Читать книгу The Gold Collection: Taming The Argentinian: A Taste of the Untamed / The Untamed Argentinian / Taming the Last Acosta - Susan Stephens, Susan Stephens - Страница 13

SERIOUSLY terrified at the thought of riding Nacho’s horse, she was still serious about going ahead with it—if only to prove to herself that she could. Plus this was the ideal opportunity for her to prove to Nacho that being blind didn’t put a curb on what she could do.

For once she obeyed him, and remained motionless in the pony’s saddle until she felt the brush of his hands as he took hold of her reins. Even that brief contact was enough to send heat ripping up and down her spine in yet another reminder that the one mistake she was making was to think she could remain immune to the stallion’s master.

‘Don’t move until I tell you to move,’ Nacho instructed, ‘and then you must do exactly as I say.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘If you can’t take this seriously—’

‘But I am taking this very seriously, indeed,’ Grace protested.

‘I said wait,’ he ground out as she slipped her feet out of the stirrups. ‘I’ll lift you clear. And don’t kick the horse on your way down.’

‘If I could see him—’

‘I’ll be your eyes. Now, slide into my arms,’ Nacho instructed, without a moment wasted on pity or scorn.

Her heart was hammering nineteen to the dozen, which made her think that this was one time when not being able to see was a distinct advantage. Launching herself into the unknown, she found herself in Nacho’s arms.

Whatever she’d imagined it might feel like, she’d been wrong. Her imagination was in no way equal to the task. Sliding down such a wealth of muscle was like nothing else on earth, added to which Nacho’s handprints were now branded on her body. And, yes, it would be safer to concentrate on more mundane things, like business, but mundane things were a little short on the ground right now, and all she was aware of was Nacho throwing off testosterone like a Catherine wheel threw off sparks.

‘Steady,’ he murmured.

‘Me or the horse?’

She gasped when he caught her round the waist, and the next thing she knew she was airborne.

‘I’m lowering you gently into the saddle in front of me,’ Nacho explained. ‘So we don’t give the horse a shock.’

What about her shock?

As if her swift rise into thin air hadn’t been alarming enough, she now had her buttocks rammed up hard against Nacho. Fighting the urge to arch her back and feel more of that hard body against hers was the least of her worries. Nacho had somehow swept her skirt back as he lifted her, so now she was sitting astride his horse with her dress rucked up to her knickers and her confidence evaporating rapidly.

‘I thought you were going to lead me along the riverbank,’ she protested.

‘You thought wrong,’ he said, and with a click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth they were off.

At the stallion’s first surge forward she was sure she would crash to the ground. She had never felt that much power beneath her before, and not knowing how far she had to fall made each rolling step the horse took absolutely terrifying.

‘Are you okay, Grace?’ Nacho demanded, tightening his grip on her.

‘I think so …’ Her voice sounded small and feeble, and he must have felt her tension, but it wasn’t just fear of falling that had turned her into such a coward. It was Nacho’s primitive energy that seemed to be throbbing through both of them.

She could feel his heart thudding against her back, slow and strong, and his hard muscles shifting behind her. The warmth of his body against hers was intimate beyond anything she could imagine. She sat forward a little, to put some distance between them. For all his wealth and polish Nacho exuded an earthy, animalistic quality that made her ultra-aware of him. She could understand now why women wanted to go to bed with him and why men feared him.

And no one with any sense got this close to danger without expecting to get burned.

Her inner voice of caution might advise that, but clearly she had no sense, Grace concluded, because she was starting to enjoy the sensation. And, as far as the riding went, she was determined to make a go of it.

‘What do you need me to do?’

‘As little as possible,’ Nacho said. ‘Just relax. If you tense up the horse will feel it and become restless. You have to go with me—move with me.’

Really …?

With her back to him she was free to smile, and then, concentrating, she tried again.

‘That’s better,’ Nacho approved when she started to get the hang of it.

Grace’s legs were slender as a newborn fawn’s, but there was nothing weak or unsteady about her. There was a line between weakness and fragility, and no one would ever mistake Grace for being weak. His mother had been weak. He could see that now. Though nothing excused what he had done. He had never turned his back on anyone before or since the fateful day of the tragedy, and he never would again.

‘Is this right?’ Grace asked, jolting him back to the present.

‘Just about perfect,’ he confirmed.

