The Untamed Argentinian

by Susan Stephens

  ‘I was worried about your horse.’

  ‘And me, just a little bit?’

  ‘Not at all.’ And, with a shout of encouragement, she gave Misty her head.

  ‘But you will agree that it’s good news about Colonel?’ Nero caught up with her again and rode alongside as if they were trotting sedately in Windsor Park rather than indulging in a flat-out gallop across the pampas.

  ‘It is good news,’ she said. ‘The best.’ And there was only so long she could hold the frown for. ‘Did you get much sleep?’ she asked, trying not to sound too interested.

  ‘Not much,’ Nero admitted, slowing his horse. ‘You?’

  ‘Some,’ Bella admitted, walking Misty towards the welcome shade of some trees. ‘I woke in the night and wanted to check up on him. I thought you’d be asleep in bed,’ she confessed.

  Reaching for his water bottle, Nero took a long, thirsty slug. ‘Do you have water?’ he said, holding the canister out to her.

  She wasn’t falling for that again. ‘I do,’ she said, patting her saddlebag.

  ‘Hey,’ Nero called after her as she nudged Misty forward to hide her glowing cheeks. ‘You forgot to tie your hair back, Bella.’

  She was already feeling for the hairband on her wrist when it occurred to her he was teasing.

  ‘What are you frightened of?’ Nero challenged as she tied it up again, bringing his horse level with Misty. ‘Are you worried you might show a softer side?’

  ‘I’m only worried about getting my hair tangled when I ride,’ she said mildly. ‘And you’re hardly in a position to talk about a softer side.’

  Nero acknowledged this with a shrug. ‘But I’m not frightened,’ he said.

  And she was? Yes, she was, Bella acknowledged silently—of some things, some men, but most of all she was frightened of losing control—of letting go. She hid these thoughts behind a counter-attack. ‘You’re the Assassin, remember. What do you know about fear?’

  ‘Only a fool doesn’t know fear,’ Nero countered, ‘but I’m not afraid. There’s a big difference, Bella.’

  With those dark eyes searching hers, she was glad of her shirt buttoned to the neck and the severe no-nonsense cut of her riding breeches. No way could this encounter be mistaken for anything other than it was—a purely chance meeting of the world’s top polo player riding out on his ranch with a visiting professional who would soon be returning home.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  FULFILLING her role as a professional judge of horseflesh, Bella turned her attention from Nero to his horse. He was riding a magnificent black stallion, far bigger than any of the polo ponies in his yard. She guessed this must be a descendant of the Spanish war horses Nero had told her about. His mount certainly looked pretty impressive with its fancy scarlet saddlecloth, silver bit and the silver headband to keep its thickly waving fore-lock back. Nero wore silver spurs, and when the horse danced impatiently as he turned it in circles to calm it she saw that his belt was decorated with silver coins, and the typical gaucho dagger Ignacio had told her was called a facon was firmly secured in the back. More interestingly, Nero hadn’t shaved and looked more dangerous than he ever had.

  ‘How about a race?’ he challenged with a curving grin.

  ‘You are joking. Misty barely reaches the withers of that fire-breathing monster.’

  ‘Then I’ll give you a head start,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t patronise us, Caracas.’

  Nero’s answer to this was a tug of his lips and a Latin shrug. ‘If you’re not up to it—’

  Bella barely needed to touch Misty with her heels. The mare got the message and bounded forward.

  A contest? Bella thought with relish. She was up for that. Let the best horse win!

  ‘Hey,’ Nero shouted after her as he took up the chase. ‘Your hair’s come loose, Bella!’

  Bella’s hair would feel like skeins of silk beneath his hands and her kisses hot. The thought of challenging the Ice Maiden to a race had got his juices flowing, Nero realised, reining back to slow his stallion. It would be the easiest thing in the world to overtake her, but that would mean the end of the chase—and, as any hunter knew, the thrill of the chase was everything—something to be drawn out and appreciated, so that the final outcome might be relished all the more. And seeing Bella crouched low over her pony as she rode with absolute determination to win this contest made him think the final outcome mustn’t be too long coming.

