expertise.

  The moon was hidden behind a cloud when he arrived home. Parking, he stood for a moment in silence. He lived alone and preferred it that way. He was answerable to no one. In spite of that, he wanted Rose with him tonight. Her silky black hair should be spread on his pillow, and her pale, Celtic limbs wrapped around him—

  She wasn’t here. Get over it. There were plenty more fish in the sea.

  Not like Rose, he grudgingly conceded as he opened the front door. She stood out in every way. She’d made him laugh with the hosepipe in the stable, and impressed him on a daily basis with her work. Remaining stubbornly unresponsive to the very obvious sexual charge between them appeared to be her only flaw.

  His feet echoed in the emptiness of the big house as he walked across the marble hall. Touching a switch, he opened the floor-to-ceiling windows in his great room. The deck overlooking the ocean called him over. Walking outside, he stared into the blackness. The surf rose and crashed around him. Driven by unseen forces, it reminded him of Rose. Like her, the ocean was unpredictable and always challenging. At some point, even Rose’s energy would have to be released.

  Returning inside, he poured a Scotch and knocked it back. The drink warmed him. It also unlocked memories. His mother had been fearless like Rose. His father had said she was a powerful woman. A horse had brought the young Romani to his father’s attention when Dante’s mother had tried to sell him a promising foal. For his staid father, trapped in a loveless marriage, the arrival of such a wild spirit had proved life changing. Dante’s mother had rekindled his love of life, his father had explained. He had become even more besotted when he watched her work with his horses, but though he’d begged her to stay, she said that moving on was the way of her people.

  His mother hadn’t returned to the estancia until just before Dante’s birth. His father was away, and his stepmother refused her all medical help. The gauchos had done their best for her, but she was dead before Dante had bellowed his first cry. When his father returned, he insisted on adopting his lusty son, which had laid the foundation stone for his stepmother’s hatred. When his father died, Dante didn’t know who was more surprised to discover that he, Dante, the Romani’s son, had inherited everything.

  His stepmother had made plans to sell the estancia to oil prospectors, and with her plans thwarted, she contested the will. Loving the land and the people who lived on it more than life itself, Dante fought back. It had taken everything he had, and had cost him his personal happiness too, though that was something he tried never to think about. He had gone on to win the court case and had settled a generous sum on his stepmother to ensure they never had to see each other again. It was thanks to her and the other one that he mistrusted women. Which brought his thoughts full circle to Rose. He had no reason to mistrust Rose.

  Not yet.

  ~~o0o~~

  His first waking thought the next morning was Rose Delaney. If she was only half as good in bed as she was on horseback, he reflected an hour or so later as he watched Rose working with his horse Lucifer, she would be a welcome distraction. He leaned on the fence as Rose trotted past. Lucifer was notorious for bucking off all comers with the exception of Dante, but Rose had no problem controlling his horse. She was graceful and firm and above all unafraid, and the big pony respected her for it. Rose could be shy with people, but not with horses.

  Dante wasn’t exactly the life of the party. He had no small talk and loathed pretentious gatherings. In his parallel life away from the glamor of polo, he dealt with horror on a daily basis. He believed this gave him a perspective on life not granted to many. The things he’d seen gave him little patience for the petty concerns of the so-called superrich. There had to be a happy medium, he reflected as Rose came around again. There also had to be nights without erotic dreams. He’d spent most of last night picturing Rose riding naked through the surf, followed by Rose secured by a selection of tack, awaiting his pleasure. It amused him to think how that would go down with her. He leaned in to watch as she dismounted. Bringing the big horse to lie down on the ground, she sat beside him, stroking Lucifer as if he were a pussycat.

  He watched in admiration as she mounted up again. Lucifer didn’t move a muscle as she settled smoothly onto his back. Rose was riding bareback, with her limbs so relaxed and still, she didn’t appear to be moving at all, and yet she was fully in control of the big animal as she cantered past. “I hope you’re impressed,” she murmured. “Imagine what I could do with you—”

  “Careful,” he murmured. His senses roared as he refocused on Rose the woman, rather than Rose the equine expert.

  “You’ve certainly worked miracles,” he admitted when the session ended. “I believe you mentioned something ab
out working on me next?”

  “A figure of speech,” she assured him with one of her paint-stripping looks. “And as far as I’m concerned, it’s the horse that’s done everything,” she insisted as she praised Lucifer with affectionate slaps on his neck. “I’ve just removed the obstacles that prevented him from showing his better side.”

  “Well, whatever you’ve done, I appreciate it.”

  “Thank you,” she said, pinking up.

  “I’ll have to find a way to repay you,” he said as his horse nuzzled him as if thanking him for the lesson.

  “I already receive a fair wage. Oh…” Rose’s brow puckered as she looked at him suspiciously, no doubt judging him on his reputation and their past encounters. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I’ll tell you tonight.” He turned to leave.

  “Tonight?” she called after him.

  His stare raked her as he swung around. He wasn’t accustomed to being questioned. “Don’t tell me you have to wash your hair.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Then make sure it’s dry before seven. That’s when I’ll pick you up,” he explained. Raising a hand in farewell, he added, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

  Had Dante Formosa just asked her out on a date? Rose puzzled as she released Lucifer into his paddock.

  Get real. He had her in mind for a postprandial shag.

  Well, hard luck, sweet lips! I’m having an early night—for the sake of my peace of mind, as well as my chastity.

  Dante’s problem was the same as Lucifer’s, Rose reflected as she watched Dante’s horse running free. They both had an overload of energy. Find Lucifer a mare and let him work out his frustration, and a good horse would be cured.

  Would the same treatment work for his master?

  Dante would never change, Rose concluded as she walked back to the stable block. Transform that player from a serial shagger into a half-reasonable human being and possible love interest? Not a chance. She might be good with horses, but she wasn’t a miracle worker. She would stay in and wash her hair. She’d wash her hair every night from now on until Dante got the message. She wasn’t an easy lay. She wasn’t any type of lay. She was here to work with the ponies, not to massage the egos of their masters. If Dante Formosa thought he could walk into her life in his overtight breeches and wreak havoc—he was probably right. Hadn’t he already done so? She was still thinking about him, and that was a very bad sign.