Argentinian Billionaire (Blood and Thunder 2)

by Susan Stephens

  Heated? She was on fire. Dante was returning to the party? Total shit! She was well rid of him, Rose concluded, stopping on the path to angrily tie back her hair with the band she kept on her wrist. She was in no mood for romantically floating hair. She felt more like girding her loins and going into battle. Dashing tears from her eyes, she stood with her heart hammering, hovering between fight and flight modes.

  Why was she running, and from whom? Dante was the one with the problem. She got to choose. And she chose to return to the party.

  ~~o0o~~

  If Rose was on the edge, he’d put her there. He had to find her and sort this out. No one had ever gotten under his skin as she had. He headed back to the party.

  Women flocked. He chose. He discarded. That was how it had always been in the past. He had never allowed himself to care. No one had ever taken him on before or held up a mirror so he could see what he’d become. She was right in saying he brooded on the past. Don’t hug it, she’d said. Hug it? He’d screwed it to the ground trying to forget what his mother must have suffered when he was in no position to help her—and the rest. Rose was right. It was time to let it all go.

  It was time to let Rose go too. He paused on the fringes of the crowd. He was a work in progress, and Rose needed a man who could give her what she needed now, which was love untouched by darkness, and a future where she could find happiness and fulfillment.

  He’d never been so wired, he realized as he surveyed the bacchanalian scene in front of him. The bonfire was ferociously hot and lit the surrounding area with an unearthly glow, beyond which was blackness. Guests were already pairing off, making for the shadows. The makeshift bar was crowded and rowdy. His men spotted him and greeted him like a conquering hero. He would have to make time for them. His respect for them knew no bounds. He couldn’t run a ranch the size of his without their help. He would trust them with his life. They knew him better than he knew himself. Miguel, his right-hand man, had been like a second father to him when Dante was a boy. Miguel had known his mother and still talked about her with love and respect. Many a night, they’d shared a drink while Miguel reminisced, and Dante had created a pastiche of memories from another’s man’s recollections.

  “Miguel!” he exclaimed with pleasure as the older man came up to greet him.

  “You should tell her, Dante.”

  He frowned, but he knew exactly what Miguel was getting at.

  “You’ll lose her if you don’t,” Miguel cautioned as they walked together toward the bar. “Beer?”

  “Why not?” He swung an arm around Miguel’s shoulder.

  His men were their usual raucous selves, but he couldn’t settle. He scanned the people on the impromptu dance floor. There was no sign of Rose. He saw Miguel’s daughter, Costanza, chatting to some friends. They’d grown up together. Costanza was like a sister to him. They could relax around each other. No explanations were necessary. They knew each other inside out. Spotting him, she waved him over.

  “You look thunderous—more thunderous than usual,” she commented dryly. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.” He shrugged.

  “And you expect me to believe that?” She followed his stare. “Rose?”

  He’d tensed, having spotted Rose heading their way. She looked so beautiful—so angry. The passion only added to her allure. Everyone had noticed her arrival. She was a magnet to the men’s stares. What he knew was anger, they thought was triumph after her success in the gaucho games. They all wanted to congratulate her and crowded around, halting her in her tracks. Tom joined them.

  Tom.

  He ground his jaw as the other man put his arm around Rose. Just thinking about Tom and Rose doing anything together seriously pissed him off. The other men who’d taken part in the race had surrounded them as if Tom and Rose were a couple. Laughing and chatting and patting her on the back, his gauchos already respected Rose for her work, and after the race, she was one of them.

  “Hey—”

  He looked down as Costanza shook his hand off her shoulder. His grip had tightened, he realized.

  “Save that for your girlfriend,” Costanza told him.

  “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Really?” She looked at him. “We’d better dance. You need a distraction.”

  With Rose only yards away, surrounded by men, he had all the distraction he needed, but he moved like an automaton to do as Costanza suggested, if only to stop him staring at Rose.

