The Untamed Argentinian

by Susan Stephens

  And now she was overreacting as usual, Bella reassured herself. The Ice Maiden with her frozen shell and vivid inner life—she could put all that behind her now. Last night had changed everything—and she refused to think anything bad. Sitting up, she dragged the blanket round her and smiled like a contented kitten. She ached all over—in the most pleasant way. The impossible had happened. She had something going on with Nero, something deep and special. She felt like a real woman for the first time in her life, well loved and completely fulfilled. The Ice Maiden had gone for ever. Bella Wheeler had a new life now. Hurrying to get dressed, she threw on her clothes, brushed off the hay and didn’t even bother to tie back her hair. What was the point when she’d leap straight in the shower when she got back to the house? And, anyway, well-loved women didn’t bother with scraping their hair back. Flinging open the barn door in this new mood of abandon, she closed it quickly and then opened it a crack. Nero had his back to her and he was discussing something with a couple of gauchos. One of them was holding Misty, saddled and ready for him to ride.

  Well? That was part of the deal. She brushed off any lingering qualms.

  Once Nero gets used to riding Misty, he will never be able to let the pony go.

  Nero should ride Misty—she wanted him to ride her pony. He’d been far too considerate so far, never trespassing on her enjoyment of riding her favourite horse—always giving way while she had been staying on the estancia.

  Stealing another look out of the door, Bella’s heart picked up pace. Nero was so poised, so utterly in command. The dark blue top emphasised his tan, and he was freshly showered with his hair still damp. Clean breeches, highly polished boots, and muscular legs it seemed incredible to her now she had been kissing only hours before. The conversation in rapid Spanish was indecipherable but, judging by Nero’s gestures, he was telling the gauchos to take Misty back to the stables and get the mare ready for Inglaterra—she could hardly mistake that.

  To hell with what people thought of her. Quickly, she slung the high-heeled sandals over her wrist and left the barn barefoot in her tango dress to confront Nero.

  The men had gone, taking Misty with them. Nero was standing alone with one hand on the back of his neck and his head bowed as if the woes of the world were on his shoulders.

  Swallowing deep, she could feel her own life splintering in front of her eyes. There was no pretending she didn’t know what was going on. They had grown too close for the smallest nuance in Nero’s behaviour to escape her. Her time in Argentina was at an end. They had always known this was a temporary arrangement. The scheme for the children was a success—they all wanted to come back and had promised to recommend the project at Estancia Caracas to their friends, which was all Nero or Bella had wanted. The prince would be pleased too, Bella told herself numbly. She had fulfilled her duty. ‘Nero… Good morning,’ she said lightly.

  ‘Bella.’ He turned, but the light in his eyes was swiftly dimmed.

  He had made her strong, and now it was time for her to be strong for Nero—for both of them. ‘So the time has come,’ she said without emotion, angling her head to one side. Damn it, the smile wouldn’t come. ‘It’s been—’

  ‘Don’t,’ he said shortly.

  ‘It’s time for me to go, Nero,’ she said as if she were encouraging him. She turned then and walked towards the house without a backwards glance. She had always known, deep down, Nero wasn’t going to ask her to stay. Nero Caracas was a free spirit whose life had taught him that he could only be happy on his own. He had given her all that he could.

  And that was a lot, Bella reflected as the shadow of the hacienda fell over her. Nero had made her believe in herself and in her inner strength, and in the beauty that came from a woman who was happy in her own body, and he had cemented that belief by making love to her. Nero Caracas, the Assassin, polo hero, national icon, the world’s most eligible bachelor and most beddable man, the heartbreaker of Argentina. Why was she surprised that it hadn’t worked out? She was a professional career woman, Bella told herself firmly, ignoring the tears battering the back of her eyes. Tilting her chin at a determined angle, she told herself firmly that polo was her life, not polo players—whoever they were, they were incidental—which wasn’t enough to stop her heart feeling as if someone had smashed it into tiny pieces with a polo mallet.

  She just needed a minute to settle her thoughts and then she’d get on with the rest of the day. The rest of the day? What about the rest of her life?

