‘I was wondering if you’d like to join me for dinner. At the cottage, naturally, as we dare not risk being seen dining together in public at the Rose and Crown,’ he added dryly.
Rachel went pink but ignored his jibe, her pulse quickening at the realisation that he seemed to be giving her another chance. ‘Do you mean you’re going to cook?’ she queried, recalling the lonely jar of caviar in his fridge and trying to imagine him pushing a trolley around the local supermarket.
‘Santa Madre. No!’ He sounded as shocked as if she had suggested flying to Mars. He removed his sunglasses and shook his glossy dark hair back from his face. ‘I’ve discovered an excellent French restaurant in Harrowbridge—and, even better, I’ve persuaded the manager to start up a home delivery service,’ he explained, his eyes glinting with amusement when he noted the conflicting emotions on Rachel’s face. ‘Of course, you may not like French food, querida, in which case I will try my powers of persuasion on the Italian eatery at the other end of the town.’
‘French will be lovely,’ Rachel murmured after a long pause, ignoring the fact that she had never actually eaten French food. Dinner wasn’t the real issue here, and they both knew it.
‘I’ve left my car down by the farmhouse. Come with me now and I’ll drop you back here early in the morning—before anyone’s about,’ Diego suggested casually.
His smile was a lethal weapon that numbed her brain and turned her legs to jelly, and she began to appreciate the very real danger he presented to her peace of mind. In the five years that she had worked as a groom at Hardwick she had fought to prove she was ‘one of the lads’ in an industry that was still rife with male chauvinism. But, for the first time in her life, she was tempted to sacrifice the respect she had earned among the other grooms and brazenly advertise the fact that she had slept with Diego to anyone who cared to know.
Nothing seemed to matter other than knowing he wanted her in his bed, and a little part of her longed for him to sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless before carrying her to his car and driving her through the estate to his cottage, uncaring of the curiosity and speculation they would arouse. Although he was staring at her intently, he made no attempt to persuade her and the voice of caution in her head grew louder, reminding her of the lessons she’d learned after witnessing her parents’ tangled love lives—no one was worth losing her independence for.
‘I need to shower and sort out a few things, and then I’ll cycle over to the cottage,’ she told him in a cool voice that disguised her feverish excitement at the thought of spending another night with him. ‘That way, I can ride my bike home again tomorrow.’
Diego’s eyes narrowed, but he controlled his spurt of irritation. Everything with Rachel was a battle of wills, but that made his ultimate victory all the sweeter, he reminded himself. And it was satisfying to know that soon she would not be arguing with him, but pleading for his possession as she had done the previous night. ‘Suit yourself,’ he murmured with a faint shrug. ‘But instead of a shower, why not have a bath at the cottage? I’ve always found that a long, hot soak is the best way to relax tired muscles.’
The wicked gleam in his eyes brought a rush of colour to Rachel’s cheeks as she acknowledged that the reason why she ached all over was because of the demands he had made on her body last night. But the idea of sinking into the enormous roll-top bath at the cottage was irresistible. ‘That sounds good,’ she murmured. The sexual tension that had been smouldering between them since he had arrived was suddenly so acute that her skin prickled, and anticipation caused a dragging ache low in her pelvis.
He nodded and walked down the caravan steps, but halted at the bottom and turned back to her. His face was on level with hers and he dropped a brief, stinging kiss on her mouth that left her aching for more. ‘Don’t keep me waiting too long, querida,’ he drawled. ‘I’m ravenous!’
The predatory glint in Diego’s eyes stayed with Rachel long after he strode down the track back to his car. Not knowing what she would need, she simply grabbed clean clothes for tomorrow and her toothbrush and bundled them into a backpack. Twenty minutes later she was cycling through the woods, retracing the path she had walked earlier that morning, back to the cottage.
She found the front door ajar, but when she walked into the hall there was no sign of Diego. From above came the sound of running water and she hurried up the stairs, coming to an abrupt halt when she pushed open the bathroom door and discovered him immersed in a bath full of foaming bubbles, sipping champagne.
