And now his big horse had bolted and it was his turn to swear. Sensing his abstraction, the mighty stallion had lost no time heading towards the hills and freedom. Wrestling him back under control was a welcome outlet for his energy, but it did nothing to soothe his thoughts. Grace liked teasing him, but then she drew back. She craved independence. Well, she could have it—with his blessing. She would just have to take her chances with the men at the grape-treading.
Are you seriously advocating open season where Grace is concerned?
He wouldn’t let her out of his sight tonight.
It was safe to say that the outfit which had arrived at the cottage didn’t conform to Grace’s usual take on a party outfit. That would be more likely to consist of a knee-length shift in silk or wool, depending on the weather, and safe, low-heeled shoes. But this wasn’t a usual party, Grace reflected as she sorted out the clothes by touch. Though ‘grape-treading’ was probably an old term, used loosely these days to describe what happened to the fruit at the start of wine production, she decided.
She tried on the skirt first. Masses of fabric brushed her calves, making her feel like a country girl in an oil painting. The blouse was flimsy, and it had lace around the generous neckline—which would slip straight off her sloping shoulders. She held it to her face and inhaled the scent of soap and sunshine. As to colour? White was her best guess. The blouse was also cut low across the bust, and fastened with laces rather than buttons.
What would Nacho think of the transformation? Grace wondered as she slipped on her sandals. She should pin her hair up—though that would leave her shoulders bare …
And now it was too late to change. The clock had just struck six. Time for business. With no way of knowing what she looked like, she smoothed the full skirt anxiously. Should she have worn a bra? It was a bit late to be worrying about that now, she concluded, brushing her nipples lightly with the palm of her hands to see if the cotton fabric was thick enough to conceal them. Probably not …
She jumped as Buddy barked. It was too late to change her clothes or her mind. She would just have to brace herself and go through with it. She opened the door.
‘Grace—’
Why the sudden silence? Did she look ridiculous? Was she wearing everything the right way round? Had she forgotten to tie the laces on her blouse? She checked discreetly as she invited Nacho to come in. The air swirled as he walked past, and her body responded to the pure zap of Nacho’s energy like a teenager on her first date. She drank greedily on the aroma of citrus soap, mint toothpaste and hot, hard man. There was a lot of heat—and quite a bit of it on her cheeks.
‘You’d better tell me if I look okay,’ she said, closing the door behind him.
There was a long pause, and then he said, ‘You look great.’
Great was a major understatement. Grace looked amazing in the revealing top and traditional skirt. Her breasts were magnificent. He would definitely have to watch the other men tonight. He might be duty bound to maintain cordial relations with his sister and keep Elias onside, but tonight Grace belonged to him.
‘Will I fit in at the wine-treading?’ she asked him.
No, you’ll stand out because you look so beautiful, he thought. ‘You’ll do,’ he said casually. Her skin was luminous, and flushed from riding in the sun, and her hair was gleaming with good health. If he could find fault it was that she’d put her hair up. But as there was only one pin holding it …
‘Describe your outfit,’ she said, distracting him. ‘I want to make sure I’m not the only one dressed up like a marionette.’
Some puppet show, he thought. And then, while he was thinking how beautiful she looked, she hit him with a zinger.
‘I need to feel you,’ she said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I need to feel you so I know what you’re wearing,’ she said. ‘It’s how I see now.’
‘Don’t you trust me to tell you?’
‘What do you think?’ she said.
She advanced hands outstretched.
‘All right, go ahead,’ he said with a shrug, lifting his arms.
She started with his face. ‘You haven’t shaved.’
‘I wasn’t planning on kissing anyone tonight.’
Her cheeks flushed red. ‘I should think not. I’ve no intention of being a gooseberry.’
He thought she might have had enough of the game by now, but no.
‘You’re wearing jeans,’ she said, brushing his thighs with the lightest of touches. And then she exclaimed with fright as her hands touched naked skin.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘I CHOPPED my jeans off above the knee,’ he explained. ‘It’s easier than rolling them up.’
‘You might have warned me.’ Her hands moved deftly on, sadly missing any interesting parts of his anatomy. ‘You needn’t hold your breath,’ she said.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he defended wryly.
‘I think I just got scorched by your affront,’ she remarked. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a six-pack at the very least.’
‘At the very least,’ he agreed.
She mapped the width of his chest and seemed satisfied as she stood back. ‘You’re wearing a casual shirt,’ she said. ‘Describe it.’
‘Dark blue—a little frayed, a little faded.’
‘And you still have tattoos?’
‘Of course.’
‘The Band of Brothers—I remember,’ she said, returning to her investigations. Her little hand didn’t make it halfway round his upper arm. ‘And I seem to remember something inked in black on this big muscle here …’
‘You saw my tattoos during that polo match on the beach?’ Should he be quite so pleased she had remembered? ‘How much can you see now, Grace?’ he enquired, as curiosity got the better of him.
She laughed. ‘Enough to know that you block out the light.’
