Leaning across, Nero stopped her opening the door, which was enough in itself to blank her mind of all her fragile resolutions. ‘Allow me,’ he said, staring into her eyes.
Oh, that long, confident Latin stare—when would she ever learn to deal with it? Bella wondered as Nero opened the door for her. She hadn’t missed the ironic twist of his mouth. Nero thought she was easy meat and simply acting tough. He was right about one of those—she was acting. She was in a strange country with a man she hardly knew, and she felt vulnerable. Only when they reached Nero’s estancia and she was working with her horses in a setting she understood would she be totally at ease again.
She stood for a moment on the cobbles in the warm gardenia-scented air. She just wanted to soak everything in. She could hear music playing in the distance. This was even better than the Buenos Aires she had dreamed about. And was that really a couple dancing in the street?
‘Tango—the lifeblood of Buenos Aires,’ Nero informed her in his deep, husky voice.
Bella’s heart was beating off the scale—surely Nero must hear it? She hadn’t even realised he’d come to stand so close beside her. Sensibly, she moved away. She had to keep all her wits about her on this trip. This was only page one of her Argentinian adventure, and the book promised to be as exciting and surprising as the country Nero called home.
CHAPTER FIVE
DETERMINED to maintain her cool, Bella fixed her gaze on the hotel entrance as she started up the steps. The polished wooden door had black wrought-iron decoration of a type that seemed to be fashionable in the area. Nero was definitely right about the area’s appeal. The cobbled streets and colonial buildings, coupled with Bohemian chic and the tango, gave it an irresistible charm.
She gasped as Nero held her back.
‘Don’t you want to stay and watch the dancers for a moment?’
Night was closing fast and shadows elongated the dancing couple into lean, languorous shapes. They were dancing without inhibition—not for an audience, but for themselves. They were unaware that they had been captured in the spotlight of a street lamp in the middle of the city. Staring intently into each other’s faces, the dancers inhabited their own erotic world of fierce stares and abrupt movements, finishing in sinuous reconciliation. The tango was the dance of love, Bella realised.
‘There is a milonga, a neighbourhood dance hall where people go to dance tango—quite famous, actually—just across the street,’ Nero explained, bringing Bella back down to earth again. ‘That couple will almost certainly be practising for their performance tonight.’
‘I’d love to see them dance,’ Bella murmured, transfixed by their skill. The man was resting the woman over his arm so that her hair almost brushed the pavement, and the woman was slim and lithe, and dressed for a night of dancing such as Bella couldn’t even begin to imagine—and had certainly never experienced.
And was never likely to, she told herself sensibly, but how she envied the woman her confidence and her style. She was wearing the highest stiletto heels and the sheerest black tights with a fine seam up the back, and her dress was the merest whisper of black silk that flicked and clung to her toned, tanned body. The man was taller, but he too was lean and strong. He guided and directed his partner in a way that seemed to have no answer to it until she snapped her legs around him, and that spoke of another truth—that a woman with the right sort of confidence could tame any man.
Right, Bella thought as she watched them, but not this woman, not me. And not this man, she reflected, stealing a glance at Nero. No wonder she was a stranger to this type of dancing. Pulling herself round, she turned to follow the porter into the hotel.
‘Do you want to go there later?’
She stopped dead, completely dumbfounded by Nero’s question. She felt a shiver of awareness streak down her back. She must have misheard him, surely? ‘I’m sorry?’ She turned to face him.
‘Perhaps you’re too tired to go out tonight?’ Nero suggested dryly.
Nero was inviting her to join him at the tango club? The mocking challenge in his voice sent warning tingles down her spine. But wasn’t this what she had wanted? On the simplest level she longed to see something of Buenos Aires while she had the chance. Let’s not even go near the complicated level, Bella concluded. But hadn’t Nero said that tango was the lifeblood of the city? ‘As long as I don’t have to dance,’ she said, feeling happy now she had put a condition on accepting his invitation.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said dryly, ‘I’ve seen you dance.’