She was riding really well, but then no one could ever accuse Grace of shirking a challenge. He could see now that since her illness she had worked hard to prove herself. She had retrained and learned all sorts of new skills. She had proved herself at the wine tasting, and again with his gauchos, and now she had somehow talked him into letting her ride his best horse. Perhaps most surprising of all was the way the big stallion was picking his route with more care than usual, as if he knew he had precious cargo on board.

If his brothers could only see this, Nacho reflected with amusement.

‘Riding is even more fun than I thought!’ Grace exclaimed.

He felt the now customary bolt of shock and pain when she turned her lovely face his way and her gaze flew somewhere to the right of his face.

‘There’s so much power beneath us,’ she enthused. ‘This is just wonderful, Nacho.’

Even as he warmed inside he remembered the harm he could do to those he cared about. ‘Sit straight,’ he rapped, mentally pulling back to concentrate on the practicalities of teaching Grace to ride. ‘You shouldn’t be looking at me. You should be looking forward, between the horse’s ears.’

‘If I could look anywhere,’ she corrected him humorously.

Vicious curses invaded his head. ‘Sorry—’

‘Don’t be,’ she said. ‘Riding is too much fun for us to worry about anything. Who cares?’

That Grace had lost her sight? He did. ‘Feel for his ears, Grace. Good. Now, that’s where you should be pointing your nose.’

She started to laugh. ‘Are you saying I’ve got a big nose?’

She had a perfect nose. ‘Line up your body,’ he instructed. ‘Not stiffly like that,’ he complained with an impatient sigh. ‘Draw yourself up and relax into his gait. That’s better. Allow your hips to move easily back and forth in rhythm with his stride. Good. Well done, Grace.’ She was a natural. ‘Did anyone else ever take you riding?’ he asked, feeling a stab at the thought that there might be someone in her past who had done so.

‘A man once,’ she mused, leaning back against him as she appeared to think about it.

‘What man?’ he said angrily, moving away.

‘A man at the seaside.’

‘The seaside?’ he cut in suspiciously, as visions of sun-drenched beaches and handsome polo players on half-wild ponies sprang to mind.

‘The man at the seaside who ran a team of donkeys,’ she said.

‘Are you teasing me?’

‘Maybe,’ she admitted, and there was a smile in her voice.

He was relieved. There was no getting away from it. He was very much relieved.

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he urged the stallion on—which gave him every excuse to hold Grace more firmly. ‘Trust me,’ he said as she grabbed a hank of mane. ‘You’re safe with me, Grace.’

Safe with Nacho? Was he mad? Was she mad, for that matter? And a ragdoll pegged out in a gale would have more poise than she had right now. She was bumping up and down on the saddle like a sack of potatoes.

‘I’m going to help you to move correctly, Grace.’

Thank goodness he couldn’t see the expression on her face now, she thought.

‘You’re not frightened, are you?’ he said, feeling her tension.

‘No,’ she protested. But she was. She was frightened of the way Nacho made her feel … his touch on her body, his breath on her skin; the way she felt so safe, cocooned in the warmth of his arms. She could so easily get used to this—and that would only end in heartbreak.

At Lucia’s wedding, when Nacho had singled her out, her head had started spinning with wild, romantic nonsense. In the cool light of day she had realised it was pure nonsense without any of the romance. And now Nacho was only being kind to his sister’s blind friend. She shouldn’t read anything more into this riding lesson.

‘You’re doing really well,’ he said, loosening his grip. ‘You’re on your own now, Grace.’

‘What?’ she exclaimed, a bolt of terror running through her. ‘I’m not ready to go it alone.’

Nacho said nothing; he just let her go, which was really scary in her darkness. She just had to trust he wouldn’t let her fall.

It was completely unnerving at first, but she was so determined to do it that gradually she found her balance, and once she’d done that she started enjoying herself. Turning her face to the sun, she sighed with pleasure.

‘Buddy’s come to join us,’ Nacho remarked. ‘Shall we give him a run?’

‘Oh, please,’ she agreed, sitting up straight again. ‘Let’s go faster.’

The speed, the wind in her hair, cantering across the countryside with Nacho—all of it was exhilarating. And also a pointed reminder that she was a novice where so much in life was concerned, while Nacho was notoriously the master of all things with risk attached. She was sexually inexperienced. He was not. Yes, she’d had a few attempts at relationships, but had never seen what all the fuss was about. And there had been piano practice in her young life, followed by hard work when she was older, leaving barely any time to spare for thoughts of romance.

But she could think about romance now. With the stallion’s hooves pounding beneath her it was impossible to think of anything but romance. She could be galloping across the desert with a sheikh, or riding into the sunset with a cowboy. Or, better still, Grace concluded, smiling to herself, she could be riding across the pampas with Nacho.