She must be mad. What was she doing, feeling her way around Nacho? She would never have dreamed of doing anything so intimate when she could see—so why now, when she was blind?
There had to be some advantages to being blind, she reasoned.
‘I can see fuzzy shapes,’ she revealed, in the interest of much needed distraction. ‘If the light’s good and I lift my chin I can see …’ The vaguest outline of your sexy mouth … ‘Vague shapes,’ she said, keeping as close as possible to the truth.
‘Is that it?’ he said.
‘Not yet. Stand still,’ she chided when he moved. She was beginning to enjoy this, though her heart was still thundering off the scale. ‘I’m glad you remembered your bandana,’ she said as she traced the band across his brow. ‘Wild hair must be contained at all times, according to health and safety rules,’ she teased.
‘Don’t forget the earring and the scowl.’
Forget safety, Grace thought, hearing the humour in Nacho’s voice. ‘You’re not scowling,’ she said.
Nacho laughed.
This was not going the way he had imagined. He had come to the cottage with a clear plan in his mind. This was not a date. He would be polite to Grace—chivalrous, even. He would escort her to the grape-treading, where he would keep her safe and help her to do her research. And that was it. If he’d known she was going to explore him so thoroughly with her hands he might have made different plans—like taking her to bed and to hell with the grape-treading, along with his guilty past and all his worthy resolutions.
‘Are we ready?’ Grace asked as she walked to the door.
He didn’t know about her, but he was ready enough to be in agony. ‘What? No laptop, notebook, or phone to take notes?’
‘None of the above,’ she said. ‘Tonight is strictly for enjoyment—I’ll learn more that way,’ she insisted.
‘So what did Alejandro tell you about tonight?’
‘He told me to be careful around you,’ she said.
‘Me?’ When she laughed he thought he’d have to have a word with Alejandro.
Swinging the door wide, he r
ealised Grace wasn’t with him, and felt a punch in the guts when he turned to see her feeling for a stick. It was so easy to forget there was anything wrong with Grace.
‘Locking this thing into place is a real pain,’ she complained good-humouredly as she wrestled with the stick’s extension lever. ‘It collapses, so that’s good, because I can pack it in my suitcase, but just try and get the damn thing to stay fixed in place.’
‘You won’t need it,’ he said. Taking the stick away from Grace, he propped it against the wall. ‘You’ve got me tonight,’ he reminded her.
The barn where the grape-treading was being held was already full of people. He drew Grace close to protect her from the crowd. She felt tiny against him, but she felt full of energy too. Her curiosity was firing on all cylinders, he realised when he stared down into her face.
‘Describe the scene to me,’ she said.
As he looked around him he realised that he was noticing so much more. He’d never paid so much attention to his surroundings in his life, but that had been before Grace had come to Argentina and now he absolutely had to.
‘Well, the barn is packed,’ he began.
‘I can feel that—and I can hear it,’ she said, laughing. She clung to him as they moved through the crowd. ‘You’ll have to do better than that, Nacho.’
So he, who never fell short in anything, according to popular belief, was forced to try again. But just for now he wanted to absorb the feeling of being close to Grace—protecting her. He had never been so physically close to a woman outside of bed, and this was far better. Grace was almost a friend. She was certainly a very special business associate. He kept her pressed up hard against him—for reasons of safety only, of course.
‘I hope you’re not isolating me, Nacho?’
‘Isolating you?’
‘Only it’s quieter here, and I’m not being jostled. I don’t want to be regarded as an oddity,’ she exclaimed. ‘And I don’t want you making special allowances for me.’
‘What if they’re steering a wide berth around me?’ he said.
‘Are you so fearsome?’ She huffed with disbelief. ‘I don’t think so. From talking to Alejandro I get the sense that your staff really like and respect you. And, as you’re taking time out from your crazy overloaded schedule to revive their industry, I can only think they must really admire you too.’
‘Maybe I am being a little over-protective,’ he conceded, loosening his grip. Habit of a lifetime, he reflected.
‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘Now we can both relax and enjoy the party. So long as you describe it to me …’
He was keen to do that. He didn’t want her to miss out on anything. ‘We’re in a big all-purpose barn, constructed from old, mellow wood, I guess it’s a sort of rich golden-brown—’
‘High ceiling?’
‘Very high,’ he confirmed. ‘With a pitched roof. The air is—’
‘Warm, noisy, boisterous, and scented with old wine and anticipation,’ she said, her face illuminated with the eagerness of a child as she raised her chin. ‘Go on—’
‘I was about to say the air smells of dry hay and it’s full of dust motes.’
‘Romantic.’
‘Do you want me to describe it to you or not?’
‘You dare stop. It gives me a lovely warm feeling inside when you describe things. I just think you could use a few more adjectives.’
‘Take it or leave it, Grace.’
‘I’ll take it, thank you,’ she said, grinning up at him.
He smiled too, and dragged her a little closer. There was something so innately good in Grace it made him want to know more about her, and at the same time made him wonder if he would spoil his time with her as he had spoiled so many other things. Would the past haunt him until he had?
