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The Untamed Argentinian
Susan Stephens


What Nero wants, Nero gets – doesn’t he?Reigning polo champion Nero Caracas bows to no man…and certainly not to women! With red-hot Latin blood coursing through his veins, what he wants he gets…Bella Wheeler has followed in the footsteps of her horse-trainer father – though determined to eclipse his disreputable legacy, she remains professionally distant from everyone! This aloof beauty has two things Nero wants – the best horse in the world…and a body as pure and untouched as her snow-white ice maiden’s reputation!










Praise for Susan Stephens:

ITALIAN BOSS, PROUD MISS PRIM

‘Stephens’ terrific story shows how love can be transforming. The marvellous hero looks beyond the surface and frees the heroine to open up about her biggest fears.’

—RT Book Reviews

‘You can always rely on Susan Stephens to deliver a steamy, sexy, fast-paced emotional page-turner, and RULING SHEIKH, UNRULY MISTRESS certainly does not disappoint.’

—Cataromance


NERO CARACAS—THE ASSASSIN. POLO HERO, NATIONAL ICON, THE WORLD’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR AND MOST BEDDABLE MAN. THE HEARTBREAKER OF ARGENTINA.

When he dipped his head, one professional acknowledging another, she saw the steel of challenge in his eyes. Nero Caracas was hardly the most sensible enemy for a woman in Bella’s precarious financial position to make.

But she wouldn’t fail, Bella told herself firmly, straightening up to confront this god of the game. ‘Is that everything?’

Nero’s lips pressed down. ‘No,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘I think Misty would benefit from being ridden by a man who really appreciates her.’

‘I can assure you that the captain of the English team appreciates Misty—’

‘But does he ride her in a way that brings Misty pleasure?’

Did Nero Caracas have to make everything sound like an invitation to bed?




About the Author


SUSAN STEPHENS was a professional singer before meeting her husband on the tiny Mediterranean island of Malta. In true Modern


Romance style they met on Monday, became engaged on Friday, and were married three months after that. Almost thirty years and three children later, they are still in love. (Susan does not advise her children to return home one day with a similar story, as she may not take the news with the same fortitude as her own mother!)

Susan had written several non-fiction books when fate took a hand. At a charity costume ball there was an afterdinner auction. One of the lots, ‘Spend a Day with an Author’, had been donated by Mills & Boon


author Penny Jordan. Susan’s husband bought this lot, and Penny was to become not just a great friend but a wonderful mentor, who encouraged Susan to write romance.

Susan loves her family, her pets, her friends and her writing. She enjoys entertaining, travel, and going to the theatre. She reads, cooks, and plays the piano to relax, and can occasionally be found throwing herself off mountains on a pair of skis or galloping through the countryside. Visit Susan’s website: www.susanstephens.net.


The Untamed

Argentinian

Susan Stephens




















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CHAPTER ONE


‘DO YOU mind if I join you?’

A shiver of recognition ran down Bella’s back as the man with the husky Latin American voice lifted the latch on the stable door and walked in. There was only one man who could breeze through security in Her Majesty’s backyard: the Guards’ Polo Club in Windsor. Nero Caracas, known as the Assassin in polo circles, played off ten, the highest ranking a polo player could achieve, and enjoyed privileges around the world others could only dream of. Impossibly good-looking, Bella had seen Nero commanding the field of play, and had lusted after him like every other hot-blooded woman, but nothing could have prepared her to be this close to so much man.

‘So this is Misty,’ he said, running an experienced palm down the pony’s shoulder. ‘She looks smaller close up—’

‘Appearances can be deceptive.’ Racing to the defence of her favourite pony, Bella forced her hands to go on oiling the mare’s dainty hooves. She’d lived close to animals for so long she was as acutely tuned in to danger as they were and, though the mare seemed calm, Bella was on red alert.

‘The match starts soon—’

And? Bella thought, still polishing. As trainer and one of the coaches of the British team, she knew only too well when the match started. Surely it was Nero, as captain of the opposing team, who should be elsewhere?

Nero’s reputation preceded him. He had obviously thought he could drop in and his smallest wish would be granted with one eye on the timetable for a match in which he would captain the Argentinian team. No such luck. The Assassin could yield to the Ice Maiden on this occasion. And he did, but with a warning glint in his eye. ‘I need to speak to you about Misty,’ he said, running another appreciative glance over her pony.

‘This isn’t the time,’ Bella said coolly, realising only when their stares clashed that she was running the same type of assessing look over Nero—experience had nothing to do with it. Her points of reference were in her head. And all the better for staying there, she thought, having taken in Nero’s dark tan, close-fitting white breeches, plain dark polo shirt, wayward curls catching on his ferocious black stubble, not to mention the leather boots hugging his hard-muscled calves. It was safer, certainly.

‘As you wish,’ he said.

When he dipped his head, one professional acknowledging another, she saw the steel of challenge in his eyes. Nero Caracas was hardly the most sensible enemy for a woman in Bella’s precarious financial position to make. The recession had taken a deep bite out of her resources and the polo world was too small, too incestuous to take chances. You failed in the eyes of one, you failed in the eyes of everyone. But she wouldn’t fail, Bella told herself firmly, straightening up to confront this god of the game. ‘Is that everything?’

Nero’s lips pressed down. ‘No,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘I think Misty would benefit from being ridden by a man who really appreciates her—’

‘I can assure you that the captain of the English team appreciates Misty—’

‘But does he ride her in a way that brings Misty pleasure?’

Did Nero Caracas have to make everything sound like an invitation to bed?

She glanced at her watch.

‘Do I make you nervous, Bella?’

She laughed. ‘Certainly not—I’m merely concerned that you’re leaving yourself dangerously short of time.’

‘My timing is split second,’ Nero assured her.

Was that humour in his eyes? As the rugged Argentinian caressed Misty’s neck, Bella lost herself for a moment. All muscles and tough, virile appeal, Nero Caracas was quite a man. Another woman, another time—who knew what might come of this meeting? Bella thought wryly, dragging herself round.

‘En garde,’ Nero murmured when she came to stand between him and the dapple grey polo pony. ‘I would like you on my side, Isabella, not working against me for the competition.’

Bella gave him an ironic look. ‘I’m very happy where I am, thank you.’

‘Maybe I can change your mind—’

‘I wish you joy of that—’

‘If that’s a gauntlet, I should warn you, Bella, I always pick them up.’

Too much man—too close—too desperately disturbing…

Irritated by the fact that her highly strung mare had remained calm when Nero had entered the stable, Bella demanded sharply, ‘Anything else?’

Sensation overload, she registered dizzily as Nero’s long dark stare made her heart go crazy. Nero Caracas was ridiculously attractive and had more charisma than was good for any man. No woman wanted to be reduced to a primal mating state by an unreconstructed male. A woman wanted control—something Bella possessed in vast amounts…usually.

Nero raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going. But I’ll be back to see you, Misty,’ he crooned to the unusually compliant mare.

Bella’s eyes flashed fire. ‘When I’m not here, Misty is protected by the most stringent security measures.’

