She didn’t have to look far before she discovered a small square at the end of the street where an impromptu dance floor had been created simply by laying board down on the cobbles. The sun was warm, the sky was blue, the setting was exquisite and she joined the crowd to watch. Colourful gardens surrounded her and the central fountain in the tiny square provided a pleasant overlay to the music. A small white rococo church with steeples like plump figs added to the charm of the setting. She was really in South America now, Bella thought, feeling excited and rather cosmopolitan. Shading her eyes, she watched the dancers and soon she was lost in their skill, and in the music, and was hardly aware that someone had walked up behind her.
‘How easy it would be to relieve you of this,’ a husky male voice very close to her ear said disapprovingly.
‘Nero!’ Her heart lurched violently. So much for playing it cool. The heat of the dance was all around them—most of it in her cheeks when Nero held up the wallet he had taken from her handbag.
‘Your handbag was open,’ he explained. ‘Lucky for you the hotel told me where I could find you. I hope you’re packed and ready to leave?’
‘Of course.’ She was thrown immediately from carefree tourist into awkward sort-of-employee, and had to move quickly on from that mind-set to professional woman whose only purpose in being in Argentina was to do a worthwhile job for the prince of her country. She held out her hand for the wallet and Nero gave it to her. Stuffing it back into her shoulder bag, she fastened the catch securely. ‘Do you make a habit of this?’ she demanded.
‘Do you make a habit of leaving your wits behind when you travel?’ Nero countered.
They stared at each other. The dance between them had begun. Tango must be catching, Bella thought dryly. ‘Shall we?’ she said, keen to break eye contact.
‘By all means.’
She turned for the hotel. That husky Argentine accent was the sexiest in the world, she decided as she led the way.
And she’d soon get used to Nero’s voice and let it wash over her, Bella told herself firmly, quickening her step. But however prim she tried to act, Buenos Aires worked against her. There was too much passion here—too many dancers expressing their feelings on this Sunday morning, swirling, spinning, legs flicking, arms raised at acute angles—men in spats, women dropping as if into a dead faint in their partners’ arms, only to revive so they could continue the fight. It was exhausting just watching them.
‘Tango gets into your blood,’ Nero commented when they reached the steps of Bella’s hotel.
Then she must be sure not to let it get into her own blood, Bella thought. ‘I’ll just ask the porter for my suitcase. I left it ready in the lobby when I checked out.’
‘Your case has already been taken to the airport.’
‘The airport?’ Bella’s throat dried. Was Nero sending her home? Were her services no longer required?
‘I take it you won’t mind being my only passenger?’ he demanded.
She must have looked at him blankly. ‘In the jet,’ he prompted.
‘You’ll be flying a jet to the estancia?’ she confirmed.
‘Yes. Is something wrong with that?’
‘No, of course not.’ Didn’t everyone have a selection of private jets from which to choose?
The cockpit of Nero’s executive jet was yet another confined space in which Bella was forced to sit too close to Nero. Of course, she could have sat in the back where there were comfortable leather seats, and entertainment as well as refreshments on tap, but she had given way to a childish urge to sit next to the pilot.
And taste a little of that danger she was growing so fond of?
She had always been fascinated by the concept of flight, Bella argued primly with her inner voice.
And fascinated by Nero.
Why pretend? She had an overriding desire to sit next to Nero.
He checked the buckles on her seat belt and helped her to fit the headphones securely. ‘Okay?’
Her senses soared to answer him before she could. He smiled deep into her eyes. Nero saw everything, Bella realised, turning quickly to stare out of the window. By the time he had completed his pre-flight checks she could hardly breathe for arousal. He was totally in control, and his self-assurance filled her with confidence—and not just as to how well Nero would fly a jet.
‘There’s no need to be nervous,’ he said, turning to look at her.
‘I’m not nervous,’ she protested, consciously relaxing her grip on the seat. Just sitting next to him was making her nervous. Going to Nero’s estancia, where the only way out was by private plane, or goodness knew how long a road trip, was nothing short of insanity.
