Argentinian Billionaire (Blood and Thunder 2)

by Susan Stephens

  Springing up, Dante yanked her to safety behind him as he covered the man groaning on the floor. “Where did you learn shit like that?”

  She lowered the gun. “My brothers had a shooting range.” She shrugged. “No one threatens my father while I’ve got breath in my body.” Stepping over the man, she calmly picked up her mother’s photograph and put it back on top of the piano. “The Garda has arrived,” she informed him in a voice as calm and collected as you like. “We can go now. Leave them to clean up. I heard them praise your team,” she added with a faint smile of approval as he held the door.

  He had never admired a woman more than he admired Rose at that moment.

  ~~o0o~~

  Rose was almost floating with relief by the time the farmhouse was declared safe. She couldn’t wait to get her father inside. Hours later, he still looked pale and badly shaken, and no wonder. She’d made him a cup of strong, sweet tea for the shock and sat with him so he could wind down before bed. He didn’t deserve to be threatened and bullied after a lifetime of hard work and doing his best by everyone.

  “You can relax now, Pa,” she hurried to reassure him when he sighed. “The horses are back safe on the farm and no worse off for their adventure.”

  “But how are you?” he asked, frowning as he glanced up.

  “Me?” She smiled to reassure him and kept the facts to a minimum so as not to cause him further alarm. “I’m fine. The Garda has done a final sweep and declared the farm safe.”

  “You know I’m not talking about that,” her pa insisted with a touch of impatience.

  “Well, I don’t know what else I’d have to worry about,” she insisted, smiling as she tried to convince him. “The forensics team are satisfied they’ve got everything they need. Dante and his team have gone with the Garda to sort out the paperwork and liaise with the various agencies, and the remaining thugs have been carted off to the cells—”

  “You never were a good liar,” her father interrupted. “We were almost killed, and it’s my fault. I’ve had my life, but you’ve got everything in front of you. You shouldn’t be having to worry about me.”

  She leaned over to grip his hand briefly. “So long as you’re safe, I’m happy. Everything will be all right now,” she promised. She hoped. She knew what he was getting at: Dante Formosa. Her father was too wise and knew her too well not to see the way she and Dante had looked at each other.

  Even when he relaxed back, she doubted she’d convinced him. She was hopeless at hiding the fact that her heart was twisting in knots as she wondered when, or even if she’d see Dante again.

  “I was young once,” her pa said, distracting her. “Don’t look so worried. Dante will be fine. And he’ll be back,” he insisted. “He has to come back. I have to thank him. And so do you.”

  When she looked up and shrugged, he added, “And have you forgotten the horses? I’ll bet you a pound to a penny he hasn’t.”

  Now she smiled. She’d told her father that Dante was a world-class polo player and that she’d mentioned Stargazer to him as a prospect for his team. Trust her pa to get straight to the bones of the matter.

  “We should have a Ceilidh to celebrate getting rid of those thugs,” he went on, rocking in his chair as he thought about it. “We could do with some fun around here.”

  “If that’s what you want, Pa.”

  “Never mind what I want, it’s what you need,” he insisted. “The next time we see him, we’ll invite Dante to join us. What d’you say about that?”

  “I can’t imagine him coming along to a simple village Ceilidh.”

  “Have more faith Rose,” her pa said confidently. “I know he’ll come.”

  Chapter Seven

  Dante arrived at the farmhouse at dawn the following morning with a small team of men. The noise of the SUV crunching into the yard brought Rose to the window, and now Dante and his colleagues were standing in front of her, in a neat, disciplined line.

  “Good morning, Rose.”

  Dante’s familiar husky tone washed heat through every part of her. “Good morning, Dante.” So much for keeping her thoughts under wraps. The sexual tension between them had to be obvious to everyone.

  “Tea, Rose, tea,” her father insisted, distracting her as he hurried downstairs in his pajamas to greet his guests.