‘Which I’ll be sure to bear in mind—’ Nero’s Latin shrug could easily be translated as So what?

No one would keep him out. Nero Caracas could do anything he wanted, buy anything he wanted. Chatter around the yard suggested the famous Argentinian wanted to buy Misty, the polo pony Bella had foolishly allowed herself to love.

‘You’ve done well with Misty, Bella,’ Nero observed as he paused by the stable door. ‘She’s in prime condition—’

‘Because she’s happy with me—’

Nero’s head dipped in acknowledgement of this, but the sardonic smile on his lips suggested he had more to offer any horse than she did.

She was at risk of losing Misty. The thought struck Bella like a bombshell. There was always pressure—honour in the game that demanded the best players were given the best polo ponies to ride. Misty was the best, and only a fool would stand in the way of a rider like Nero Caracas and expect to keep the career she loved intact.

‘Until the next time, Bella—’

I wouldn’t count on it, Bella thought, tightening her lips. There would be no next time. Misty was all she had left of her late father’s yard—her late father’s honour. While Misty was on the field people still talked of Jack Wheeler as the best of trainers, and forgot for that moment that Bella’s father had been a gambler who had lost everything he had ever worked for. ‘Misty only runs for those she trusts.’

‘Like any woman.’ Nero’s smile deepened, carving an attractive crease in the side of his face. Coming back to the pony, he ran an experienced hand down Misty’s near foreleg. ‘Good legs,’ he commented as he straightened up.

And she felt hers tingling too. The look Nero gave her left Bella in no doubt that everything in the stable had been assessed. She was way out of her depth here. If only Nero would go and everything could return to normal. ‘Enjoy the match,’ she said numbly, conscious of the power he wielded in the game.

‘You too, Bella—’ There was both humour and challenge in his voice.

‘Misty will outrun your Criolla ponies from the Pampas—’

‘We’ll see.’ Nero shot her an amused glance. ‘My Criollo are descendants of the Spanish war horses. Their power is second to none. Their loyalty? Unquestioned. Stamina?’ His lips pressed down in the most attractive way. ‘Unrivalled, Bella. And it goes without saying that combat is in their genes.’

And Nero’s, Bella thought. She’d watched him play, and had marvelled at his speed and agility, his hand-to-eye coordination, uncanny intuition, and the eager way Nero’s ponies responded to him. She had never thought she would feel those subtle powers working on her. ‘May the best man win,’ she said, tilting her chin at a defiant angle as she rested a protective hand on Misty’s neck.

‘I have no doubt that he will,’ the undisputed king of the game informed her.

She had always felt safe in the stables, with the scent of clean hay in her nostrils and the warmth of an animal she could trust close by, but that safety had just been challenged by a man whose voice was like a smoky cellar, deep and evocative, though ultimately cold. What ever game it was, she must never forget that Nero Caracas always played to win. ‘Win or lose today, Misty is not for sale—’

‘I’ve completed my examination, and I like what I see,’ Nero remarked as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Of course, Misty would need to pass the vet’s exam,’ he went on thoughtfully, ‘but if she fulfils her promise today, as I’m sure she will, I’d like to make you an offer, Bella. Name your price.’

‘There is no price, Señor Caracas.’ She wasn’t going to roll over just because Nero Caracas said she must. ‘I don’t need your money.’

Nero angled his head. He didn’t need to say anything to echo the thoughts of everyone else in the polo world, all of whom knew that couldn’t be true. ‘You might not need my money, chica,’ he said with a faint mocking edge to his voice, ‘but you must need something. Everybody does…’

‘Is that a threat?’ Was she to lose everything she had worked for? A flash of panic speared through her as the dark master of the game stared her down. Why should Nero answer when he was the centre of the polo universe, around which everything else revolved? He had more money, more skill on the field and a better eye for the horse than any man alive. Why was she challenging him when Nero Caracas could dash her career against the wall with a flick of his wrist?

‘Relax,’ he murmured. ‘You work too hard and worry too much, Bella. Polo?’ The massive shoulders eased in a shrug. ‘It’s only a game.’

Only a game?

‘I look forward to seeing Misty play.’ The dark eyes stared deeper into her soul than they had any right to and then he was gone.

Bella let out a shuddering breath and slumped back against the cold stone wall. How could she fight him? But fight him she would if Nero pushed her, Bella determined as one of her grooms came in and, after a few covert sideways glances, asked if Bella was all right.

‘I’m fine… Fine,’ Bella confirmed, wishing she was back at home with her dogs and horses, where life was uncomplicated, and where the children she encouraged to visit her stable yard learned how to care for animals in a blissfully down-to-earth setting. Mess with Nero and she would lose all that.

‘Shall I take Misty to the pony lines?’

The girl glanced towards the stable door as she spoke, and Bella guessed she must have passed the master of the game on his way out. Nero threw off an aura of power and danger, which had made the young girl anxious. ‘Yes, take her,’ she confirmed, ‘but don’t let her out of your sight for a moment.’

‘I won’t,’ the girl promised. ‘Come on, Misty,’ she coaxed, taking hold of the reins.

‘Actually, I’ve changed my mind—I’ll come with you.’ She had intended to check the other ponies first, but she could do that at the pony lines. Nero Caracas turning up unannounced had really shaken her. He had reminded her that her life was a house of cards that could collapse at any time and that Nero Caracas never paid anyone a visit without a purpose in mind.

She would just have to fight his fire with her ice, Bella concluded, shutting the stable door behind them. She had done it before and come through in one piece. There was still talk about how her father’s gambling had destroyed his career, which was one reason she still had the Ice Maiden tag. Life had taught her to keep rigid control over her feelings at all times. And Misty was more than just a pony; the small mare was a symbol of Bella’s determination to rebuild the family name. She had promised her father before he died that she would always keep Misty safe. So could she fight off this bid from Nero Caracas?

She had to. Nero might be every woman’s dream with his blacksmith’s shoulders, wicked eyes and piratical stubble, but she had a job to do.

‘Good luck, Bella,’ the stable hands chorused as she crossed the yard.

Lifting her hand in recognition of their support, she hurried on, afraid to let Misty out of her sight now.

‘The Argentine team is looking good,’ one of the grooms observed, keeping pace with her for a few steps. ‘Especially Nero Caracas—he’s been living up to his nickname in the last few matches. The Assassin has cut a swathe through the competition—’

‘Great. Thank you.’ She didn’t need reminding that Nero inhabited a brutal world. He might feel at home here, and play the role of gentleman in the prince’s backyard, but Nero lived in Argentina, where he bred and trained his ponies on an estancia the size of a country on the vast untamed reaches of the pampas.

The pampas.

This conjured up such fabulous images—terrifyingly wild and impossibly dangerous.

And the sooner he went back there, the sooner she could relax, Bella told herself firmly. They had reached the pony lines where the horses were tethered to wait their turn to enter the match. ‘I’ll never let you go,’ she whispered, throwing her arms around Misty’s firm grey neck. ‘And I’d certainly never sell you on to some blackhearted savage like Nero Caracas. Why, I’d sooner—’

The images that conjured up had to stop there. Burying her face against Misty’s warm hide, Bella tried and failed to blot out the image of her moaning with pleasure in Nero’s arms. Daydreams were one thing, but she’d be sure to lock the stable door in future.