‘Don’t look so worried, Bella; I’ll take care of you.’
That was what she was afraid of. ‘The only thing wrong with me,’ she said as Nero lined up the jet for take-off, ‘is that I like to be in control. Sitting in the copilot’s seat doesn’t suit me.’
‘But it suits me very well,’ Nero assured her, breaking off to acknowledge instructions from the control tower. Having been given the all-clear, he opened the throttle and released the brake and in seconds, or so it seemed, the small jet rocketed into the clear blue sky.
There was no turning back now, Bella thought as the jet soared through the first bank of cloud.
After a couple of hours the clouds parted to reveal a very different world from the towering skyscrapers and sprawling urbanisations of Buenos Aires. Nero’s private airstrip was little more than a thin stripe of bleached earth on what seemed to be an endless carpet of green and russet and gold, stretching towards a horizon where misty mountains clawed at the cobalt sky with jagged fingers.
The Pampas. Bella’s heart leapt with an intoxicating mixture of excitement and fear. The thought of riding here—of living here—with so much space, and so close to nature—
‘Wait until you breathe the air,’ Nero murmured.
Pollution-free and as heady as the most refined wine, Bella guessed.
‘Here,’ Nero told her as he banked the jet steeply. ‘Take a look out of the side window and you’ll see the estancia.’
Bella gasped as the g-force hit her.
‘Nervous now?’ Nero suggested with a wicked grin.
‘Not at all,’ Bella lied as the jet levelled off.
‘You’ll need steady nerves while you’re working here. Life is tough on the pampas, Bella.’
‘I’m not here for easy,’ she told him frankly. ‘I’m here to do the best job I can.’ Her gaze turned to the hundreds of horses on the ground below.
‘We had a lot of foals born this year.’
‘Incredible,’ Bella murmured. Everyone knew Nero was a wealthy man, but this was a polo establishment on an unimaginable scale.
‘I’ll fly you over the house before we land.’
Her stomach flipped as the plane dropped lower. The house Nero was referring to was an elegant colonial-style building the size of a small town, and now they were only a hundred feet or so above it she could see the long shaded verandas and a formal garden as vast as a park. There was even a polo field at one end of the cultivated grounds, with a stand and clubhouse, while in the central courtyard of the main building a fountain spurted diamond plumes into the air. Behind the house there was a glistening lake with a fabulous sandy beach and one—no, two swimming pools…
‘One is for the horses,’ Nero said when he saw her looking. ‘We use it for treatment and for strengthening exercises, though we ride in the lake for preference—’
Bella exclaimed with pleasure, but then her usual common sense kicked in. What on earth had she been thinking when she had agreed to this? Nero’s vast estate was like a country in its own right. She would be as isolated here as if she had been shipwrecked with him and they were stranded on a desert island with the ocean surrounding them. Unless she could find some way to ignore the electricity that constantly sparked between them, this could turn into a very tense and challenging stay.
Ne
ro landed the jet skilfully with scarcely a bump. As he slowed to a halt and cut the engines Bella’s concerns gave way to excitement. ‘Oh, just look at that,’ she exclaimed as she stared out across the miles of rolling grass. ‘I can’t wait to get out there and smell the air.’
‘Feel the sun, and ride the horses,’ Nero added with matching enthusiasm. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’
When the door of the jet swung open Bella was greeted by a gust of warm, fragrant air. She was so excited she didn’t even shrug off Nero’s steadying hand when he helped her down the steps. There was always that small adjustment from sitting and floating to stepping out onto terra firma—add her eagerness to that and she was like a wild pony who, for that moment at least, was glad of Nero’s reassuring presence. A wind had kicked up, blowing her hair about, and the ground was dusty and hard beneath her feet, but the warmth of her welcome was in no doubt at all.
‘This is Ignacio,’ Nero explained, introducing an elderly man standing by the utility vehicle waiting to take them to the ranch. ‘My estate manager and right-hand man.’