  They rode like the wind with no boundaries in front of them other than the snow-capped mountains more than half a day’s ride away. The thrill of the chase excited Bella and, as the wind blew her hair back from her face, she felt this was the first time she had felt completely free since landing in Argentina—maybe the first time she had ever felt so free. The thunder of hooves warned her that Nero was close behind, the challenge in his eyes that if he caught her she would pay the consequences. She wouldn’t give up without a fight. Goaded into renewed effort, she crouched low over Misty’s neck as they streaked like an arrow across the pampas, but it was only a matter of time before the renowned agility of her polo pony lost out to the brute strength of Nero’s stallion. Feeling the hunter relentlessly closing the distance between them stopped the breath in her throat. There was something so controlled about it—so confident. Hot, hectic panic overwhelmed her and blazed a trail down her spine that spread across her back like cracking glass. There was nowhere to run—nowhere to hide—just miles of flat plain ahead of them. She would need a half mile head start to get away from him, and any moment now Nero would gallop past them. The anticipation of that was infuriating, and terrifying, and thrilling.

  But Nero didn’t overtake her. He must be holding back, Bella realised. Misty was fast but the polo pony was a sprinter, while a long gallop like this was little more than an easy hack for Nero’s stallion. He should have disappeared ahead of them in a cloud of dust by now. Beneath her, Misty was straining to gallop faster. Having the stallion so close behind had unleashed a primitive flight mechanism in the mare. Misty’s flared nostrils and laid-back ears were as telling as the arousal flooding Bella when she realised Nero had no intention of riding past her; he was wearing her down, knowing she was as unlikely to put her horse at risk as he was. Nero understood her a little too well.

  Feeling Misty starting to flag, she steered her towards a covert of some gum trees. It was still a victory, Bella reasoned, slapping Misty’s neck in praise as they slowed down. They had still won the race, and she had decided the finish line.

  She was shivering with excitement by the time she reined to a halt. At least she’d made a good choice in stopping here—not only was it cooler, but an underground stream had thrust its way through the soft, fertile earth so the horses could drink their fill. Kicking her feet free of the stirrups, Bella dropped to the ground. She heard the chink of a bridle close behind her and then heard Nero spring down to the ground close by. ‘Well?’ she demanded, swinging round, hands on hips. ‘Are you going to congratulate me?’

  ‘You have my respect,’ Nero conceded in a husky tone. ‘You have a good pony, Bella, and you have trained her well.’

  ‘Well, thank you, kind sir,’ she said dryly. ‘Forgive me if I’m wrong, but something in your tone suggests you believe you could have overtaken me any time.’

  ‘And you don’t think that’s the case?’ Nero raised one sweeping ebony brow.

  A rush of excitement thrilled though her. She loved this game, loved the opponent best of all.

  ‘You surely don’t think you could outrun me?’ Nero mocked.

  She countered this with an amused huff. ‘I did outrun you.’

  ‘And now you want me to grovel in defeat?’ Nero suggested.

  Her gaze dropped to his lips, adrenalin still raging through her. ‘No. I want more than that.’

  She thought she was safe taunting him? Nero’s head only dropped minutely, as if he were thinking about this. The next thing she knew, she was in his arms.

  The heat of the
chase had made her crazy, Bella concluded as Nero’s mouth crashed down on hers—crazy for Nero. A lifetime of wondering and longing, and ultimate disappointment and embarrassment, was all worth it for it to end like this in a fierce pampas kiss—not a vain old man’s kiss, but a gaucho’s kiss—a real man’s kiss—a kiss that was certain and firm, and teasing, and exciting, and so much more than she had ever dreamed a kiss could be.

  Fire met fire. They should have burned each other out. Not a chance. Sharp black stubble scored soft, pale skin. Pain was pleasure. The hot, experienced South American and the cool, inexperienced Englishwoman. Surely, it should have been unmitigated disaster—it wasn’t. It was fire and ice, heat and need, action and pressure, gripping, grasping, seizing, holding, punctuated by groans of ecstasy and growls of intent. And all the time the heat was mounting. Even the horses had moved away. Who’d have thought it? The Ice Maiden had finally melted and met her match.