He never listened to gossip. He preferred to make up his own mind about people, places, animals, things—

And Isabella Wheeler.

The Ice Maiden’s eyes had been wary and hostile to begin with, but not by the time he had left her. Why was Bella’s luscious, long red hair cruelly contained beneath a net? It was preternaturally neat, but he had detected a wild streak beneath that icy veneer. He had seen enough ponies standing meekly in the corral, only to kick the daylights out of a groom if they weren’t approached with respect. Control ruled Bella. She had earned the highest respect in equine circles, but still managed to remain an enigma, without a shred of gossip concerning her private life. How could she not present him with a challenge he found impossible to resist?

Mounting up, he gathered his reins and called his team around him for the pep talk. He was unusually wired and the men knew it. They stared at him warily whilst keeping a tight rein on their own restless mounts. ‘No mercy,’ he warned, ‘but don’t risk the horses. And take care of the grey the English captain will be riding. Depending on how the grey does today, I might want to buy her—’

Bella wouldn’t sell her horse to him?

His determination to change that mounted as he remembered Bella would barely speak to him. The thought of unbuttoning that tightly laced exterior and seeing her eyes beg for pleasure instead of challenging him was all the encouragement he needed. He wanted her to relax for him. He wanted to discover who Bella Wheeler really was—

The light of challenge was so fierce in his eyes that his team, mistaking it for the fire of battle, wheeled away.

Bella would be different. Not easy, Nero thought as he took his helmet off to acknowledge the roar of the crowd when he galloped onto the field. Bella would not yield to him as easily as her pretty mare had. There was something else behind that composed stare. Fear. He wondered at it. She feared the loss of her pony—that he could understand, but there was something more. And there was another question: why did such a successful and attractive woman live the life of a celibate in what was a notoriously libidinous society?

Because Bella was different. She was an independent woman, and courageous. She had coped well with her father’s disgrace, supporting Jack Wheeler to the bitter end and salvaging what she could of the business. But where a private life was concerned she seemed to have none, and planned to keep it that way, or why else would she dress so severely?

Bella was all business and no fun, Nero concluded, as if to show the slightest warmth or humour might put her at risk. Yet beneath that Ice Maiden façade he’d heard she was much loved by the children she invited to her stables. She could be useful to him. With that thought in mind, he replaced his helmet and lowered his face guard. Training his restless gaze on the stands he searched for Bella as he cantered up to start the match.




CHAPTER TWO


BELLA hated him. Nero Caracas had almost single-handedly annihilated the home team. Never mind that his three team-mates had played well, she held Nero directly responsible for trouncing the team whose ponies she had trained. She had one bittersweet moment when the prince, who was awarding the prizes that day, had named Misty pony of the match, but even that triumph was quickly smashed by the quick look Nero shot her—the look that said, I’m having her. She’s mine. The look that had prompted Bella to flare back silently, Over my dead body.

Over your body, certainly, had been Nero’s outrageously confident response, which he had laced with a wolfish grin. And now she was being forced into his company in the evening too. The prince had invited all the players and their trainers to dinner at the castle. It was not the type of invitation Bella could easily refuse. And why should she? The opportunity to eat dinner with the prince, to see round the royal castle—was she going to let Nero Caracas stand in the way of that? It was a signal from the prince himself that her father’s yard was back in favour. Jack Wheeler’s name would be spoken again with pride. And, realistically, her chance of being seated next to Nero was zero, Bella reassured herself. Protocol was everything in royal circles and she was sure to be seated with her team.

‘I hope you don’t mind that I put you next to me,’ the prince said, smiling warmly at Bella, ‘and that you’re not sitting with your team…?’

‘Of course not, Sir, it’s an honour,’ Bella replied graciously, trying not to care who was sitting across the table from her on the other side of the prince. Or the fact that Nero seemed unusually chummy with their royal host.

‘The captain of the winning team and the owner and trainer of the pony of the match—it seemed an inevitable pairing to me,’ the prince confided in his usual laid-back manner.

‘Indeed, Sir,’ Bella agreed, coolly meeting Nero’s amused stare. What was going on?

‘Your Royal Highness is, as ever, a most perceptive man,’ Nero drawled, raising one sweeping ebony brow as he connected with Bella’s narrow-eyed stare.

Bella Wheeler in a dinner gown. This was an image he had toyed with on his way to the castle. He had thought she might free her shiny auburn hair from its cruel captivity and reveal the young body that lurked beneath her workmanlike clothes. Instead, she was trussed up in a gown her grandmother would have approved of, and her hair was more tightly dressed than he had ever seen it. Did she have to make a statement every time they met? If it went on like this, he fully expected her to be wearing a sandwich board on the next occasion, proclaiming: Look, Don’t Touch.

‘So, Bella,’ the prince said, distracting him, ‘I’ve been hearing good things about you—and not just as far as training polo ponies goes. I’m thinking more of your work with children,’ he explained.

Bella blushed. She didn’t like to make a song and dance about the work she undertook in her free time.

‘Have you ever thought of expanding your scheme?’ the prince pressed.

Bella noticed Nero appeared to be equally intent on her answer. ‘My polo commitments don’t allow for it, Sir—’

‘But you do what you can, which is more than most people even attempt,’ the prince went on. ‘And I’ve been hearing some very good things about you—’

Bella answered this with a modest smile.

As the meal continued her tension relaxed. She was imagining things, Bella reassured herself. Nero sitting across the table had made her edgy. There was no plan afoot between Nero and the prince. Her royal host was always well briefed, and was not only genuinely interested in the people he met but was an excellent conversationalist. Her father had been invited to the castle in his heyday, but this was Bella’s first time and she wasn’t going to waste it fretting about the prince’s fanciful seating plan that saw spinster-and-contented-with-her-lot Bella Wheeler seated across the table from the world’s most desirable man. She could only hope Nero had got her message—Butt out of my life, Caracas. You’re not wanted here.

But she did want him. She wanted Nero with an ache so bad she could only hope the prince, who was undoubtedly a man of the world, hadn’t picked up on it. Nero was a force of nature, a man who could have any woman in the world. What if he suspected how she felt about him? How professional would Nero think her then?

He’d think her a naïve fool. And he wouldn’t be that far out. Right now, she was feeling as if she’d been parachuted in from Little Town in Nowhere Land to a life of such pomp and privilege she had to pinch herself to prove she wasn’t dreaming. Thank goodness she’d found a gown at the back of the wardrobe suitable for dinner—ten years out of date, but conservative, which was all that mattered. She didn’t like to draw attention to herself, which was another reason she appeared cold.