Now she really was on the pampas, Bella thought, feeling a thrill of excitement as the elderly man stepped forward to shake her hand. She took in the slouched hat and red bandana, the voluminous trousers worn with leather chaps to protect the gaucho’s legs from the constant friction of riding a horse. ‘Welcome to Estancia Caracas,’ he said in heavily accented English, bowing briefly over Bella’s hand. ‘Buenas tardes—good afternoon,’ Bella replied, feeling more than welcome.
‘We have heard many good things about your work with the English horses,’ Ignacio added graciously.
‘And battled the proof of it on the polo field,’ Nero said as both men laughed.
‘You’re too kind. Your work with horses is second to none in Argentina.’ Nero’s estate manager had skin like beaten leather and was as wrinkled as a turtle, but his raisin-black eyes were full of kindness and warmth, and his handshake was firm. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you, Ignacio. Mucho gusto.’
Ignacio grunted appreciatively at Bella’s attempt to speak his language and said something in rapid Spanish to Nero that elicited a noncommittal hum.
Whether Nero was pleased or not by her clumsy effort, she had made one friend, Bella thought, judging by the warmth in the elderly gaucho’s eyes as he invited her to sit in the vehicle for the short drive to the house.
She found everything thrilling, even the bumpy ride during which Ignacio pointed out the colourful ducks flying in arrow formation against the flawless blue sky, and then Nero spotted one of the giant hares native to the pampas as it bounced across the road. ‘Look, Bella,’ he said, grabbing hold of her arm in his excitement.
That touch was most thrilling of all, she thought, and the sights were pretty spectacular. And now Nero’s powerful arm was resting across the seat in front of her. The only decoration he wore was a steel wristwatch that could probably tell their position in relation to the moon, but his sheer physical presence was what overwhelmed her.
‘Good, huh?’
She jumped alert as he prompted her. ‘Amazing,’ she murmured, staring into his eyes. This time she had to force her stubborn gaze outside the vehicle.
They entered Estancia Caracas through an arched entrance that reminded Bella of old cowboy films where the gates loomed large and impressive in what was other wise a barren landscape. A long, well-groomed drive led the way to the sprawling hacienda—though this was a hacienda with a capital H—far larger and better kept than seemed humanly possible in such a wild and remote area, she decided as Ignacio turned into a cobbled courtyard the size of a football pitch.
‘Wow,’ Bella murmured. Nero’s home was seriously fabulous.
They got out and she paused for a moment. The breeze was tickling the leaves on the eucalyptus trees and the only other sound was the distant whinnying of a horse. The courtyard was full of flowers—vivid cascades tumbling down the walls and draping in lush swags over the balconies. ‘You must find it so hard to leave here,’ she murmured.
‘And so good to come back,’ Nero agreed. ‘Shall we?’
‘Yes, of course.’ The walls of the hacienda were painted in a muted shade of chalky terracotta, while the smooth cobbles beneath her feet were a deeper shade of golden red. Everything looked so warm and welcoming beneath the cobalt sky.
‘Is this not what you had expected?’ Nero demanded as Bella exclaimed with pleasure as she trailed her fingertips across some clusters of blossom.
Of such a hard, rugged man? ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t know what I expected, really.’
‘So what do you think now?’
‘That you have mastered the art of living in harmony with your surroundings,’ she said honestly.
Nero seemed pleased by this analysis and introduced Bella to María, his cook and housekeeper, and María’s sister, Concepcion, both of whom were waiting to greet him outside the door. The older ladies’ faces were wreathed in smiles. They were so obviously delighted to see him Bella could only conclude Nero must have been an engaging child.
Perhaps she was being a little unfair to him, Bella conceded as the women bustled ahead, turning constantly to check that Nero hadn’t left them again. The large hallway was paved in fabulous terracotta marble, softened by cinnamon-coloured rugs. The walls, painted a warm cream, were hung with antique mirrors and pictures. Probably family heirlooms, Bella guessed, apart from a painting of a wild horse, which was more recent and drew her attention immediately.