‘Hello, beautiful,’ he drawled, raising his glass and greeting her with a smile that stole her breath.
‘Didn’t you say dinner is going to be delivered?’ she croaked, her eyes locked on his muscular chest and the whorls of damp black hairs visible between the bubbles. He was so impossibly gorgeous. She felt weak with wanting him, but her instinct for self-protection warned her that it was imperative she did not allow herself to be swept away by his sexy charm.
‘It’ll be here in a couple of hours.’
Her heart began to thud unevenly as she speculated on how he intended to fill the time until dinner arrived. ‘I thought you were hungry.’
‘Join me in this bath and I’ll show you just how hungry I am, querida,’ he promised her deeply, the amusement in his eyes changing to an expression of such feral need that Rachel trembled. Last night this had all been new to her, but tonight she knew what to expect and she was overwhelmed by an urgent need to feel him inside her. She gripped the hem of her T-shirt—but then paused. Evening sunlight was streaming through the bathroom window and she felt reluctant to strip in front of him. It would be fine if she possessed voluptuous curves and was slipping out of a sexy negligee, but she was thin and bony and wearing jodhpurs and one of her oldest T-shirts.
‘Diego …’ She opened her mouth to tell him that she would undress in the bedroom, but he interrupted her.
‘Take it off.’ His voice was slurred and heavy with desire, causing molten heat to flood through her veins. Slowly she lifted her arms, tugged her shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor, blushing when his eyes focused intently on her breasts.
‘Now the rest.’
There was no elegant way to kick off her riding boots and shimmy out of her jodhpurs, but Diego discovered that watching Rachel removing her clothes was the most erotic striptease he had ever witnessed. He was thankful that the bubbles hid the solid length of his arousal when he stared at her naked, slender body with her spun-gold hair spilling over her shoulders to cover her breasts, and the cluster of blonde curls between her legs.
‘You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,’ he said harshly. The words were torn from him—he was shaken by his reaction to her. He was an expert in giving glib compliments to his lovers, but Rachel’s pale loveliness evoked a curious ache inside him that he refused to assimilate. Instead he set down his champagne glass and held out his hand to assist her as she stepped gracefully into the bath.
‘I need to keep the dressing on my arm dry,’ she murmured when he drew her down into the foaming water. ‘Diego—what is that…?’ She broke off, her face flaming as he settled her on his thighs and she felt his rigid shaft push into her belly.
He laughed at her shocked expression and felt his heart-rate quicken as her shock turned to undisguised excitement when he slid his hand between her legs. ‘Rest your arm on the side of the bath,’ he bade her in a low growl, ‘and allow me the pleasure of washing you.’
‘Diego …’ Rachel drew a sharp breath when he picked up a bar of soap and smoothed it over her breasts, washing her with a thoroughness that made her tremble. He rinsed her just as assiduously, first with his hands and then, when he had rolled her nipples between his fingers until they swelled and hardened, he lowered his head and took one and then the other into his mouth, sucking deeply until she gave a guttural moan and gripped his hair, desperate for him to stop and equally desperate for him to continue his sorcery.
He had positioned
her so that she was lying back in the bath and he was kneeling over her, the dark curtain of his hair falling forwards to brush against her skin as he at last took mercy on her and lifted his mouth from her breast to her lips. And, while he kissed her, he slid the soap over her stomach and then lower, stroking and exploring her in an erotic foreplay that went beyond the wildest excesses of Rachel’s imagination.
‘I really think I’m clean,’ she gasped as she twisted frantically, sending bath water slopping onto the floor.
‘Then I’d better help to dry you,’ Diego murmured as he stepped out of the bath, roughly dried himself and then scooped her out of the water and enfolded her in a towel. He carried her through to the bedroom and blotted the moisture from her body with the same dedication that he had washed her, until she was sure she would die with wanting him. She was on fire for him and ran her hands eagerly over his chest, trying to urge him down, but he laughed softly and drew her arms down by her sides.