She stiffened and held Nero’s gaze as he looked at her for one long potent moment, then turned away when the prince began talking to him. It was an opportunity to soak everything in—all the life-sized oil paintings on the ruby silk walls. Stout kings and thin kings, with glittering swords and crowns bearing testament to their wealth and power. Happy women and sad women, wearing sumptuous gowns, some of whom were surrounded by strangely disaffected children staring off bleakly into an unknowable future. With a shiver, she dragged her gaze away and began to study the vaulted ceiling instead. On a ground of rich cobalt blue, this was lavishly decorated with rosy-cheeked cherubs and cotton wool clouds and, coming back down to earth again, there was more crystal and silver on a dinner table made magical by candlelight than she had ever seen before. There must have been fifty people sitting at the table with them, and it was longer than a bowling alley to accommodate that number. A mischievous smile played around her lips when the royal butler and his team of efficient footmen strode silently by—some wild child inside her wanted to dance a crazy quickstep after them down the jewel-coloured runners that marked out their transit through the hall.

She could act serene, but inside her there was a wild child longing to get out. Nero was as relaxed in this setting as he was on the polo field. How elegant and confident he appeared, lounging back in his chair, chatting easily to the prince—as well he might. Rumour said Nero lived in considerable style on his estancia back home, where he ruled his estate like his own private fiefdom. And if he had been devastating in match clothes, he was off the scale tonight in a beautifully cut evening suit. The dark cloth moulded his powerful frame to perfection, while the crisp white shirt and steel-grey tie showed off his tan.

Damn! He was watching her. She turned her attention quickly to her plate. She was safer with her ponies than with all these men. Men were strong and could physically overwhelm her, and Nero Caracas was the strongest of them all. When you’d fought and lost as badly as she had, you never forgot—

Yet here she was, wrapping her lips around the tines of her fork as if she wanted him to look at her.

Must she court danger at every opportunity?

It must be the Nero effect. She was never so foolish, but just sitting across from him was enough to make her act differently—made her monitor how she held herself and how she ate. She had even taken to sipping her drink demurely!

Damn this to hell! She was a professional woman, not some impressionable teenager. Straightening up, she made a special effort to engage the prince in a topic of conversation which she knew he would appreciate, but even the prince seemed to be on Nero’s side.

‘I’m surprised you haven’t made an offer for the pony of the match, Caracas,’ the prince observed after a few minutes of conversation which had fallen well within the bounds of what Bella considered safe.

Bella tensed. Must everything come back to this?

‘But I have,’ Nero said mildly. ‘I would love to own Misty, but Ms Wheeler seems to have her doubts—’

‘Doubts?’ The prince’s eyebrows shot up as he turned to stare at Bella. ‘Señor Caracas has an enviable estancia in Argentina, with the best living conditions for polo ponies I’ve seen anywhere in the world—’

‘And still Ms Wheeler doubts me.’ Nero’s eyes were glinting with humour as he attempted to capture Bella’s stony stare.

‘You must reconsider, Ms Wheeler,’ the prince insisted. ‘Nero is the best rider in the world, and as such he should have access to the best ponies.’

Should he? By whose right?

Bella flashed a furious look across the table, only to be met by Nero’s relaxed, sardonic stare. Her heart thundered—and not with anger. She could have coped with that more easily than this lust-fuelled desire to engage in combat with him. But the prince’s message was unmistakable. If she was intransigent she would lose his favour and, as the prince was one of the foremost sponsors of the game, everything she had worked so hard to build could quickly turn to dust. ‘Your Royal Highness.’ She appeared to agree—even adding a meek dip of her head, but inside she was fuming. She would not be forced to sell her most cherished possession—and Nero Caracas could stop pulling the prince’s strings. There must be a way out of this and she would find it.

But then Nero foiled her by mentioning a project close to her heart and now, it appeared, close to his. He planned to work with children who wouldn’t normally have the opportunity to ride. She’d been doing that for years, and had seen the benefits first hand.

‘I want them to experience the freedom of the pampas,’ Nero was explaining to the prince, ‘and discover what life is like on my estancia in Argentina.’

She would like to find out too, Bella thought wryly. But then her suspicions grew when it became clear that the prince and Nero had been in negotiations for some time over this proposed scheme—long enough for Nero to persuade the prince to be its patron.

‘There are many similarities to your own work,’ the prince observed, turning to include Bella in their discussion. ‘Perhaps you remember, I mentioned the possibility of spreading your good work a little further earlier this evening?’

She’d been set up, Bella thought angrily, noting the spark of triumph in Nero’s eyes. And since when was Argentina a little further? It was half a world away. She must have paled as the prince indicated that one of the hovering footmen should refill her water glass.

‘Sir, I cannot think of leaving England—especially so close to Christmas.’ She was clutching at straws—and had broken royal protocol by speaking to the prince before he invited her to do so, but the prince, sensing her distress, was at pains to make amends. ‘But Christmas in Argentina is so beautiful and warm. I’m sure that your concerns in this country could be addressed, and Nero would ensure paid professionals were on hand to help you with the day-to-day running of the scheme in Argentina.’

Had this already been decided?

Bella had never found it so hard in her life to hold her tongue, but to interrupt the prince a second time would be an unforgivable breach of etiquette.

‘I understand your concerns,’ the prince assured her. ‘There’s so much paperwork when schemes such as this are set up, but I don’t see you being involved in that. I see you taking more of a hands-on role, Bella—teaching the children to ride, and sharing your love of horses with them.’

‘But, Sir—’ Bella’s eyes implored the prince to understand that she couldn’t leave her yard. She worked every hour of every day to be the best. She even turned to Nero for help, but he merely raised a sardonic brow.

‘There would be ample reward,’ the prince said, as if this would make a difference.

Bella flinched with embarrassment. ‘It isn’t the money, Sir—’

‘Pride is a great thing, Bella, but we all have to be practical,’ the prince replied. ‘Nero’s gauchos have centuries of knowledge that working closely with horses has brought them, just as we do. There’s nothing wrong with sharing that knowledge amongst friends, is there?’ The prince stared at her intently.

What could she say without appearing mean-spirited? ‘You’re quite right, Sir,’ she agreed, avoiding Nero’s sardonic stare.

‘And you could take Misty with you,’ the prince added, warming to his theme. ‘I’m sure Nero would have no objections?’

Was this a joke? Bella wondered as the two men exchanged a knowing glance. And now Nero’s stare was heating her face, but she couldn’t pretend the cash on offer wouldn’t be useful—

So Nero had won.

Misty could only benefit by being ridden by the greatest polo player in the world, and riding high in the prince’s approval meant the future of her stable yard was assured. ‘This doesn’t mean I would sell Misty to you,’ she assured Nero.

As the prince exclaimed with disappointment on Nero’s behalf, Nero said smoothly, ‘I don’t think we need to worry about that yet.’

But some time she would need to worry, Bella interpreted, tensing even as the prince relaxed. She was up against the might of Nero Caracas with no one, not even the prince, to back her up. ‘I couldn’t leave my work here,’ she said firmly.

The prince sat forward as Nero offered what must have sounded to him like a reassurance. ‘I would send a team to take over what is already an established scheme,’ Nero said with a relaxed shrug. ‘They would handle all your outstanding commitments.’

Was she the only one who could see the glint of irony in Nero’s eyes?