  “What’s with you tonight, Dante? Is it Rose? Or are the memories bugging you?”

  Costanza understood him—made allowances for him. He’d taken comfort from that in the past. He’d taken advantage of it too—to wallow in self-pity, he suspected—or to hug the past, as Rose would put it. Tonight he found no comfort in those thoughts. They only made him more impatient with himself than ever.

  “Is it your mother?” Costanza prompted.

  “I carry my mother in my heart, but I can’t live my life through her,” he brooded, speaking his thoughts out loud.

  Costanza smiled. “Rose is good for you.”

  He shrugged dismissively.

  That should have been the end of it, but Costanza was in no way put off. “How long are you going to lie to yourself?” she demanded. “Everyone can see what Rose means to you. Why can’t you?”

  He snapped. “Do you have any idea how annoying you can be?”

  “I should. You’ve been telling me since we were kids.”

  “Then you should know to leave me alone.” He pulled back. “We don’t have to dance.”

  “Leave you to brood and pick a fight?” Costanza suggested with a lift of her brow. “Not a chance, though you should be dancing with Rose. If you’re in love, accept it and get on with it, as I have.”

  “Love?” He stared down at Costanza as if she were crazy. “What makes you think I’m in love?”

  “The woman with murder on her mind who’s glaring at us right now?”

  He glanced up, but as their stares met, Rose looked away. “I’m not in love with Rose Delaney. She works for me.”

  “And?” Angling her chin, Costanza stared up and shook her head. “Honestly, Dante. Some days I want to strangle you. The only thing stopping me is the fact that you’re a man, and I have to keep reminding myself to make allowances.”

  ~~o0o~~

  That sixth sense—the instinct Rose was so proud of? Sometimes it was great. Other times…? She’d spotted them right away. Dante was dancing with Miguel’s beautiful daughter, Costanza, within an hour of making love to Rose. That had to be some sort of record, surely? And what about Tom? Where did he fit into this equation?

  Making love? They’d had sex, Rose swiftly amended. There was no point gilding a lily when it came with a turd attached. And there was no equation. Dante could dance with whomever he liked.

  She would behave with dignity, Rose decided as she made for the bar where the gauchos from the race were gathered. She should celebrate with them. That was why she’d come to the party in the first place. She wasn’t going to hang around on the fringes, glowering at Dante, which would only prove to him how much she cared.

  “Hey, Rose—” Tom smiled as he drew her into the circle of men.

  She braced herself for the teasing and the inevitable comments about the Little People, Ireland’s fairy folk, casting a spell over the rest of them, which had to be the only reason she’d managed to do so well. The men were in a good mood, and soon there was a line of beers stacked up on the bar. The moon had come out from behind the clouds and beamed down like a spotlight. Everything was good—except for Dante’s stare boring into her back.

  “Would you prefer a soda?”

  She looked up as Tom spoke. He was a nice man. If Dante hadn’t clamped his big hands around her heart and squeezed it tight, she might have noticed a lot more about the men who populated his estancia. “I’d love a soda. Thanks.”

  “I’ll order it, then we’ll dance,” Tom offered.

 
“With you?” She pulled a face.

  “Why not with me?” Tom demanded good-humoredly.

  “Because I dance like a drunken hippo? You might want to rethink that offer.”

  “I’m wearing boots,” Tom pointed out with a grin.

  Leaning over the bar, he ordered her drink and then led her onto the dance floor. “One dance to celebrate third place,” he said.

  Tom wasn’t looking at her, Rose noticed. His attention was centered on Costanza dancing with Dante. Tom’s eyes were narrowed with hostility. Dante’s expression, when their stares clashed briefly, was hardly any friendlier. She felt trouble brewing. How many women would it take to stop two raging bulls from killing each other?

  Two, as it turned out. Rose stood in the way of Dante’s fist, while Costanza held on to Tom’s arm with grim determination.

  “You’d better move out of my way,” Dante warned Rose.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she assured him as the two men continued to face off. Dante looked more intimidating than ever, and she had no intention of moving. If she did, there’d be a fight.