  She was glad of something to do, apart from stare at Dante, especially when he simply raised a brow and stared back at her, expressionless. By the look of his men, she thought they would prefer a shot of neat bull’s blood to tea. They’d brought the scent of cold air, clean clothes, and hot, toned muscle into the farmhouse. Like Dante, they were battle ready. “Have you had any sleep?” she asked Dante.

  He shrugged and glanced at her father. “I’ve brought my men to help your father with the horses until he’s settled again.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

  She stared him in the eyes, and that was all it took to suck the breath from her lungs and every atom of sensible thought from her brain. Turning away to pour the mugs of tea, she noticed her hand was trembling. Her pa was chatting about feeds and fields and various training methods for young horses, while all she could think about was sex.

  Shame on you, Rose Delaney!

  She wondered how much the men understood about her father’s horse chat. They weren’t gauchos. She guessed they were soldiers in the Blood and Thunder army, come to do one final sweep of the farm to make sure that no one from the gang was hiding out.

  “Just three mugs,” Dante instructed. “My men won’t be staying inside. They need to get the lay of the land,” he added with a meaningful glance at her father.

  “I understand.” She did. This wasn’t a social call, and though the Garda had declared the farm safe last night and had left a couple of men on guard just to be sure, she imagined Dante trusted no one but his own men to do one final check.

  “I’ll go with them,” her father offered.

  “If you could just show them the outbuildings and then come back and join us?” Dante smiled encouragingly.

  Rose guessed Dante wanted her father back under his watchful eye until he got the all clear from his men. As the door closed behind her father and the men, she asked herself what was different about Dante today. Triumph. That was it, Rose thought as she turned around to face him. There was an aura of triumph surrounding him. Danger gave added impetus to sexual desire. She’d read this somewhere but had never experienced it first-hand. The natural human reaction on escaping death was to celebrate life, she remembered. The urge to do so must be catching. And must be controlled, she told herself sternly.

  “I can’t thank you enough for helping us.”

  Dante tipped his chin, and continued to study her in silence.

  “If I’d known you were going to visit this morning, I would have dressed for the occasion,” she joked tensely.

  Dante was used to seeing her in working breeches, but these were her oldest, most disreputable, worn and grubby from the stables, while the uniform she wore on Isla Celeste had to be carefully laundered and kept pristine. Her hair was scraped back for practicality, and horses didn’t care if she wore makeup. What you saw was what you got, Rose concluded with a rueful shrug. “Will you trial Stargazer today?” she asked, glancing at the door.

  “Always business,” Dante commented.

  “Always horses,” she agreed, wishing her heart would slow down long enough for her to take a proper breath.

  “Tack him up.”

  “I will.”

  She brushed past Dante at the door on her way out, and glanced up—wished she hadn’t, and had to make a lunge for the coat she’d forgotten to put on, nearly cannoning into him in the process. Act normally, Rose. Dante was a valuable contact for her father, and Stargazer was a high-value horse. A sale would restore her father’s pride and would mean he could return full-time to the work he loved.

  As they crossed the yard, Dante’s black stare missed nothing. He could accuse her of being
all business, but he was always on duty. What had made him like this? She thought back to the rumors she’d heard about him on Isla Celeste. Would she ever know the truth about Dante? He was one of the few people she couldn’t read. Because they shared the same sixth sense, she reasoned as he glanced at her, as if sensing the path her thoughts were taking.

  Better to concentrate on the yearlings she had to sell, Rose concluded, though even that was hard when Dante looked so hot. She’d have to be wood from the neck up not to notice that a sleepless night had left no blemish on him, or that his snug-fitting jeans molded his iron butt to perfection, and his soft cashmere sweater in deepest blue showing beneath his short, warm jacket, just begged to be stroked—

  “Rose?”

  Having almost crashed into the barn door, she pulled herself around quickly. Pathetic. She was a professional woman, and this was business between Dante and her father. No glances, no flirting, no sex. Suck it up. It was safer that way.