Apparently, Bella thought as the prince sighed with approval. ‘We would be in this together, Bella,’ the prince confirmed, tying the knot between them even tighter. ‘All I’m asking from you is that you share your expertise in the setting up of a similar scheme in Argentina to the one you already run in England.’

How reasonable that sounded, Bella thought as the prince turned his kind-hearted gaze on her face. Nero might as well have hog-tied her and served her up on a silver platter. Had his penetrating stare also worked out that he scrambled her brain cells and made her stomach melt? Almost certainly, she thought as his ebony brow lifted.

‘Well, what do you think, Bella?’ the prince prompted gently.

‘Could I have some time to think about this, Sir?’

His Royal Highness hesitated.

‘Not too much time,’ Nero cut in, apparently oblivious to the rules of royal etiquette when it came to getting his own way.

After dinner a recital was to be held in the Blue drawing room, with the chance for everyone to freshen up first.

Freshen up? Bella raged silently, checking her hair was still securely tied back in the gilt-framed mirror hanging on the wall of the unimaginably ornate rest-room. After listening to the prince’s well-intentioned suggestions on one side, and batting off Nero’s sardonic sallies on the other, she felt like a tennis ball being swiped between the two, frayed a little around the edges, but still ready to bounce—right over Nero, preferably.

Conclusion?

Her carefully controlled life was rapidly spiralling out of control.

Taking one last look around at all the beautiful things in the restroom—dainty chairs with soft leaf-green covers and the comforting array of traditional organic scent bottles lined up on a crystal tray for visitors to sample—she had the strongest feeling that if Nero had anything to do with it, it would be some time before she would be making a return visit here.

In this same anxious mood she opened the door and managed to bump straight into him.

‘Ill met by moonlight,’ Nero murmured with amusement as Bella exclaimed with alarm.

Her breath echoed in the silence as she stared up at Nero’s strong, tanned hand on the wall by her face. ‘Excuse me, please—’

He didn’t move.

‘I said—’

‘I heard what you said.’

‘Then would you let me pass, please?’ She would fight off the effects of that deceptively sleepy stare.

‘What’s your hurry, Bella?’

‘We should be getting back to the recital…’

Nero hummed.

Bracing herself, she looked up. Moonlight was indeed bathing them both in a strange sapphire light as it poured in through one of the castle’s many stained-glass windows. The effect was wonderful for Nero’s dark skin and thick black hair—she guessed her own face was a watery blue and her red hair a strange shade of green. Heating up under Nero’s amused scrutiny, she launched a counter-attack. ‘What were you doing at dinner with the prince and all that talk of a scheme?’

‘It wasn’t talk, Bella—’

‘And I suppose it wasn’t a ruse to make me sell Misty to you, either?’

‘The scheme will continue, with or without your help, Bella.’

In his severe formal clothes, in this most refined of settings, Nero Caracas looked like a dark angel and more dangerous than ever. ‘You led the prince to think I might sell Misty—and that my compliance with the scheme was a given.’

Nero’s lips pressed down in a most attractive way. ‘There’s no mystery,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I offered to pay whatever price you ask for the pony. I doubt you’ll find anyone who will match my offer.’

Or match Nero’s compelling aura, or his physical strength, Bella thought, fighting off the seductive effect. It was impossible to be this close to Nero Caracas without feeling something, she reasoned, willing her voice to remain steady. ‘I told you once—and this is the last time—Misty isn’t for sale.’

‘And what if the prince wants to buy her?’

Stunned by the idea, Bella gasped.

‘Don’t tell me that thought hasn’t occurred to you,’ Nero murmured in his lazy South American drawl. ‘And if the prince does want your mare, how can you refuse him?’ Nero gave her a moment to soak this up, before adding dryly, ‘Perhaps I can save the situation for you.’

Bella’s eyes narrowed. ‘What would it cost me?’

‘Oh, come now, Bella. You know Misty would be happier with me than the prince.’

Check. And mate. Nero had cut the legs from under her. Forget the threat he posed in the personal sense—polo ponies lived to play the game and Misty adored the high-powered cut and thrust of the international arena. It was common knowledge that the prince had practically retired from the game, which meant Misty would hardly be played at all, whereas as one of Nero’s pampered ponies, Misty would get every opportunity to indulge the passion the small mare lived for.

‘Having doubts?’ Nero prompted, pouncing on her hesitation.

‘None,’ she lied. ‘I only wish you had some scruples.’

Nero laughed. Throwing back his head, he revealed the long, firm column of his throat. ‘Your innocence is touching, Bella.’ Dipping his head, he stared her in the eyes to drive the point home. ‘I have no scruples when it comes to the game.’

Which game?

In the heat of the moment, she grabbed his arm. ‘Just keep the prince out of this.’ Feeling the heat and muscle beneath her hand, she quickly released her grip. Inhaling sharply, she shook herself round. Nero was an experienced man. You didn’t come up against him without getting burned. This was all a game to him and if she had any sense she’d put some much needed space between them…

Nero’s hand slammed against the wall at the side of her face.

‘Get out of my way,’ Bella raged with shock, green eyes blazing.

‘So I am right,’ Nero murmured, standing back.

‘Right about what?’ she said angrily, thoroughly discomfited.

‘There is fire beneath that ice of yours,’ Nero murmured.

Bella inhaled sharply as Nero stroked back a strand of her hair that had escaped its stern captivity. ‘You can stop congratulating yourself on your perception,’ she said coldly. ‘It doesn’t seem to have helped you where Misty is concerned.’

Nero’s mouth curved disconcertingly. ‘You seem very sure of that, Bella.’

‘I am.’ Her voice was shaking, but in some strange way she was enjoying this. Nero made her feel alive. She should thank him for goading her.

‘Temper, temper,’ Nero murmured, reading her.

She stood aloof, but they were still so close she could feel his heat warming her, and his spicy scent invading her senses and making her dizzy. Nero was enjoying this too, Bella realised with a rush of concern and excitement mixed.

And have you chosen to overlook that small thing called consequences?

How she hated her inner voice for intruding at a time like this, but she couldn’t ignore it. Her fighting spirit might have made a comeback, but her ability to trust a man still had a long way to go.




CHAPTER THREE


THE corridor was silent until the sound of doors closing made them both turn. ‘Oh, dear,’ Nero observed dryly, ‘it appears we’ve missed the recital.’

‘And what will the prince have to say about that?’ Bella murmured defiantly.

Nero sighed in response but didn’t look a bit repentant. ‘It seems we’re both in trouble.’

More than he could know, Bella thought, brewing up a storm.

Nero lounged back against the wall with footmen playing silent sentry as he waited for the music to end. The moment the doors were opened again, the prince summoned them both over.

She might as well give up now, Bella thought as the prince said how happy it made him to indulge a friend. She had just smiled her thanks when the prince made it clear that friend was Nero. ‘As you know, I have agreed to be the patron of Nero’s charity,’ the prince confided in her, ‘but as I have so many calls on my time I would like you, Bella, to represent me.’

‘Me, Sir?’ Of course she was surprised but, crucially, the prince had taken the decision about going to Argentina out of her hands.