  “This isn’t a joke, Rose.”

  “Am I laughing?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Tom,” Costanza cut in. “Dante and I have known each other since we were in diapers. There’s nothing going on.” She directed this at Rose as much as Tom, as if having Rose believe her was just as important.

  Rose was convinced. Dante was still glowering. It was Rose’s turn to bridle. Dante had no rights over her. He seemed to think he could turn it on and switch it off whenever it pleased him, and he was about to learn that wasn’t the case.

  Seeing two huge men poised to slug it out was like catnip to the crowd, and quite an audience had gathered around them. Rose took her chance while there were witnesses, to make the two men see sense. “Tom and me were celebrating because we came third—nothing more, nothing less. Now shake hands. We’re having a party, not a prize fight—that’s next week.”

  As everyone laughed, the tension released, and Dante and Tom were forced to stand down. Rose breathed a sigh of relief. Six brothers had their uses sometimes. They might be as annoying as hell, but they’d taught her a lot about the male psyche. Shoot first, ask questions later, which, roughly translated, meant any excuse for a fight—but create a distraction—remove their focus from each other for an instant, and the critical moment would pass. Just as it had done now, she was relieved to see as Tom allowed Costanza to lead him back on to the dance floor.

  The crowd peeled away, leaving Dante and Rose facing each other. “We have some talking to do,” he told her.

  She huffed with incredulity. “It’s a bit late for that.”

  “We’re done when I say we’re done,” Dante assured her. She froze when he put his hand on the small of her back as if to lead her away.

  “You take too much for granted,” she said, breaking free.

  She led the way into the shadows, and when she was sure they were out of earshot, she let him have it. “Calm reason doesn’t work with you, and I’m done with being the butt of your frustration. It’s not my fault you’re a slave to the past. And I don’t want a man making love to me as if I mean everything to him, only to walk away without a backward glance when he’s done.”

  “You walked. I followed,” Dante pointed out coldly.

  “Which has to be a first for you,” Rose agreed. “So what do you want now? More sex?” She shook her head. “I’m done with that too. It will never be enough for me—”

  “Or me,” Dante interrupted.

  “You don’t have anything else to give.”

  “Do you?” he countered. “I came here tonight determined to finish things for your sake. I know you need more, and I care enough to want you to have everything I can’t give you. But that would be too easy.”

  “So, what are you saying, Dante?”

  “I’m saying it’s time to fight for something we could have. What do you give me, apart from your body and your equine expertise?”

  “You don’t want anything else.”

  “How do you know what I want? Have you ever asked me?”

  “Have we ever had a conversation?” Rose exploded with frustration. “I don’t know why I’m even wasting my time on this!”

  Running from Dante was the last thing she’d planned to do, but with his accusations ringing in her ears, she needed space to examine what he’d said, to see if there was any truth in it. Was she guilty of living in the past and only seeing things from her point of view?

  She burst into her usual refuge, the stable block, and then had to remind herself to walk quietly. She’d never entered her quiet space, as she thought of any time spent with the ponies, in anything other than a calm mood, but no one had ever thrown her like Dante. He put her in touch with feelings she didn’t even know she had.

  So perhaps she was a little like him, Rose conceded as she stood outside Stargazer’s stall. Ears pricked, the pony was staring at her, clearly wondering what she wanted. Her gaze strayed to his bridle hanging on the wall, safely out of reach. She hadn’t moved it to the tack room after training, knowing she’d be riding him first thing in the morning. A bridle was all she needed, Rose thought as she reached up and unhooked it.

  Chapter Twelve

  He left the party and went back to the hacienda. The big ranch house echoed as he walked inside. He’d given his staff the night off so they could enjoy the party. In the living room, he poured a scotch, then opened the door to the verandah and walked outside. Staring out into the darkness, he toyed with the idea of taking a ride to break up the long night, but the moon was playing tag with the clouds, which made for dangerous riding conditions. Rabbit holes, slumbering snakes—though he knew the territory like the back of his hand, he wouldn’t risk a horse…unless that horse was Lucifer, who knew the ground better than anyone.