  Nero spent the rest of the morning arranging transport to England for Bella and her horse. They’d use his private jet, of course, and with one of his own vets in attendance. He couldn’t do more for Bella. He could never do enough for her.

  And thoughts like those were where it all started to go wrong. He could see the future in Bella’s eyes, while his was firmly lodged in his head. It was the same plan he’d had all along—be the best, make his grandmother and Ignacio proud—there was no room in his life for anything but the ranch and polo.

  Nero’s eyes softened briefly, and then grew resolute again when he remembered the hearts and flowers in Bella’s eyes and the cold, clear thoughts in his. Rather than soften towards him, she would have done better to remain the Ice Maiden, for his heart was still the same piece of stone. He’d seen what families could do to each other—and knew he didn’t want that. He wouldn’t inflict that on any woman. What? And break her like a horse? Would he strip away Bella’s successful career and dim that flare of emerald fire in her stare? What gave him the right to do these things when she had done everything he and the prince had expected of her and more? Could he take her pony? No.

  Could he love her?

  The only thing he knew about love was that it was corrosive and destroyed everything in its path. He refused to even think about it. He and Bella had enjoyed a great short-term professional relationship and that was it.

  He should never have seduced her. He should never have enjoyed her. He would never stop thinking about her. His only option was to send her away before he wrecked everything for her. She must go back to England, where she could continue her valuable work and pick up her successful career. Work was something he understood. Work meant building, as he had rebuilt the ranch. Love destroyed. These were some lessons a boy growing up never forgot. He wanted Bella, but what could he offer that wouldn’t take her from the life she had built for herself half a world away?

  Nothing more needed to be said, Bella reflected, which was both strange and sad. She had to go and Nero had to stay. She had started her packing straight after her shower. By the time she went downstairs Nero was in the kitchen drinking coffee as if it were any other day. It was every other day, but it was radically, horribly changed by the unbearable tension between them. She felt fresh and clean, neatly ordered and ready for work—with a yawning hole in her chest where her heart used to be.

  ‘Thank you, María,’ she said with a warm smile when Nero’s housekeeper passed her a steamy cup of freshly brewed coffee. She turned away fast. She couldn’t bear to see that look in María’s eyes. How did María know? Was everyone on the pampas psychic?

  This definitely wasn’t the usual relaxed morning in the kitchen, Bella registered, feeling the tension rise to unsustainable levels. Nero finished his coffee. Putting his newspaper down, he stood, reminding her of how small she’d felt in his arms, and how protected.

  ‘When you’ve got a minute, we should discuss your travel arrangements,’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ she said briskly, ‘but I want to talk to the children first. And Ignacio. I want them to hear I’m leaving from me.’ She swung round, conscious of María standing close behind her as if hovering, waiting to give comfort. ‘And of course I’d really appreciate a few minutes of your time, María—I’m going to miss you all so much.’

  Instead of answering this, María enveloped Bella in a hug.

  And now they both had tears in their eyes.

  ‘I’ll be at the stables,’ Nero said as h
e wheeled away.

  As the jet soared into the sky Bella stared out of the window, feeling as though she was joined to Argentina by an umbilical cord and that cord was being stretched tighter and tighter until finally it snapped. There was just a solid floor of cloud beneath her now. She could have been anywhere—going anywhere.

  Turning away from the window, her throat felt tight as she answered politely when the flight attendant asked her if she had everything she needed. Not nearly, Bella thought. The man quickly left her, as if he could sense that she was nursing some deep wound.

  She stared unseeing at the dossier in front of her. These were the papers and photographs and the quotations from the children, which she had collected to show the prince. She could have sent most of it by e-mail, but wanted…needed, maybe, concrete evidence of her time in Argentina.

  She’d miss the children, Bella thought, focusing on a group shot. She’d miss everyone. Ignacio, dressed for the occasion in full gaucho rig, positively exuding a sense of adventure and exoticism. The kids with their cheeky grins—long-time enemies, some of them, with their arms around each other, smiling for the camera—teams now, not gangs. María and Concepcion, their laughing faces so kind and smiling. And Nero. Nero towering over everyone in his polo rig, looking every bit the glamorous hero with the wind ruffling his thick black hair and his fist planted firmly on the fence beside him. No wonder control was so important to him. He’d seen where the lack of it had led, and what restoring it and going forward could achieve.