‘I can’t think of anyone better qualified,’ he continued. ‘You are the best trainer I know, Bella. And when the polo season comes to an end, what better use of your time could there be than introducing more young people to the joys of riding? See what you can do over there, Bella—what you can both do,’ the prince added, gazing at Bella and Nero in turn. ‘Though I should warn you, Bella, that when you leave the northern hemisphere behind and experience the very different world you are going to, you might want to stay there. Passions run high on the pampas—isn’t that so, Caracas?’

‘Exactly so, Your Royal Highness.’ Nero’s amused gaze switched to Bella.

‘I know you’ll enjoy the teaching, Bella,’ the prince continued, turning serious again. ‘And if you would do this one thing for me, I would feel I was still there, in some way. I’m afraid I can’t spare anyone from my own staff. But who knows the relationship between man and horse better than you?’ he added persuasively. ‘It will mean you spending quite some time in Argentina, Bella, but I feel certain you will enjoy that as much as I did.’

How could she refuse now?

By taking in the triumph in Nero’s eyes, possibly? Bella thought tensely. Or the amused tug at the corner of his mouth? How she wished she could snatch some reason out of the air why she couldn’t go, but she couldn’t afford to risk offending the prince. There was no escape, she concluded. ‘I would consider it a great honour to assist you in any way I can, Sir.’

‘Excellent. I’m glad that’s settled,’ the prince said, beaming. ‘And now… If you will both excuse me?’

‘Of course.’ At last she could look at Nero. His expression was exactly what she had expected. And she hoped hers left Nero in no doubt that she would do this, but only because the prince had asked her. Working as an adviser for Nero’s charitable scheme was a privilege; she was too polite to even think of the word to describe working alongside a man who challenged every sensible boundary she had ever put in place.

‘You’ll be my guest, of course,’ Nero explained, all business now his triumph was in the bag. ‘Working and living on the pampas will be very different to anything you are used to here, but I am confident that in time you will grow to love it.’

In time? Bella swallowed deep. There were so many undertones to that apparently innocent statement she could only be glad the well-meaning prince hadn’t stayed to hear them. ‘I wouldn’t be able to stay very long…’

‘But long enough for the project to be established. The children need you, Bella.’

‘As does my yard and my horses. I have my own scheme, Nero.’

He checked her at every turn. ‘You’d break your word to the prince?’

‘Had you already decided this plan between the two of you? Was my agreement to the prince’s proposal merely a formality?’

Nero smiled faintly. ‘You’re so suspicious, Bella.’

‘With good reason, I think,’ she flashed.

‘I will hold myself personally responsible for maintaining the high standards you have set at your yard in the UK. As I told both you and the prince, I will send my most trusted team to ensure you have nothing to worry about—financially, or otherwise.’

Was he serious? The systems she had set in place to take care of things should she be incapacitated by illness, or be taken out of the picture in some other way, would ensure the yard ran smoothly. If she chose to do this, it was Nero she was worried about, working in close proximity to him being the major problem. ‘I have made enough money to keep everything ticking over nicely, thank you. I don’t need any help from you!’

‘Your reputation does you much credit, Bella,’ Nero snapped. ‘It seems you are your father’s daughter, after all.’

Bella blenched. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Nero’s powerful shoulders eased in a shrug. ‘You can’t make a decision and stick to it.’

‘How dare you—’

‘How dare I speak the truth?’ Nero’s eyes drilled into her. ‘If you break your word as easily as this, Bella Wheeler, I’m not sure I want you as part of my scheme.’

For a moment she didn’t trust herself to speak. Nero had blatantly manipulated her, but if she lost her temper and blackened her father’s memory even more she would never forgive herself. Taking a deep steadying breath, she buried her pride. ‘You give me your word that my work in England wouldn’t suffer?’

‘I do,’ Nero assured her in a clipped voice.

‘And my visit to Argentina would be conditional on coming home as soon as the scheme is set up.’

‘I can’t imagine why I would want you to stay beyond that.’

Her heart beat with outrage. Nero really knew how to cut her with words, she realised, smiling prettily for the prince as Nero escorted her out of the royal presence.

‘This is a win-win situation, Bella,’ Nero insisted as they strolled across the room. ‘I’m surprised you can’t see it.’

‘How do you reach that conclusion?’

‘The prince secures you as his representative. My project secures your experience. And you get to keep your pony.’

‘In spite of your scare tactics, my ownership of Misty has never been in doubt. So what do you get out of it?’ Bella demanded suspiciously.

‘I get to keep Misty on my yard—and even ride her—if you will allow me to?’

Nero’s tongue was firmly planted in his cheek, Bella suspected. And his face was close enough to make her lips tingle. ‘Do you really need my permission?’ she countered. And would she be able to resist seeing the world’s best polo player mounted on the best pony? Nero’s laughing eyes and the curve of his sensuous mouth reflected his confidence that this would be the case.

‘Most important of all, Bella, the children benefit,’ Nero said, turning serious.

And that was the one thing she couldn’t argue with. ‘Believe me, your project is the only reason I’m saying yes to Argentina.’

‘But of course,’ Nero agreed smoothly. ‘What other reason could there be for a respectable woman to visit my estancia?’

‘I can’t imagine,’ Bella said frostily, smiling her thanks as a royal footman opened the outer doors for them.

‘And where will you go now?’ Nero asked her as a driver brought his ink-black four-wheel-drive up to the foot of the steps for him.

‘Back to the stables for one last check on the horses.’

‘As I’m going there myself, why don’t I give you a lift?’

‘I prefer to walk, thank you.’

‘In an evening dress?’

‘It’s a pleasant evening, and I need the fresh air.’

‘Well, if you’re sure?’

‘I am.’ Her mind was still whirling with the fact that she had agreed of her own free will to walk into the lion’s den—and not here on familiar turf, but Argentina, and the wild, untamed pampas, where she would be staying on Nero’s estancia. She needed some fresh air to come to terms with that alone—lots of it.

‘Then good night,’ Nero murmured, his eyes glittering with triumph. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow when we will firm up your travel arrangements.’

Life had suddenly become very interesting, Nero reflected as he gunned the engine and drove away from the castle. Word had it that Isabella Wheeler lived in an ivory tower whose walls had never been breached, but he’d caught flashes of internal fires raging out of control. She reminded him of one of his spirited mares. They took their time to trust and were always looking for trouble, but that was because they had lost the freedom of the pampas, something they would never forget. What had Bella Wheeler lost that caused her such torment? Rumour said there was some mystery surrounding her. He could confirm that. Bella said one thing and her eyes, the mirror of Bella’s soul, said something different. She was lying by omission. She was hiding something big. Bella’s outwardly contained manner intrigued him almost as much as her unnaturally well-groomed appearance irritated him. It wasn’t often he met a woman who had her own life, her own successful career and wasn’t looking for anything material from him. Far from it, Nero reflected wryly. If he had to categorise Bella after getting to know her a little better, it would still be under the heading: Ice Maiden. He had never met a woman who went all out to make herself as unobtainable and as aloof as she could and, the irony was, Bella didn’t realise what a desirable prize that made her. He’d seen the way men looked at her as they dreamed of loosening her tight-fitting breeches. He knew how he felt about her. And, judging by the way Bella responded to him, she wasn’t exactly immune to him either.