‘You should always moisturise your skin after a bath,’ he told her, his amber eyes gleaming with a wicked intent that made her heart pound as he took a bottle of lotion from the bedside table and tipped fragrant oil into his palms.
This was a well-planned seduction—a routine he’d probably performed on numerous occasions with his previous lovers, cautioned a quiet voice of common sense in Rachel’s head. But it didn’t matter; nothing seemed to matter except that he should ease the ache of sexual frustration that was tearing at her insides.
He started at her feet, massaging the scented oil into her skin with sensuous strokes, and by the time he reached her breasts and brushed his fingertips back and forth across her nipples she sobbed his name and begged him to take her—now, this minute. He gave a husky laugh at her eagerness as he dipped slick, oiled fingers between her thighs, gently parted her and discovered the flooding sweetness of her arousal and, to Rachel’s feverish relief, he finally positioned himself over her.
‘Are you ready, querida?’
Was she? If she was any more turned on she would melt. ‘Diego … please …’ Last night she’d suffered a few last-minute doubts when he had rubbed the solid length of his erection up and down the outer lips of her vagina, but tonight she was frantic for him to fill her. She opened her legs, bending her knees a little and catching her breath when he entered her with one deep, powerful thrust which felt so incredibly good that she sighed her pleasure against his mouth.
He made love to her with all his considerable skill, exerting superb control and taking her to the edge once, twice, until she writhed beneath him, wantonly begging him to take her harder, faster, and crying out when he relented and thrust so deep that she climaxed in a violent explosion of ecstasy. Only then did he relinquish his grip on his self-control and he reached the heights seconds after her, giving a low groan as he pumped his seed into her.
In the aftermath Rachel felt limp and spent as her heart-rate gradually slowed. Diego was an incredible lover, she mused. She had no one to compare him with, but she knew instinctively that sex would never get any better than this. But there was no point in hoping that they would ever share anything more than passion. In a few weeks he would return to Argentina and it was likely that she would never see him again—and that suited her fine, she reminded herself, trying to ignore the way her heart leapt when he rolled off her and immediately curled his arm around her and drew her against his chest. She had her life mapped out—her riding ambitions were paramount but there was no reason why she should not enjoy a brief love affair with Diego, safe in the knowledge that neither of them wanted anything more than fantastic sex.
CHAPTER SIX
‘CHECKMATE.’ Diego moved his bishop and then leaned back on his elbow and grinned at Rachel.
‘What…?’ She stared down at the travel-sized chessboard set out on the picnic rug and shook her head in dismay. ‘But I was about to win. I had my strategy all planned out.’
‘But instead I win again. You know what this means, querida?’ Diego’s eyes glinted wickedly. ‘The loser forfeits an item of clothing—and, as you have already lost your shoes and bracelet, this time it has to be your dress.’
‘You can’t really expect me to take it off here,’ Rachel argued, feeling her heart begin to thud hard beneath her ribs. ‘We’re in a public place … and I’m not wearing a bra.’
‘I know.’ The look of devilment in Diego’s gaze was mixed with a sensual gleam that sent a quiver of excitement down Rachel’s spine. ‘I have been painfully aware all day that the only thing hiding your breasts from my eyes is a very thin cotton dress. But you can’t hide from me any longer. We’re miles from the nearest village, and we’ve picnicked at this spot three times before and never seen a soul—so come on, hand it over.’
Rachel knew she was beaten. ‘I can’t believe you talked me into playing strip chess in the first place,’ she grumbled, ‘especially when I’ve only just learned the game.’ She began to tug at the buttons that ran down the front of her dress, flushing beneath Diego’s avid stare. Two could play at teasing, she decided—and, when she had unfastened the dress to her waist, she slowly drew it down to expose her shoulders and breasts, feeling a spurt of feminine triumph when dull colour flared along Diego’s cheekbones.
‘I bet it isn’t one of the rules that the loser has to undress,’ she said as she allowed the dress to slither down her thighs until it pooled at her feet and she stood before him wearing only a pair of minuscule lace panties.