  And she wasn’t going to cry.

  Who knew bottled up tears could hurt so much?

  Picking up the champagne the flight attendant had poured for her, she raised a glass to absent friends.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  LIFE went flat the moment Bella left Argentina. The atmosphere inside the estancia was instantly sombre, and the mood in the stable yard was scarcely any better.

  ‘Everyone misses her,’ Ignacio complained, stating the obvious.

  ‘Do I need telling this?’ Nero scowled at his old friend, who simply shrugged.

  The last of the children in this year’s scheme had just left, and the two of them had stayed behind to wave them off, but all the children had wanted to know was: Where was Bella? When was Bella coming back? Would she be here next year?

  ‘Maybe,’ was the best he could offer them, swiftly followed by, ‘she’s very busy.’

  It had felt like a cop-out to him and he hadn’t fooled anyone. To make things worse, Bella had left a jokey video for them all to watch. It had made the children laugh—and not just because of Bella’s halting Spanish. He had stood at the back with his arms folded and his eyes narrowed as Ignacio ran the film—preparing to close a chapter and turn the page, but even he had smiled. No, it was more than that. He’d been drawn in. He’d grown wistful. He’d wanted things he couldn’t have.

  And now he felt wretched. The moment the lights had come up he had acted as if this was just another day. But nothing would ever be the same again. Who could have predicted Bella would remember her first uncertain days on the estancia and could communicate the mistakes she’d made in such a hilarious and self-deprecating way in order to make the kids feel better?

  Bella had given them all something to think about, Nero reflected, turning for the stables to saddle up his horse.

  He stopped dead inside the stable yard. ‘Ignacio. Is something wrong?’ He had never seen his old friend dumbstruck before. Ignacio was known for being taciturn but nothing like this. Nero’s heart raced with apprehension. ‘Which horse is it?’ he demanded, expecting the worst.

  ‘You’d better see for yourself,’ Ignacio told him, standing back.

  ‘She left you a note,’ one of the grooms told him, pressing a letter into his hand.

  ‘Not now,’ he said, in a rush to see whichever horse had succumbed to illness or injury. But then he halted. ‘Who left me a note?’

  ‘Bella,’ the young lad said.

  Ripping the envelope open, Nero scanned the contents rapidly: She’ll have a better chance with you—a better life. Both the letter and the envelope drifted to the ground as he threw the stable door open. ‘Misty…’

  The sight of the little horse in his stable overwhelmed him. Sentiments he had never allowed himself to feel came flooding in. Bella had sacrificed part of her heart for him—and for the little horse she loved. ‘How did this happen?’ he asked Ignacio with a tight throat. ‘How could the transporter leave my yard with the wrong horse?’

  ‘Bella?’ Ignacio said wryly. ‘Bella insisted on overseeing all the arrangements for Misty’s transport personally.’

  ‘Of course she did…’ A faint smile broke through Nero’s frown. And she would have done so knowing that no one would argue with that.

  ‘No. I can’t do it.’ Bella shook her head.

  ‘But you must,’ Bella’s second in command insisted.

  Agnes Dillon was an older no-nonsense woman who had worked for Bella’s father as a young girl and now worked for Bella. ‘The British team has asked for you by name. The prince has too. You’re going to be supervising the royal stable yard, for goodness’ sake, Bella—doesn’t that mean anything to you?’

  For the England-Argentina international? Yes, that meant something to her. All she could see in her head was Nero—the same man who had sent her a cryptic message saying: Bella, what have you done? But there was nothing to be done about it now. Staying longer than she had intended in Argentina meant she had come straight back home to a match. ‘I suppose I could take the day off sick,’ she mused out loud.

  Agnes’s wiry grey bun bobbed. ‘You’re never sick,’ she pointed out, rejecting this idea.