He had nudged the horse into an easy canter, knowing the swaying rhythm would be easier for Grace to handle than a high-stepping trot. And it was. But with Grace pressed up against him and all that power harnessed beneath them there was fever in his blood.

‘Work your hips back and forth,’ he said, trying to concentrate on teaching Grace to ride. ‘You need to loosen up, Grace.’

She took him at his word and leaned her head against his chest in a gesture that was both intimate and trusting, surprising him again.

‘Is Buddy okay?’ she said, sitting up just as he was getting used to having her resting against him.

‘He’s fine.’ Reining in, he slowed the stallion to a walking pace. ‘Did Alejandro mention the grape-treading to you tonight?’

‘He did say something about a party,’ she admitted. ‘He also said he hoped I’d be there. But I suppose I’d need an invitation for that …’

He laughed. ‘Stop fishing, Grace. You know you’ve got one.’

‘I know why,’ she said. ‘You’re hoping I might use the event in our forward publicity if Elias decides to go ahead and place an order.’ She laughed. ‘But if you think my attendance tonight guarantees that order, think again. I’ve got a lot more to see.’

‘Are you playing hardball with me, Señorita Lundström? Because if you are I shall have to frighten you into submission. Are you ready for more speed?’

‘Try me,’ she said. ‘You don’t frighten me, Señor Acosta.’

As she spoke she turned, and as she turned his gaze slipped to her lips. ‘At least allow me to try,’ he murmured.

He had to admire Grace when the stallion bounded forward and she started whooping with excitement. ‘Does nothing frighten you?’ he called against the wind blowing in their faces.

‘Only the darkness,’ she yelled back, making him rage inwardly against the cruel fate that had left her blind.

He reined in at the guest cottage, where he told Grace to wait while he dismounted so he could help her down. But, as he might have known, she didn’t wait and somehow managed to slip to the ground without his help, only staggering slightly as she regained her balance.

‘Thank you,’ she said formally, holding out her hand for him to shake. ‘That was wonderful, Nacho. And now I’ve taken up enough of your time.’

She was dismissing him. ‘Alejandro has hung Buddy’s harness on the fence,’ he said. ‘It’s over there to your right—’

‘No use pointing, Nacho.’

‘Grace, I—’

‘I know. You’re sorry.’

‘Hanging from the main post,’ he explained patiently.

‘What time will you call for me tonight?’ she said, finding the harness.

‘Same time as last night.’

‘Fine by me,’ she said. ‘Thanks again for the riding lesson.’

‘There’s just one thing.’

‘Which is?’

‘Buddy can’t come tonight.’

‘That’s okay,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I was expecting it.’

‘Until tonight, Grace …’ He vaulted into the saddle.

‘Until tonight,’ she said, turning for the door.

Being without Buddy for one night wouldn’t be a problem, Grace reflected as she let herself into the house. Even back home there were some places he couldn’t go. She kept the hated stick for those occasions. It was collapsible, and fitted in a suitcase, which was about the best that could be said for it …

Nacho hadn’t gone yet. She could hear his horse snorting and stamping. Nacho must be watching her. It made her nervous.

As she took the key out of the lock she stepped back and almost tripped over Buddy. She swore like a trooper and then heard Nacho laugh. ‘All right for you,’ she called out.

‘Dios, Grace,’ he shot back, ‘I thought you were so well behaved, but now I realise it must have been you who led my sister astray.’

She laughed. ‘Sussed. Decorum was never my strong point. Talking of which—what do I wear tonight?’

Nothing would be his preference. ‘I’ll speak to someone,’ he said, ‘and I’ll have some suitable clothes delivered to the cottage for you to wear.’

‘Really?’ she called excitedly. ‘Great.’

The thought of Grace in traditional clothes suitable for the grape-treading gave him quite a buzz as he rode back to the hacienda. He reflected on the day’s events. How it had made him feel having Grace pressed up close against him on the horse. How it would feel tonight, escorting her to the grape-treading. Had he lost it completely, inviting her? Yes, it was a good research opportunity for Grace, but it would be a lot more than she’d bargained for. The annual wine-fest was hardly a sedate affair. Treading the grapes dated from antiquity—pagan times, before civilisation came along to spoil the fun and dictate restraint. It wasn’t unusual for the next working day to start at noon, if at all—and those who arrived alone invariably left in pairs.

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.