  The devil’s pact between them was done and dusted, Rose told herself firmly as she allowed the routine of tacking up to soothe her rattled senses. Dante had fulfilled his part of the bargain by getting her to Ireland and then playing a major role in sorting out her father’s problems, while she had fulfilled hers by…by having the most amazing sex? Well, Dante had seemed to enjoy it, Rose concluded as she hefted Stargazer’s saddle onto the horse’s back, so perhaps she’d done enough. Maybe there’d be no more now. She was just pulling a rueful expression when Dante came up alongside. “What’s that face for?” he demanded softly.

  Regret. Disappointment. Uncertainty about the future. “I’ll miss Stargazer if he leaves the farm.”

  Angling his swarthy face, Dante stared into her eyes. “But you’ll be coming with him.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  Dante left her guessing as she led Stargazer out into the yard. She was in time to see her father and Dante’s men exchanging firm handshakes. She was thrilled at the way things had turned out for her father. She noticed the leader of the men glance at Dante and give him an almost imperceptible nod, as if to say all clear.

  Her father turned around with his face wreathed in smiles. “I was just mentioning the Ceilidh we’re planning. I hope you’ll come?” he said to Dante.

  Inwardly, Rose cringed as she tried to imagine Dante at a simple village party. The last thing she wanted was to see her father knocked back so soon after things started going right.

  “I’d be honored,” Dante said, surprising her. “My men have a job to go to, but I can come along.”

  The towering, glowering monument to all that was not party, not small talk, not drinking for the sake of drinking, and, quite definitely, not dancing a few steps to the robust strains of a local Irish showband—all of which was expected behavior at the village hall in Crackallen—had just agreed to attend?

  “Great,” her father enthused, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll get the pub to save its best room for you.”

  The pub? She tried, and failed miserably, to imagine Dante staying overnight in the quirky old building with its uneven floors and the low beams that would knock the head off a Hobbit—not to mention the antiquated plumbing singing and banging all night. Even supposing Dante attended the Ceilidh, the pub wasn’t the obvious place to house a billionaire.

  Once again, he surprised her by agreeing to this too.

  “There, now,” her pa declared expansively. “Didn’t I tell you everything would be all right, Rose? Why don’t you come here first to eat?” he suggested to Dante. “Rose is a fine cook.”

  And isn’t in need of a husband. Shut up, Pa!

  “That would be great.” Dante’s amused glance made Rose bridle. “I’m looking forward to it already.”

  “And so am I,” she declared, picturing the syrup of figs in the store cupboard and the havoc she could wreak with it.

  “I’ll take Stargazer through his paces first, and then we’ll talk some more,” Dante promised her pa with a reassuring touch on his arm.

  “Go with him, Rose,” her father insisted with a theatrical wink and jerk of his chin that no one but he thought was subtle.

  Bad enough she had to ride out with a man who was looking at her as if she was the next meal on his agenda without being urged to do so by a demented matchmaker, who, it seemed, couldn’t get his only daughter off his hands fast enough.

  “I’m sure Dante can take Stargazer through his paces without me, Pa—”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Dante butted in.

  “A tot of whisky?” her father suggested hopefully.

  “Not yet,” Dante said with one of his all too rare smiles. “Ride with me, Rose. There’s a proposition I want to put to you. The three of us can talk properly over dinner,” he reassured her pa.

  “A proposition?” she queried the moment her father was safely back inside the house.

  “Yes…” Dante’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder, shooting shafts of desire through her veins. “Go and saddle up.”

  “You wanted to talk?” she reminded him a few minutes later, in what she hoped was a businesslike tone as they rode out of the yard side by side. She hadn’t forgotten Dante’s touch on her arm. It had scorched her like a brand. Even one short night away from him was a drought her body had no intention of tolerating. It hadn’t finished reminding her yet that it had no intention of doing so, but when she shifted in the saddle in a lame attempt to ease her frustration, Dante noticed and smiled faintly.

  He knows I’m aroused. Her cheeks burned red. Turning her horse, she cantered away from him toward the outdoor arena. For the next hour, she didn’t have a chance to think about anything, as she was engrossed in watching a master horseman at work. She was so proud of Stargazer. He was as responsive and as agile as she’d promised he would be.