‘Do you like it?’ Nero asked, noticing her interest.
‘I love it,’ she enthused. Gadamus was an American artist noted for his freestyle technique with an airbrush and there was nothing cosy about this picture. There was nothing cosy about her life any longer, Bella thought as she glanced at Nero.
‘So, what do you like about it?’ he probed.
‘The brutal realism,’ she said, holding his gaze.
‘You’re drawn to danger and risk?’ Nero suggested.
‘It appears so,’ Bella agreed coolly. She refused to be over-faced by all this quiet money, or by a man of such power and charisma.
‘We’d better not keep María and Concepcion waiting,’ Nero pointed out, making her a mocking bow.
They understood each other completely, Bella thought, though her confidence in handling Nero was short-lived. His touch on her arm shot the breath from her lungs as he held the door for her and they traded the shady lobby for an interior courtyard.
She quickly recovered to take in the peaceful haven where the only disturbance was the sound of water gushing in the fountain to a background of birdsong. The air was scented with blossom, which reminded Bella that Christmas in Argentina was very different to the same season in England. The prince had warned her that she would be leaving the cold northern hemisphere for something very different. How right he was. This was another world altogether…
‘You have a beautiful home, Nero.’ And she was allowing herself to invest far too much interest and emotion.
The interior of the house made it even harder for Bella to disengage her feelings. There was a grand hall with a sweeping staircase, and the lake they had flown over was the focus of all the main rooms. From the windows of each elegant salon she could see beautifully tended lawns sweeping away to a golden beach and, in the far distance, snow-capped mountains.
‘Do you approve?’ Nero demanded dryly.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Bella admitted. ‘But I’m here to work,’ she managed in a firmer tone.
‘Of course.’
Nero held the door for her and as she passed in front of him he made her feel so very small and vulnerable. Why must every part of her respond to him so urgently? Her mind must remain set on business, she told herself firmly.
‘This is my den,’ Nero explained, showing her into a smaller wood-panelled room. ‘But you must make yourself at home here.’
Bella felt her smile must be little short of incredulous. Making h
erself at home here would take a little longer than she intended to spend in Argentina. ‘I don’t know how you can ever bear to leave,’ she exclaimed impulsively.
‘That’s only because you haven’t seen my place in Buenos Aires yet,’ Nero informed her dryly.
And was never likely to, she thought. Hey ho.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘YOU must be hungry,’ Nero suggested, leading the way to the kitchen. ‘I know I am,’ he said.
Nero’s lips were pressing down so attractively she would have followed him anywhere, Bella mused wryly.
The kitchen took up a large part of the ground floor, and was another design triumph. State-of-the-art appliances sat comfortably next to well-worn settles and pieces of riding equipment. And, judging by the boots, gloves and polo helmet resting on a small side table next to an easy chair, this was the heart of the home and Nero’s preferred space. The seat and the back of the chair wore the imprint of his body, Bella noticed, dragging her gaze away.
‘What do you think?’ Nero asked.
Censored. Dreams she could have, but she wasn’t sharing them with him. ‘Something smells good,’ she said, inhaling appreciatively. And such smells they were—aromatic broth steaming busily on top of the old range cooker, the scent of freshly baked bread and ground coffee. Bella’s mouth was watering by the time María and Concepcion had invited them to sit at the large scrubbed table.
‘Perhaps you would like María to show you to your bedroom first—so you can freshen up before you eat?’ Nero suggested. ‘Whenever you’re ready, come down, we’ll eat and then I’ll take you on a tour of the stables.’
‘Perfect. Though the bunkhouse would suit me fine,’ Bella protested as María led the way into the hall.
‘The bunkhouse?’ Nero raised an amused brow. ‘I’m not sure the gauchos would take too kindly to you moving in. And how could I deny María and Concepcion the pleasure of your sunny nature?’ he added dryly.
The Untamed Argentinian Page 6