They had spread the picnic rug beneath an oak tree, and the sun filtering through the leaves dappled Rachel’s slender body. She looked like a woodland nymph, Diego brooded, feeling his body harden.
‘It’s in the Argentinian rule book,’ he assured her gravely, his lips twitching. His eyes settled on the fragile wisp of lace between her thighs, and he gave her a predatory smile. ‘Want to play again? Loser loses … everything.’
Rachel gave a little gasp as he suddenly tugged her ankle so that she tumbled down on top of him, and her pulse raced as he placed his hands on her bottom and clamped her tightly against him so that she could feel his arousal straining beneath his jeans. ‘You might lose, and then you would have to strip,’ she pointed out, her eyes dancing with amusement that swiftly darkened to desire when he grazed his lips along her collarbone.
‘That’s the plan, cariño,’ he said throatily.
Rachel’s laughter echoed around the sunny copse, but the sound was soon lost beneath the pressure of Diego’s mouth on hers. Life was a lot like chess—complicated and unpredictable—she mused as she anchored her fingers in his long silky hair. She had never had an affair before, and so hadn’t known what to expect, certainly not that she and Diego would become friends, as well as lovers, over the last few weeks. They shared everything and spent all their time together, although at the stables they tried to keep their relationship a secret from the other grooms.
Every night their passion grew more intense, but the bond that Rachel felt with Diego was based not just on sex, but on laughter and long conversations about every subject under the sun. On evenings and weekends they saddled up the horses and rode out together, exploring the beauty of the Cotswolds beneath cloudless blue skies.
Falling in love with him was not in the rule book, but day by day her emotions were becoming more entangled. The summer was racing past, and in a few more weeks he was due to return to Argentina. But he wasn’t going yet, she consoled herself, and a lot could happen in a few weeks. They might fall out and be glad to see the back of each other—or he might fall for her …
While she had been daydreaming he had shrugged out of his clothes and she smiled at him as he moved over her, and felt the familiar tug on her heart when he smiled back. Who could tell what the future held?
Diego propped himself up on one elbow and stared at Rachel curled up beside him. Her lips were slightly parted and the sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtains turned her hair to a river of gold on the pillows. It was a month since they had become lover
s, and he was faintly surprised that his fascination with her was even stronger than when he had first taken her to bed.
He could lie here watching her for hours, he mused, frowning slightly as he realised how quickly he had grown used to her sharing his bed—and his life. Usually she woke first—to the strident ring of her alarm clock, which was set for some ungodly hour before dawn—and normally she was dressed and about to sneak back to her caravan when he stirred. But last night he had switched off the alarm, and obviously making love to her three times during the night had worn her out because she was still fast asleep.
She would need food, he decided, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and carefully tucking the sheet around her. She would need to replenish the energy she’d used last night and, although he could not face anything more than strong black coffee in the mornings, Rachel was a breakfast girl.
Pulling on his robe, he padded barefoot down to the kitchen and found a saucepan, milk and the porridge oats Rachel ate every morning. He had watched her make her breakfast a dozen times, but he still managed to burn the milk, and he cursed as he stared at the lumpy grey goo he’d ended up with. A vigorous stir seemed to help and he added syrup, poured juice into a glass and, on an impulse he refused to question, he stepped outside and snipped off a pink rosebud, which he placed on the tray before he returned to the bedroom.
She was still asleep and looked so peaceful that he was reluctant to disturb her. He couldn’t get enough of her, he acknowledged silently—and it was not just because she was a wild temptress in bed. She was good company and he liked having her around. He liked her sharp wit and her wicked sense of humour, and her infectious giggle that never failed to make him smile. He was even considering taking her to New York with him. He would only be at Hardwick for one more week and then planned to spend a month at his polo school in the States, before returning to Argentina. He was confident he would have tired of Rachel before he went home, and he certainly had no intention of inviting her to the Estancia Elvira. However, he was not convinced she would fit in with his lifestyle in New York—and, if he was honest, he’d arranged their forthcoming trip to London as a test to see how she coped in social situations.
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