A curl of excitement unfurled inside her as Nero met her stare. ‘I’ll pick you up at ten,’ he said.
Now what had she done? Bella wondered as Nero got back into his car and roared away. One thing was sure; she was playing a far more sophisticated game than she was used to.
Up in her hotel room, with its state portrait of a very beautiful and glamorous Eva Peron smiling down, Bella’s problems were mounting. She had packed three sets of riding gear for this trip, an unflattering old-fashioned swimming costume that covered up far more than it revealed, a matching cover-up, a pair of shorts, some work clothes, jeans, sneakers, boots, a pile of T-shirts, some serviceable underwear and a couple of sweaters. At the very last minute she had added a neat pencil skirt with a pair of chunky-heeled shoes, a tailored blouse and jacket, just in case she needed to attend a business meeting during her visit. Tango costume, it was not.
Though as she wouldn’t be dancing…
She definitely wouldn’t be dancing, Bella told herself firmly, remembering how it had felt to be held in Nero’s arms at the polo party. And, as strictly speaking this was a business outing with her boss, the pencil skirt would be perfect. Tying her hair back neatly, she told her heart to stop behaving so erratically and, with a final check in the mirror, she drew a deep breath and left the room.
Nero was leaning against the wall at the foot of the stairs. Surrounded by an adoring crowd, he was signing autographs. Yet another reminder that she was out of her depth here. Thank goodness for her sensible business outfit. There was no danger she could be mistaken for one of Nero’s girlfriends looking like this. In fact, she should be able to reach the front door without anyone noticing her—
‘Bella?’
Wrong. Nero was at her elbow. Or, rather, she was at his. He was so much taller than she was. He was like a solid wall of muscle protecting her from his fans, all of whom seemed intent on getting a piece of him. But all he had to do was speak a few words in his own language and with a collective sigh of understanding the crowd fell back.
‘What did you say to them?’ Bella asked, impressed.
‘I told them you were here so you could learn to dance—’ Nero’s powerful shoulders eased into a typical Latin shrug. ‘I explained that you come from a place where dancing is practically unheard of, and that this is a mercy mission on my part. They understood completely.’
I bet they did, Bella thought. She tilted her chin as Nero held the door for her and walked past him with what she sincerely hoped was a businesslike expression on her face—in the manner of a woman whose intention was to do anything but dance her way into danger tonight.
The tango club was situated on the top floor of an old building. Vast and echoey, the white-flagged floors had turned grey with age and the tiled staircase was of the same vintage, but the people hadn’t come to admire the architecture. They were being drawn upstairs by the heady pulse of music, which floated down from an open doorway on the upper landing.
Bella was soon to discover that the whole of the attic space had been transformed into a dance hall. The air was warm and sultry, and the room was lit by candlelight which gave it a golden shadowy hue. The scent of wax melting was added to the faint overlay of perfume and warm clean bodies—and something else…something heady and alluring, which Bella flatly refused to identify as emotion, let alone passion.
Wooden chairs surrounded tables covered with welcoming red-and-white cloths—though no one seemed to be eating as far a
s Bella could tell—they all were too intent on watching the tango demonstration. The room was packed and hushed. A couple was about to start. A table was quickly found for Bella and Nero, who murmured something in Spanish to a waiter before ushering her ahead of him. She was so drawn to the upcoming performance she almost stumbled—and would have done if Nero hadn’t steadied her. ‘Sit, Bella,’ he prompted.
She sank down on the hard wooden chair, tingling from his touch. This next couple seemed to be the one everyone had been waiting for—and this wasn’t the glitzy entertainment Bella had seen on TV back home, but something earthy and sensual, and unashamedly erotic. The moment the accordionist began to play she was drawn into another world. The couple on the dance floor held each other’s gaze intently as they moved with feline languor to the steady beat of the music—though this could change in a heel tap into something fierce and aggressive. As the rhythm rose in a climactic wave Bella realised that these dramatic changes from slumbering passion to outright conflict and back again to soothing gestures were exactly what the spectators had come to see. There was no doubt the woman gave as good as she got—pushing her partner away with a blistering glare, only for him to snatch her back again.