He wanted her. She wanted him. There should have been a very easy solution, but there wasn’t, and he was going to find out why.

When she had satisfied herself that everything at the stables was as it should be, Bella’s thoughts turned to her grooms. Some of them were very young and she felt responsible for them. Hearing that a couple of the girls hadn’t returned to the small bed and breakfast where Bella had rented them rooms, she set out to look for them. She knew exactly where they would be. After the match a large, luxurious nightclub had set up camp in a marquee in the grounds. It was the place to be, the girls had assured her. Bella had seen pictures on the news and could understand their excitement. The huge white tent was decorated like something out of Arabian Nights with exotic silken drapes in a variety of jewel colours and dramatic water features shooting plumes of glittering spray into the air. A dance floor had been erected in the middle of the tent and one of the top DJs had been booked to keep the excitement of the polo match alive until dawn.

She was only halfway across the field when the bass beat started pounding through her. She was really out of her comfort zone. Even before the prince’s invitation, she had refused the young grooms’ invitation to join them. She had made all sorts of excuses—she was too old, too boring—and had laughed when they had protested she was neither. It was never easy to mix business with pleasure, even had she wanted to, but like an old mother hen, she was determined to make sure her girls were safe tonight.

She was off to a good start, having the right credentials, apparently. A member of the security staff recognised her and showed her straight in through the VIP entrance. The noise was amazing and there was such a crowd it was a while before she spotted the girls, by which time she had been sucked deep into the throng and men were speaking to her, offering her drinks and wanting to dance with her. She was here for business purposes, she told them frostily, tilting her chin at a determined angle as she headed for the girls.

The heat was overwhelming inside the tent after the chill night air. What with the press of people, the noise, the screams of laughter, the relentless beat, the flash of chandeliers and the glittering, garish splendour of it all, it was no wonder she was disorientated to begin with. Shaking off the faint sense of danger approaching, she pressed on, determined not to leave until she knew the girls had arranged to get home safely.

‘Bella!’ they exclaimed the moment they caught sight of her.

Before she knew it, she was on the dance floor.

‘Meet…’

She didn’t hear the rest—there were too many names and far too many new faces. She smiled and jigged around a bit, trying to string a few steps together on a heavily overpopulated dance floor on which there was hardly room to move, let alone dance. And she felt silly in her strait-laced dinner gown amongst so many cool young girls.

‘Are you sure you’re all okay?’ she asked, drawing one of them aside. ‘Have you made plans for later, or shall I call a taxi for you?’

‘My brother’s here,’ the girl explained, angling her chin towards a tall, good-looking youth. ‘No worries, Bella. Woo-hoo! Enjoy yourself!’ And, grabbing hold of Bella’s wrist, the girl dragged her back onto the dance floor.

And why not? Bella reasoned, glancing round. Everyone was here for a good time, and one dance wouldn’t hurt. She didn’t want to be a killjoy, and there was such an air of celebration it felt great to be part of it. There was certainly nothing to be concerned about—even if that persistent prickle down her spine refused to go away.

‘Come on—you can’t go now. You’ve only just arrived,’ the girls insisted, gathering round Bella, who was still glancing anxiously over her shoulder, hardly knowing what she was looking for. They formed a circle round her so she couldn’t escape, which made her laugh, and soon she was dancing again and everyone was shooting their arms in the air. After some persuasion, Bella did too. It was fun. It felt good to let go. Her hair tumbled down and swung around her shoulders. She tossed it back, making no attempt to tidy herself for once. She was just happy to lose her inhibitions—happy to lose herself in the music, and the moment.

Until it all came crashing down.

So this was where Miss Bluestocking hung out when she wasn’t preaching death to desire and all-natural female responses. Those responses were only curbed when he was around, it seemed. Her glorious hair was flying free, and was as spectacular as he had always imagined it would be, and she was dancing with all the abandon he had suspected she might possess—a fact that wasn’t lost on the men around her, though Bella appeared to be oblivious to the interest she was arousing.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea as he strode up to her. He stopped in the centre of the dance floor in front of the one person oblivious to his approach. Currently gyrating with her eyes closed and her hands reaching for the sky, the so-called Ice Maiden was mouthing lyrics to the raunchy track and grinding her hips in time to the beat with extremely un-maidenly relish. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he rapped for the sheer pleasure of seeing the shock in her eyes.

‘Nero!’

‘Yes, Nero,’ he confirmed. ‘So this is why you refused my offer of a lift.’

She pretended not to understand him, and was pleasingly flushed and unsettled as she smoothed back her hair. He showed her no mercy. Instead, he tugged her into his arms.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, struggling to find her severe face as their bodies brushed and finally connected.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he mocked as she let out a shocked breath. ‘I didn’t realise you had come here to lead a temperance rally. I thought you were dancing…’

She manoeuvred herself so their lower bodies were no longer touching. ‘You don’t understand—’

‘Oh, I think I do,’ Nero argued, drawing her close again as the uptempo track segued into a slower number. ‘I understand things such as this very well.’

‘I mean you don’t understand me,’ she said, going as stiff as a board. ‘This isn’t what it seems—’

‘This is exactly what it seems,’ he argued.

‘I’m only here to…’

‘Check out the ponies?’ he reminded her in a deceptively mild tone.

‘I’m here to check up on my girls,’ Bella argued hotly. ‘Not that it’s any business of yours what I choose to do with my free time.’

‘Not yet it isn’t.’

Nero’s powerful hands were on her arm and on her waist, making it hard to think straight. And he was radically changed. No more the suave aristocrat in an impeccably tailored suit, Nero had found time to change his clothes and in a tight-fitting top and well-worn jeans that sculpted his hard, toned muscles it was no wonder the crowds had parted for him. He looked like an invading warrior. His shoulders were massive. His biceps were ripped. His thick, inky-black hair tumbled over his brow, while his sharp black stubble seemed more piratical than ever, giving him the appearance of some brigand on a raid. Worse—he had caught her off guard, obliterating her carefully constructed image for the sake of one reckless dance.

‘So why are you here?’ she demanded, determined to turn the tables on him. ‘Looking for entertainment, Nero?’

‘I was looking for you,’ he fired back. ‘I expected to find you at the stables so we could discuss your travel plans for tomorrow. Imagine my surprise when one of the stable lads told me where you’d gone.’ As one inky brow rose it coincided with a move that brought them into even closer contact. ‘I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,’ he murmured as she gasped. ‘Imagine my surprise at finding Miss Butter-Wouldn’t-Melt in Sodom and Gomorrah.’

‘I was dancing with my friends!’