  No… No!… No! What was she thinking? Theirs was a professional relationship. She had to recover the situation somehow!

  Which hardly seemed likely when her body was an out of control, wanton, craving force. And if she was any other woman, it might be possible to go right ahead with this and deal with the consequences later, in a cool and professional manner. But she would never recover her self-respect if she didn’t get out fast. She didn’t have the savvy, the nous, the tools…

  ‘Please—’ Pulling away, she combed her hair with her fingers into some semblance of order. ‘Forgive me…’ She added a light laugh that sounded as insincere as it was. ‘I don’t usually get carried away like this.’ All this in a cut-glass accent as foreign to her as Nero’s South American drawl. ‘The excitement of the chase…’ She glanced at Nero to judge his reaction, only to find she had missed the mark by a mile or so. His face was a mask of sardonic disbelief.

  ‘You’d like to talk about the scheme now?’ he suggested.

  ‘Yes, yes, I would,’ she exclaimed with relief, blanking the sarcasm in his voice.

  There was time to see little more than a flash of movement—amused eyes and a tug of Nero’s lips—before she was in his arms again. ‘I don’t want to talk,’ he murmured. To prove the point, he teased her with his tongue and with his teeth, brushing the swell of her bottom lip with kisses until she was struggling to breathe and arousal hit every erotic zone at once, leaving her whimpering with need, and longing for release. But he hadn’t taken possession of her mouth yet and, when he did, plunging deep into her moist warmth in a blistering approximation of what he could be doing to her, she responded as he must have known she would, by arcing upwards, seeking contact in a frenzy of excitement.

  And Nero’s answer to this loss of self-control?

  He pulled away, leaving her in a daze.

  She had been dazzled by the master of control. It was this foreign land and their exotic surroundings, Bella reasoned, the unfamiliar trees rustling a very different tune, and the small, angry stream bursting through the ground on its way to the sea. She was lost in a terrifyingly wild open space on a scale she couldn’t even begin to describe.

  All this was her fault, Bella convinced herself, tying her hair back in a signal to them both that this mistake was well and truly over.

  Who was she trying to kid? She certainly wasn’t fooling Nero who, having had time to process the data, was now regarding her with barely controlled amusement. ‘Don’t tie your hair up on my account,’ he said.

  ‘Lady Godiva of the pampas?’ Bella grimaced as she pretended to consider this. ‘I don’t think so, do you?’

  ‘Depends on whether you think I want to see you naked.’

  She flinched inwardly. ‘Believe me, you really don’t.’

  Nero knocked some dried grass from his breeches. ‘Concerned you might disappoint me?’

  ‘Concerned?’ She laughed it off. ‘Why should I be? And, anyway, as you won’t get the chance to find out…’

  ‘You’re supposing I want that chance.’

  But he did, Bella thought as she went to find Misty. And, more worrying that that, so did she.

  She drew a sharp breath as Nero caught hold of her arm. ‘Why do you always pull back from the brink, Bella?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me—I sensed the change in you while I was kissing you.’

  Her hand was already at her mouth. ‘The change in me?’ she repeated, pretending surprise though the proof that she had been violently aroused was emblazoned on her lips.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Nero insisted.

  Brazening it out and holding his gaze, she snapped, ‘Do I?’

  ‘I’ve seen you on the dance floor, Bella, and I’ve seen you retreat into your shell. What I don’t understand is why you don’t just let go for once—take a risk, taste life,’ Nero tempted, refusing to have his good mood squashed by Bella’s sudden change of heart.

  ‘And if I did?’ She laughed. ‘I only get it wrong.’

  ‘Do you think you’re the only one who makes mistakes, Bella?’ Nero demanded.

  She had just thrown the reins over Misty’s head and was about to put her foot in the stirrup when Nero held her back. ‘When I was a little boy, idiot was my middle name. I was always getting into trouble. I never did what I was told.’

  ‘Am I supposed to be surprised?’ Bella said wryly, leaning back against Misty’s flank. ‘From what I can see of your grandmother from her portrait and from what Ignacio told me about her, I’m guessing she soon sorted you out.’