  ‘Then I’ll take a holiday.’

  ‘On the day of the most crucial match in the polo calendar?’

  ‘Okay, I don’t do either of those things,’ Bella conceded while Agnes shoved her hands into the pockets of her faded raspberry-coloured cords and waited. ‘I’ll work in the background.’

  ‘People expect to see you, Bella. Your place is on the pony lines at an international. What’s the matter with you?’ Agnes demanded. ‘You haven’t been the same since you came home.’

  No. She had been restless and anxious and angry that Nero hadn’t sent her more news about Misty. She couldn’t bring herself to phone him, but her call to Ignacio had confirmed that Misty was in the best of spirits and was being ridden every day in preparation for the season. And, yes, Nero would be riding her. Misty would be his first choice in all the matches. It would have been nice to hear this from Nero.

  ‘Did something happen in Argentina, Bella?’

  Bella looked long and hard into Agnes’s eyes. ‘No. Nothing,’ she insisted fiercely, as though trying to convince herself.

  Agnes shrugged in the way people did when they knew not to press.

  ‘Okay, we’ve got work to do.’ Bella shut her mind to everything else. ‘I should get my horse ready. I’m planning to ride one of the newly trained horses in the last chukka in the women’s match.’

  Bella could feel Agnes’s concern on her back as she walked away. If only the older woman knew! How would she handle seeing Nero again when she’d thought of him every waking moment since leaving Argentina?

  She’d handle it because that was her job, Bella told her herself impatiently, mounting up. Her team was at the top of the tree when it came to horse management. Man management she’d leave to the specialists, Bella concluded, seeing a group of stick chicks wandering off to the bar. They had no interest in watching women play, but when the Argentinians arrived, like the answer to every woman’s sex-starved dream, they’d be back.

  The Argentinian contingent rolled into town like a conquering army—four-wheel drives with blacked-out windows, vans, trucks, flashy sports cars with exotic-sounding names, a couple of fire-fed motorbikes and what seemed like a constant parade of sleek new horse transporters. The glamour quotient in the prince’s polo yard shot into the stratosphere as the polo guys and
their skimpily clad groupies emerged to stroll nonchalantly about while the polo ponies with their massive entourage decanted exuberantly from their motorised stalls, tossing their heads as if to say, Clear a path; we’re the real stars of the show!

  With so much testosterone flying about, it was no wonder Bella had her work cut out keeping her young grooms in check. The brash new Argentinian horse transporters were like nothing they had ever seen before. The Argentinian horses breathed fire. And the men…

  The less said about the men, the better, Bella thought, heart thundering as the swarthy marauders with their flashing eyes, deep tans and athletic frames took possession of every inch of space. Even Agnes had come over all coy and girlie.

  Whereas she was attending solely to business, Bella reassured herself, checking each horse into the yard on her clipboard, ignoring the fact that her heart was beating a frantic so-where-is-he? tattoo. She was doing very well until a deep voice penetrated her thoughts.

  Whirling around, she saw him at once. Nero must have been riding shotgun at the back of the parade, but now he had moved in to help bring a particularly fractious pony down one of the transporter ramps. Seeing him with his muscles pumped at full stretch kept her rooted to the spot for a moment. Nero was so much more than she remembered. He meant so much more to her than she had even realised.

  But when a horse threatened to run amok, safety was paramount. With the carefully choreographed reunion between one professional and another that she had planned forgotten, Bella dropped her clipboard on the ground and ran to help.

  Everyone else had backed away when she ran in. Corded muscles stood out on Nero’s arms. He had looped the rope around his waist but, as the horse shrieked its disapproval and reared up again, something in Nero’s stillness caught its attention. Rolling white eyes fixed on Nero’s while flattened ears pricked up as Nero began crooning reassurances in his deep, husky voice. It was a sound that touched not only the horse, but Bella somewhere deep too. She loved this man. Love wasted, maybe, but she would always love him. She drank in Nero’s resolute face and loved him all the more. Her heart and her eyes were full of him. Nothing in her life had ever come close to this feeling.