Nero shot a glance around at the men staring open-mouthed at Bella. ‘Really?’ He guessed none of them had seen Bella Wheeler breaking free before. The flickering light played into his hands, giving everything a hellish glow. Flashing and reflecting off the glitter balls hanging from the ceiling, the coloured lights made the mass of dancing figures seem contorted as if they were taking part in some primitive orgiastic rite. This was as far removed from the hushed sanctuary of the stable yard as it was possible to imagine. ‘I would never have guessed this was your scene,’ he murmured, twisting the knife. ‘I understood you preferred an innocent stroll in the clean night air.’

He loved the way she writhed in his arms. She even balled her tiny hand into a fist, but thought better of using it on him, and gradually, in spite of all her best efforts, the stiffness seeped out of her and she softened in his arms.

‘That’s better,’ he commented as she responded to the persuasive beat.

‘Don’t think I’m dancing with you because I want to.’

‘Of course you aren’t,’ he agreed, soothing her as they moved to the music. There were only two things a man and woman could do to a rhythm when they were as close as this, and dancing was step one.

She couldn’t have been more humiliated. Of all the things to happen, Nero discovering her midbellow in the middle of a raunchy song… How often did she let herself go?

Try never.

And that cringing feeling she got when some man she didn’t know touched her—where was that? Nero felt amazing, not that she was touching him unnecessarily. And then the music quietened and faded, and she waited for him to release her…

Was he going to kiss her?

Nero was staring down as if he might. They were alone in the middle of a packed dance floor. Closing her eyes, she drew in a shaking breath. Nero dipped his head…

The wait went on too long.

‘See you tomorrow, Bella.’

She was left standing in confusion. Nero had walked off. People were staring at her.

With as little fuss as possible, she left the floor, making sure she took a different route. He was playing games with her, and she had no one to blame but herself. She could have brought that encounter to an end at any time. Why on earth hadn’t she?




CHAPTER FOUR


IT WAS dawn when Nero rang the next morning. Bella was already at the stables. It had nothing to do with a restless night; this was her usual routine. ‘Yes?’ she said coolly. Answering the phone was easier than facing him.

‘Travel plans,’ Nero said briskly in the same no-nonsense tone.

‘I’m listening.’ And with some relief, she realised. After last night, she wouldn’t have been surprised if Nero had left the country without another word.

The conversation that followed never strayed from the point, with Nero doing most of the talking. Bella was a highly respected professional, but Nero was the owner of countless polo ponies as well as being a top international player, so their respective positions in the game put him firmly in the driving seat. ‘You will travel with me to Argentina,’ he informed her. ‘The horses will follow later when I’m satisfied everything is ready for them.’

Before she could ask if she would have any part to play in this, Nero went on to say that he would wind down in Buenos Aires before travelling to his estancia, which would give Bella chance to recover from the flight.

What form would Nero’s wind-down take? And how much did she hate herself for wondering if she would even see him in Buenos Aires? She was still brooding about it when she ate breakfast with a group of red-eyed grooms.

It was ridiculous to care. This was business, Bella told herself firmly as she paid the bill and checked out of the small bed and breakfast hotel where she and the grooms had been staying. And she could hardly ask Nero what his intentions were—unless she wanted to appear desperate, of course.

Nero had been all male disapproval last night, but a spark had flared between them. She had acted cool at the castle, only for him to discover her dancing the night away, apparently surrounded by men. He had chosen not to notice the girlfriends dancing with her. Nero hadn’t seen anything beyond the heat of the night, the throb of the music and the fact that everyone but him was in the same abandoned state. Nero would keep his word and honour their business arrangement, but he wouldn’t forget. That pride of his would never allow it.

As she walked up the steps of Nero’s private jet, Bella felt she was leaving everything certain behind and entering a world far beyond the scope of her imagination. There was a uniformed flight attendant to show her round while Nero joined his copilot in the cockpit. Everything in the interior of the plane was of the best—thick cream carpets, pale leather armchairs, just like a topclass hotel. Señor Caracas had his own private suite, the attendant explained, but Bella could take her pick from any of the other four options on board. She was still reeling from this information when the attendant added that Señor Caracas would meet her for breakfast the next morning as this was an overnight flight, and that in the meantime if she needed anything at all she only had to call him.

Was Nero avoiding her? Thinking back to her wild abandonment the previous evening, Bella went hot with embarrassment. It was so unlike her to expose herself like that—to become the butt of speculation.

But she’d done nothing wrong, Bella told herself firmly. Meanwhile, she should enjoy this. Her bedroom was small, but beautifully fitted with polished wood and a comfortable-looking bed dressed with crisp white linen. Thanking the attendant as he put her small suitcase down on the soft wool carpet, she vowed to put last night behind her and start again. This was just a short and fascinating interlude, after which she would return to her old life and Nero would carry on with his as if they’d never met.

And on that prescription she spent a restless night, tossing and turning, and waking long before the steward had arranged to call her. Having showered and dressed neatly in jeans and a long-sleeved top, she went to find breakfast. Nero was already lounging at the table in the salon, also dressed casually, his damp hair suggesting he was fresh from the shower. He greeted her politely above the hum of the engines and put down his newspaper.

Beyond that…nothing.

Nero was aloof, but knowing, Bella thought, flashing him a covert glance as she gave her order to the hovering steward. He had perfected the art of saying nothing and conveying too much, she thought, feeling her cheeks blaze red. Nero knew she had wanted him the other night—knew she had expected him to kiss her. It hadn’t changed his mind about their business arrangement, but it had changed Nero’s manner towards her, giving him more the upper hand than ever. He had formed an opinion about her and, mistaken though that opinion was, she didn’t feel like offering an explanation for having fun in her free time.

He stared at Bella thoughtfully. She was discreetly dressed with her hair scraped back from a make-up-less face. Did she think he was going to throw her to the floor and have his evil way with her? After the other night he’d got her message loud and clear, as if he needed a reminder. As if he was interested.

But he was interested, which gave him a problem. And the more Bella played him, the more interested he became.

Bella wasn’t sure what to expect when the plane landed. She had thought plenty about their destination and had bought every travel guide going, though beyond describing the pampas she had learned nothing about Nero’s ranch. She couldn’t wait to see where he lived and realised it was a measure of the power Nero wielded, as well as the security surrounding him, that only wild speculation could be rooted out regarding the lifestyle of one of the world’s most private men. The first surprise came when they landed. She hadn’t really thought about the practicalities of leaving a private jet. It proved to be a real eye-opener. Her passport was checked on board and a sleek black saloon was waiting for them on the tarmac at the foot of the steps.

The first thing Bella noticed as she exited the aircraft was how beautifully warm it was after the chill of London. The sky was blue and as she walked down the steps the spicy scent of Argentina blotted out the sickly fumes of aviation fuel. Waving the chauffeur away, Nero opened the passenger door for her and as soon as she was comfortably settled inside he shut the door and walked round to the driver’s side. The checkpoint at the exit might not have existed. The bar was quickly raised and they were waved on their way by a guard who saluted them as if they were royalty. Which, in many ways, Nero was, Bella reflected, shooting him a sideways glance. The king of polo was looking more than usually splendid this morning and, in spite of all her strongest warnings to self, she felt her senses roar. Dark and dangerous described Nero to a T and who didn’t like to dabble their toes in danger from time to time…?




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