‘Come on,’ she prompted, ‘I’m waiting …’
He reordered his mind. ‘Most people are dressed in traditional clothes,’ he explained, determined that Grace wouldn’t miss out on anything. ‘The older women are dressed in black, and some of the older men have big hats on—’
‘And belts with coins dangling from them?’ she said.
‘How did you know that?’
‘Because they’re gauchos,’ she said, as Lucia might. ‘This isn’t just a celebration for the people who work at the vineyard, is it? It’s for everyone who works for you.’
‘And anywhere the Acostas are you’ll find a horse,’ he confirmed.
She laughed. ‘I was about to say that.’
They were guessing each other’s sentences now.
‘Are we anywhere near the grape-treading yet, Nacho?’
‘I’m just getting you out of the way of it so that you don’t get trampled in the rush.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, sounding concerned.
‘Don’t worry. When the grape-treading starts we’ll have front row seats.’
‘Do you mean we won’t be taking part? No,’ she said emphatically. ‘I have to do it. How can I possibly report on the grape-treading if I don’t?’
‘It will be too rough for you, Grace.’
‘Nothing’s too rough for me,’ she insisted. ‘And I don’t know how you can even say that when you’re here.’
‘You’ll be able to hear everything that’s going on. I promise you.’
‘That sounds like fun,’ she said in a flat tone.
‘What do you want me to do?’ he said. ‘Risk you getting trampled?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you take me back and lock me away in the cottage, where I’ll be safe.’
‘Grace—you can’t.’
‘Why can’t I?’ There was a pause, and then she said in a soft, angry voice, ‘Don’t you dare …’
He could come up with a whole raft of reasons why a blind woman couldn’t take part in the grape-treading, including the fact that Grace could slip and fall, or could be jostled and hurt herself. But she was right. He was the coward, fearing something might happen to her and allowing the past to throw up obstacles—like the fear that he couldn’t keep those he cared about safe. Grace was strong. She could do anything she set her mind to. He shouldn’t even think of stopping her when he would be there in the vat to protect her.
‘Of course you can do it,’ he agreed.
‘No surrender?’ she said fiercely.
‘No surrender,’ he agreed wryly.
‘Like a sheep?’ she said. ‘So long as that’s the worst I have to do.’ She laughed as he led her forward.
He had to ask himself if he had ever felt such pleasure in a woman’s company before. With most women everything was simply a prelude to bed, but with Grace there was so much more to learn—just being with her felt like a privilege, a gift.
‘What’s that sound?’ she said, shrinking back in alarm.
‘That’s the sound of the grapes being tipped into the vat,’ he explained. It went on and on, but he could see that now she knew what was invading her darkness Grace wasn’t frightened any more. She laughed when he told her she would be up to her thighs in grapes inside the vat.
‘Which means they’ll probably be round your ankles,’ she commented.
He asked himself again: was taking Grace into the vat sensible? He had noticed several of the local youths eyeing her up, and once they were inside the vat there would be no quarter given and no attention paid to status or rank. He was the acknowledged leader of the pack, but tonight there would be challenges to his supremacy. He had seen it in the eyes of the other men when they looked at Grace—not because she was blind, but because she was beautiful, and because she was with him. Combat was in their blood as much as it was in his. Claiming Grace wasn’t so much a rational decision as a primitive compulsion. Those youths would stay away from her if they knew what was good for them.
A young woman showed Grace how to tuck up her skirt. She sounded friendly and kind, and Grace thanked her for her help. She was getting better at that, Grace realised. She wasn’t always pushing people awa
y now, as she had done initially, when she had first lost her sight. She’d also eased up a lot since she’d been in Argentina. Being with Nacho had done that. He was so no-nonsense he had unlocked something inside her. It was something that said everyone needed help sometimes and that it had nothing to do with pity. Nice people liked to help their fellow man, whatever their physical status might be. It had nothing to do with being blind.
‘Do I look okay?’ she asked, smoothing her hands over her naked thighs, feeling a bit self-conscious now.
‘You look great,’ he said.
The hint of a smile in his voice made her feel womanly and sexy for the first time in ages.
‘Stay close to me, Grace.’
As if she had any option—as if she wanted one, Grace thought as Nacho put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. He made her feel so safe.
‘I’m going to lift you into the vat,’ he said, making her heart race even faster. ‘Wait there for me—I’ll get in first.’
She listened intently when Nacho left her side and heard him vault over the side of the vat. There was a wet, squelching sound when he landed.
‘Reach out—let me guide your hands,’ he said.
Before she knew it she was over the side and knee-deep in grapes.
‘How does that feel, Grace?’
‘Wet!’ she said.
Nacho laughed. ‘Hold on to me so you don’t fall.’
Well, that was no problem.
And then the band started to play, and as the tempo increased the crowd all around them began to jump rhythmically in the vat.
‘This is seriously crazy,’ she yelled, hanging on to Nacho for dear life. ‘Don’t you dare let me go!’
‘Not a chance,’ he husked in her ear.
A Taste of the Untamed Page 9