  Nero laughed. ‘You could call it that. She warned me that if I was determined to run wild, I should have a real challenge.’

  Bella stroked Misty’s neck. ‘How old were you?’

  ‘I was about nine when my grandmother took me for this particular ride on the pampas. We were both riding crazy horses.’

  ‘Do you breed any other type?’ Bella laughed.

  ‘We didn’t take a lot of food.’ Nero’s eyes grew thoughtful. There was a self-deprecating curve to his lips, as if he couldn’t believe how badly he’d been sucked in. ‘You think you know everything when you’re nine—you’re immortal and invincible.’ Refocusing, he went on. ‘Grandmother told me she wouldn’t be out long enough for us to need much in the way of food.’

  ‘I bet she did,’ Bella said, her eyes twinkling. ‘And you weren’t suspicious?’

  ‘Why should I be?’ Nero frowned. ‘This is my grandmother we’re talking about.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Bella said wryly.

  And now Nero was laughing too. ‘I should have known when she asked if I had plenty of water with me, but I was very trusting in those days.’ His lips pressed down as he rasped his chin.

  ‘I guess we were both destined to learn our lessons young,’ Bella commented. ‘So your grandmother abandoned you on the pampas?’

  ‘Yes, she did,’ Nero confirmed. ‘We made camp. She made sure I had something to eat, and then, while I was lying back relaxing, no doubt planning my next mischief, she sneaked off.’

  ‘And you didn’t hear her ride away?’

  ‘My grandmother had learned the ways of the gaucho. She tied cloths over her horse’s hooves and led him away. By the time I looked around and wondered where she’d gone she was probably back at the ranch.’

  ‘How long did it take you to find your way home?’

  ‘Two days.’

  ‘And what did your grandmother say when you finally turned up?’

  ‘We never spoke of it—she wasn’t exactly noted for showing her feelings.’

  Like Nero, Bella thought.

  ‘But she had—shown her feelings, I mean,’ he murmured as he thought about it. ‘In her way.’ He grinned. ‘Anyway, after that, Ignacio started playing a larger part in my life, or perhaps I started listening. I knew now that I would need all the tricks Ignacio could teach me to make sure I was never caught out again—like knowing where to find food and water on the pampas. How to catch a runaway horse. How to understand women…’

&nb
sp; ‘Ah, the hardest lesson of all.’

  ‘And one I’m still brushing up on,’ Nero admitted with an engaging grin.

  ‘And were you still a bad boy after this period of study?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you channelled your energies in a different direction.’

  Nero shrugged and grinned back. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment.’

  ‘So Ignacio has played a really crucial role in your life.’

  ‘Ignacio and my grandmother were my formative influences. Everything I am, I owe to them. And that’s enough of me,’ he said. ‘I want to hear more about you. I want to know if you mean to live up to your Ice Maiden tag for the rest of your life, Bella.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Bella shrugged. ‘It hasn’t done me any harm so far.’

  ‘Hasn’t it?’ Nero challenged. ‘Why would you choose to be that way, Bella, when there’s so much life to live?’

  She thought about it for a moment, ‘Because I feel safer.’

  ‘Safer?’ Nero demanded. ‘What happened to make you feel unsafe?’

  ‘It was nothing,’ she insisted with a flippant gesture.

  ‘Nothing? There must be something to make you so defensive.’

  ‘It’s just so stupid,’ Bella exclaimed with frustration, not wanting to talk about it. ‘And the more time goes by, the harder it is to get past it.’

  ‘Try me,’ Nero said.

  ‘It’s not that easy,’ Bella said wryly, twisting with embarrassment.

  ‘It’s never easy to open up and share things you hide deep inside. And if you’ve held on to something for a long time you can’t expect it to come pouring out. Everyone fears they’ll be judged, Bella, or that they’re making too much of what happened, but that can’t be the case with you, because you’re so strong in every other area of your life except this.’

  ‘All right,’ she blurted suddenly, as if he’d lanced a wound. ‘If you must know, when I was a teenager one of my father’s friends made a pass at me.’

  ‘And you kept it quiet all these years?’