  “Great horse,” Dante commented to her relief when he finally reined in alongside her. “He’ll be a useful addition to my string of polo ponies.”

  She watched him leave the arena. His back was so powerful. His butt was so tight—and she was glad things had gone so well with the pony, Rose reminded herself. That was why they were here, after all.

  No doubt, but it hadn’t eased her monumental frustration.

  Get over it! This was work—good work that heralded a new start for her father.

  What about me?

  Me would have to wait.

  How long?

  Maybe forever.

  Brushing a stray strand of hair back into her severely drawn ponytail, she resolutely closed her mind to images of a weather-beaten, worthy, and no doubt highly respected if aged Irish horse whisperer who would never have the rosy, romantic future that Rose had dreamed of as a little girl.

  Her father was waiting for them when they trotted back into the yard.

  “He’s an excellent horse,” Dante told him. “You and I have terms to discuss. Can you take him for me, Rose?” he asked as he sprang to the ground.

  “No problem.” She took charge of the reins. Whatever she thought of Dante as a shameless seducer, when it came to negotiations with her father over a horse, she trusted him implicitly.

  “We’ll have that tot of whisky now,” her father enthused as he led the way into the house.

  ~~o0o~~

  “Until the Ceilidh,” Dante told Rose and her father as he got up to leave after what he had to confess was a delicious meal.

  “Tonight,” Rose’s father exclaimed, nodding enthusiastically.

  “Tonight?” Could a Ceilidh be organized so quickly? This was Ireland, he told himself, where everyone loved a good party.

  “The band plays anyway, and the bar’s always packed,” Rose’s father confirmed, as if reading his mind. “We’ll just give a name to it, that’s all.”

  Dante shrugged and smiled. “Fine by me. Tonight.” He glanced at Rose. Negotiations had been concluded satisfactorily…for the horse, at least. He held her stare briefly before heading for the door. Rose was next on his agenda. He only had to
look at her to remember everything—how good she tasted, her scent of wildflowers and soap, and how good it felt to sink deep inside her. Slowly, he amended, smiling faintly at the memory. “Seven o’clock?”

  “I’ll be ready this time,” she promised, slanting him a look.

  She was ready now, he guessed. “No toothbrush,” he warned.

  “What’s that?” Rose’s father butted in, cupping his ear.

  “Nothing, Pa,” Rose soothed.

  “In that case, seven on the dot,” her father added heartily, oblivious to the undercurrents in the room.

  ~~o0o~~

  On the dot proved to be something of an exaggeration. When he drove back to the farmhouse that evening, Rose kept them waiting for almost half an hour. He joined her father in pacing up and down.

  “Do you like the pub?” Rose’s father asked as they passed each other.

  “Very much.” The inn was very comfortable. It was spotlessly clean and far more comfortable than the canvas he often slept beneath on the pampas. He liked the old inn’s quirkiness. It reminded him of Rose. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece as it ticked away the seconds—and had to tell himself not to do so again, as Rose’s father had noticed and was looking more anxious than ever.

  “I can’t think what’s keeping her. Shall I give her a call?” he offered.

  “No.” He said this as if didn’t want to leap up the stairs, throw her over his knee, and give her a good spanking. “I’m sure she’ll be down soon.”

  “Well, you’re a damn sight more confident than I am,” her father commented beneath his breath.

  Hearing Rose coming down the stairs, they both turned. When she walked into the room, they fell silent. The scent of the shower gel she’d used was a perfect addition to the vision that was Rose with her newly washed hair floating around her shoulders like a storm cloud. He’d never seen her in a dress before. It was a simple dress with nothing special about it, but she made it special. Formfitting in a soft fabric, in what he supposed could be called aquamarine, it toned perfectly with her jade-green eyes. He couldn’t imagine a top-class designer could have improved upon her choice, and his senses roared as they stared at each other.