This was how her life could be, Bella reflected whimsically, leaning her chin on the heel of her hand. Instead of safe and bland, she could change it in an instant to risk and danger and attack—
Nero returned her to reality with a jolt, asking her what she’d like to drink. ‘Water, please.’ She didn’t trust herself with anything stronger.
How far out of her comfort zone was she now? Bella thought as the performance heated up. If there was one thing she had already learned in Argentina, it was that the tango was the vertical expression of horizontal desire, and she’d have preferred something a touch safer for her first outing with the boss.
Her boss…
It could be worse, she reflected dryly, taking him in. Nero had dressed for the evening in slim black trousers that complemented his incredible physique. His powerful shoulders tapered to his narrow waist, which was cinched by a leather belt. His shoes were black and highly polished, and his shirt was white and crisp—
And he was dressed for dancing, Bella realised with a sudden blaze of panic. Nero was an athlete—one of the world’s top athletes. And the tango at this level couldn’t be attempted by anyone who didn’t enjoy peak fitness. ‘Do you dance?’ she said weakly as the crashing finale and riotous applause brought the display they’d been watching to a close.
‘I love to dance,’ Nero assured her, putting down his glass of wine. ‘I love anything where I have to use my body.’
She didn’t doubt it, Bella thought, swallowing deep as one of the startlingly beautiful young girls in the club sashayed towards their table. How could she compete with this? Was that why Nero had brought her here? To humiliate her? Was this Nero’s revenge for not allowing him to buy Misty?
She was clutching her glass so hard she would break it if she wasn’t careful, Bella realised. Then some demon got into her and, throwing caution to the wind, she sprang to her feet. ‘I’ll dance,’ she said wildly, only to find her voice blasting through a momentary silence.
People stared at her. The young girl stared at her. How ridiculous she must seem in her office clothes when everyone else around her was dressed…well, not for the office.
‘Bella?’
Tall and imposing, Nero was holding out his hand to her. The music was thrumming with an almost irresistible beat. She did a quick inventory. Her skirt had a slit up the back and everything that should be covered was covered—
And she was nothing if not game. She hadn’t come to Argentina to be pushed around, or to be pushed into the shadows. Adopting the typical haughty stare of a female tango dancer, she tilted her chin as a challenge to Nero to follow her to the dance floor.
‘Are you sure about this?’ he murmured.
The sexy sibilant syllables tickled her ear as she whispered back, ‘Absolutely certain—’
She wasn’t sure about anything—her own sanity was most in question. But she had excelled in Scottish country dancing at her all-girls school.
‘In that case…’
Snatching her to him, Nero managed in the shadows of the dimly lit club to look more saturnine and menacing than he ever had. She tilted her chin a little higher to acknowledge the round of somewhat hesitant applause. ‘You’d better lead,’ she conceded.
‘Oh, I’ll lead,’ Nero assured her.
‘And take it slowly, please—’
‘I will,’ he promised, sounding amused.
And then her palm was flat against Nero’s strong, warm hand and a whole universe of new feelings opened up to her. It would pass, Bella told herself confidently. She was only going to dance with him. What was the worst that could happen? She could make a fool of herself. Something told her that Nero would never allow that to happen. And for just once in her life she wanted to unselfconsciously do something she had watched and admired others do. ‘I just have to make sure I don’t tread on your feet,’ she said awkwardly as they waited for the music to begin.
‘Relax,’ Nero murmured. ‘Just imagine that you’re a pony I am breaking in.’
What? ‘I’d rather imagine I’m a woman and you’re a man who is very kindly teaching me an unfamiliar dance.’