  He decided it was better to let the big horse rest. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply on the thought that there would be a lot of long nights ahead of him, unless he did something to change that. An image of Rose swam in front of his closed eyes. He’d given her no reason to stay. He’d only tried to drive her away. Draining his glass, he thought of having another drink to numb feelings that had been bottled up inside him for so long, they were threatening to spill out. He had the bottle in his hand when the sound of a horse galloping into the night stopped him.

  Someone was riding fast—too fast. He didn’t hang around to analyze who that someone might be. Acting on instinct, he put his glass down and ran.

  Stargazer was missing from his stall. The mystery rider was most likely Rose.

  He put a bridle on Lucifer and led him into the yard. He sprang onto the horse’s back, cantered out, and then galloped into the night.

  ~~o0o~~

  Rose soon realized that she’d risk more than her neck if she kept up a fast pace. The horse could stumble, and she would never forgive herself if he were injured. Riding at night at speed was exhilarating, but she reined in so Stargazer could pick his way in safety. As he ambled along, she took the chance to soak in her surroundings. The moon cast a blue light from behind the clouds, illuminating her path. She inhaled deeply, appreciating the scents and sounds of the pampas that seemed more pronounced at night. She knew where she was heading and soon spotted the rocky outcrop at the edge of the river where she’d chatted to the gauchos who worked on the ranch. They’d lit a fire and had shown her how to build one using tinder that was lying around, and a spark tool and lighter fuel they kept in a hollowed-out opening in one of the big old trees. She guessed that gauchos had probably been hiding their fire-making materials in the same old tree for generations. It was the perfect place to stop and rest the horses by the river, and she was hopeful that the materials she would need to light a fire would still be there.

  After dismounting on the riverbank, she walked across to the tree. Kneeling on the mossy ground, she felt around in the scratchy hollow. She made a small sound of pleasure when her fingers touched
the metal tool. It was full of fuel, she discovered with relief when she brought it out and shook it. Next she set about gathering tinder for the fire, confident she’d be warm in no time.

  Not completely useless after all, Rose concluded with satisfaction as she settled back on her haunches to enjoy the warmth of her very first fire. Spreading her arms, she delighted in the fresh, clean air with its tang of wood smoke. It felt good to be away from all the tensions, as if she could touch happiness with her fingertips.

  But it always got away.

  Nope. She wasn’t going to think like that. Standing up, she turned her face to the sky, wondering if Dante’s mother, the Romani princess, had camped out beneath the stars in this very same spot. If she had, she must have felt the same impulse to light a fire and dance around it in the moonlight. With no one to see her, Rose didn’t feel ridiculous at all.

  What would her mother think if she could see her now? Would she be pleased her daughter was adventurous and had come halfway across the world in pursuit of her dream to work with horses? Or would she think Rose would have been better off staying at home? Kicking off her boots, she settled for the first option. Hadn’t her father always said that the excitement had left his life when Rose’s mother died? She was going to dance for both of them. Freeing her hair, she shook it out.

  Maybe she needed a few lessons, Rose concluded after trying a few steps. Ungainly but enthusiastic would have shown on a school report. But as she was quite alone and—what was it that old Romani woman had said all those years ago? Rose would work with horses and would belong in a vast, wild land. At the time, Rose had pulled a face, thinking that meant staying on her father’s farm for the rest of her life, as it had seemed vast to her then, and it was certainly wild when her brothers were home. But was this the wilderness the old lady had been referring to?

  The fire blazed vigorously as she danced. Her choreography was basic. She spun round and around. She was enjoying herself so much that she didn’t even stop when she was dizzy, and one last flourish almost plummeted her into the fire. She shrieked as a pair of strong arms caught her from behind.