The Untamed Argentinian. Susan Stephens
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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