Читать книгу The Gold Collection: Taming The Argentinian - Susan Stephens - Страница 15

‘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 realised 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 away 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.

She was soon stamping furiously like everyone else. She had never felt so abandoned and free. Her legs were swimming in warm juice and the sensation was erotic and amazing. Nacho should have warned her—but would she have come if he had?

As Nacho let go of her for a moment, to tug off his juice-drenched shirt, she realised her own blouse was soaked through with juice. She could only imagine how transparent it must be. And now her overly sensitive hands were free to roam Nacho’s warm, naked skin. She could feel a wealth of muscle beneath her fingertips, and his heart throbbing strongly in his chest.

‘You’ll fall if you don’t hold on,’ he warned when she quickly drew her hands away.

She’d fall if she did, Grace thought.

He’d seen the other men looking at Grace with hunger in their eyes, and he felt his power surge even higher as she clung to him. He had left the other men in no doubt that he was the one Grace trusted to keep her safe.

The music stopped as suddenly as it had begun and a hush fell over the crowd. He knew what would happen next—though Grace had no idea why he was suddenly holding her so firmly. A few seconds passed, and then a drum began to beat. The sound was little more than a seductive whisper to begin with, but then it grew louder and faster, until everyone was stamping their feet to the same heated rhythm, and the air was charged with a primal energy that made his own senses sharpen in response.

More and more couples were leaving the vat, Grace noticed. There was a lot more room for manoeuvre, and not half so much yelling and laughter.

‘I’ll need at least an hour in the shower after this,’ she told Nacho, laughing. The evening was coming to an end and she was reluctant to leave. Something had changed between them. Barriers had come down. Though she guessed she looked an incredible mess. She was sticky with juice, and without Buddy or her stick she had no alternative but to rely on Nacho to take her back home. ‘But I don’t want to spoil the evening for you,’ she insisted. ‘Why don’t you come back to the party after you’ve walked me home?’

‘Why would I do that?’ he said. ‘Come on, Grace. We’re leaving.’

She liked that he made no fuss. Nacho just swung her into his arms and lifted her over the side of the vat. Then somehow he was there to steady her on the other side. She paused to straighten her skirt while Nacho found her sandals, but as he began to lead her away she felt disorientated. ‘Where are we going?’

A wooden door creaked open in front of her and cool air hit her face. They were outside and away from everyone, with cobbles beneath their feet. And now they were crossing an open space that had to be big because all sound was lost on the wind.

‘Where is this?’ she said. ‘A hay barn?’ she guessed as Nacho opened another door. ‘What are we doing here?’

‘Even you can’t be so naïve,’ Nacho murmured.