‘Oh, I think you’ll be familiar with this dance,’ Nero murmured.
Bella gulped. She had to be the only person here who wasn’t familiar with the dance of love. But how could she not respond to Nero’s hand in the small of her back, or the insistent pressure of his thigh? He could be so subtle and so persuasive and, though she wasn’t doing anything clever like flicking her leg through his, she was moving to the music. Nero’s control of the dance was absolute, and yet his control was so light she could understand why his polo ponies were so responsive to him. Was it wrong to want a little more pressure? Was it really possible that Nero had such an incredible level of sensitivity, or such a sense of rhythm, and such an acute insight into what pleased her most?
‘You dance well,’ he said as a smattering of applause greeted their first experiment. ‘You have a natural flair.’
Only thanks to him, she thought.
‘And now let’s try and put a little more passion into it. Look at me, Bella. Look at me as if you hate me.’
At least something was easy.
‘That’s good. Now soften a little…entice me…’
She could do that too—but not too much. A brush from Nero’s body was like a lightning bolt to her system. No one was required to weld themselves to their teacher, Bella reassured herself. She would call upon her under-used acting skills instead. Raising a brow, she stared at Nero beneath her eyelashes. Lifting her ribcage, she adopted a more dramatic pose—a move that got her a little more applause.
‘Easy,’ Nero growled in her ear when she attempted to lead him. ‘This is only your first lesson.’
‘Then there will have to be many more,’ she assured him, growing in confidence and feeling invincible as more couples joined them on the floor.
Perhaps the right word was invisible…
Whatever. She was beginning to think the ability to dance the tango was a prerequisite for living in Argentina. ‘From what I’ve seen tonight, I’m going to need those lessons,’ she admitted.
‘You certainly will,’ Nero agreed. ‘And I’ll be sure to find someone good to teach you.’
As Bella went stiff and pulled away Nero drew her back again, inch by steady inch. And, yes, she should put an end to this, but why, when Nero kept each move so slow and deliberate and she could easily follow him, and he never once made her feel that he was mocking her, or that he would step over the all-important boundary from stylised dancing into something more threatening and real? He always maintained a space between them and, though some people undoubtedly found tango as intoxicating as sex, she had realised it was the promise of sex rather than the act itself, and as a woman who didn’t like
admitting how inexperienced she was, that held enormous appeal. Unlike the frenzied bouncing in the marquee at the polo ground, this was dance as art.
Nero loosened his grip when the music faded and led Bella back to their table. ‘You’re full of surprises, Bella Wheeler,’ he said, narrowing his eyes as he gave her a considering look. Raising his hand, he called the waiter over to bring them another drink.
‘Just some more water, please.’ She had more surprises locked away inside her than Nero could possibly guess at, and she was going to keep a clear head while she was in Argentina to make sure she kept it that way.
CHAPTER SIX
KEEPING a clear head guaranteed Bella an early night. Nero delivered her to the door of her hotel and, with a brisk nod, bid her good night. Put him out of your head, she told herself next morning. She was ready to explore.
The Sunday traffic was every bit as crazy as when she had arrived, but she welcomed the noise and bustle of a new day, thinking this was the most exhilarating introduction to a city as fascinating as Buenos Aires that she could possibly have. And she certainly wasn’t going to sit in her hotel room wondering what Nero was doing. He had said he would call for her at eleven that morning to take her to his estancia. Where he was or what he did before then was Nero’s business.
And she didn’t care a jot.
Liar, Bella thought as she left the hotel. But she was determined to make the most of her short stay in one of the world’s most vibrant and beautiful cities. This was just one of the places Nero called home, and she was curious to explore it. Buenos Aires was full of personality and charm, the staff in the hotel had assured her. Everywhere she went she would find porteños, as the residents of Buenos Aires were called, performing the tango on the streets. Crowds gathered, music played, and dancers dressed for the occasion would entertain you, they told her with a smile.
The Untamed Argentinian Page 5
