The Gold Collection: Taming The Argentinian: A Taste of the Untamed / The Untamed Argentinian / Taming the Last Acosta. Susan Stephens
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are you calling me in the middle of the night?’
‘Is it?’ he said, only now realising that with his head full of Grace he hadn’t considered the time difference. ‘Don’t you have a baby to feed? What are you complaining about?’
‘You’re all heart, Nacho. Thanks to you, said baby is now wide awake and howling.’
‘So go feed him,’ he said as lusty screams threatened to deafen them both. ‘But before you go tell me more about Grace—’
‘What do you want to know?’ his sister demanded impatiently. ‘That Grace is the bravest woman I know? That she copes with what’s happened to her without complaint? I hope you’re not being mean to her, Nacho. She needs our love—’
‘Your love, maybe.’
‘Just try and be kind to her, Nacho.’
‘What do you take me for? I’m curious about her, that’s all, and if I can’t ask you—’
‘If this is curiosity you’ve picked a strange time to call. Your interest in Grace sounds more like unfinished business to me.’
‘Dios, Lucia. I hardly know the girl.’
‘And you hardly want to take on more responsibility—which is how you must see it,’ his sister said more gently.
‘My interest in Grace is purely professional. I need to know if she can do the job or if I must call someone else.’
‘Right,’ Lucia agreed sarcastically. ‘You usually canvas my opinion on a member of your staff in the middle of the night. How could I have forgotten that?’
‘All I’m saying is, you could have warned me.’
‘What?’ Lucia snapped, all fired up now. ‘That my blind best friend is now a sommelier, working for one of the most respected wine merchants in the world?’
‘There’s no need for you to be like that.’
‘And there’s no need for you to sound so prejudiced when I know you’re not.’
‘I didn’t call you for a lecture, Lucia. As it happens, Grace did very well with the wine tasting, but how can she be expected to inspect a vineyard when she can’t even see it?’
‘I’m no expert, Nacho, but I think you should give her a chance.’ There was a pause, and then Lucia said, ‘Grace has really got to you, hasn’t she?’
He huffed an incredulous laugh. ‘In twenty-four hours?’
‘Is that how long you’ve been back?’ Lucia exclaimed. ‘If you hadn’t told me I would have thought you and Grace had been together for months.’
‘Goodbye, Lucia.’
‘You’d better not hurt her, Nacho …’
‘Who do you think you’re talking to?’
‘My uncompromising brother. Just don’t ruin things before they have a chance to begin—’
‘I can assure you that nothing’s starting,’ he cut in, and as the infant’s wails reached a crescendo he judged it the perfect time to end the call.
Was he prejudiced against Grace?
No. He was a realist, Nacho concluded, loosening the reins to allow his stallion to pick its way downhill.
Could he work with Grace?
Of course not. But the annual grape-treading celebration was a valuable sales tool. She should not miss it. There weren’t many vineyards left that stuck to the old ways, and in today’s competitive market they needed all the differentials they could get. He was confident she’d be impressed. Each year at Viña Acosta a small amount of fruit was held back and processed in the old way. For luck, the old timers always said, and who was he to argue? It was good for morale, and everyone loved a party.
Now they were back on level ground he urged the stallion into a gallop. As he leaned low over the big horse’s straining neck he wondered what Grace would make of such a high-octane event being used as an excuse for every type of excess. Would Grace loosen up and join in, or would she hold back and resist getting half-naked and drenched in juice?
He’d hold her back, he concluded as his senses roared. His imagination was enough to tell him that he couldn’t possibly expose Grace to the sultry light of evening in the grape-treading vat, where everyone was wild and free. Grace, with her long blonde hair gleaming in the moonlight and her skin damp from her endeavors and sweet grape juice? Never …
Grace, her face flushed with anticipation as she moved into his arms …
She was here, he told himself impatiently, blanking the X-rated images from his mind as he straightened up and reined in, and Grace wanted research. He’d give her research. And, if he was looking for more excuses, escorting Grace to the celebration was the least he could do for Lucia’s best friend while she was here.
Okay, she was going to be sensible. Well, most of the time. But when the darkness grew heavy and weighed her down she knew from bitter experience that the only way to rise up and find the light again was to do something different—something that really challenged her and took her mind off things. And she desperately wanted to ride a horse. She always had.
So what was stopping her? When would she get a chance like this again? What was the harm in asking? The head honcho could only say no, Grace reasoned as Buddy led her across the road towards the corral, where the men were talking. She couldn’t hear Nacho’s voice, so that was good. She wasn’t going to make a complete fool of herself in front of him, and the banter between the men sounded good-natured.
‘Buenos Diás,’ she called out with a smile.
‘Buenos Diás, señorita. How may I help you?’
An older man was speaking, and what her shadowy vision couldn’t see her mind supplied. He didn’t stand too close, which she liked, and when he shifted positions she heard the chink of spurs. Her keen nose picked up the scent of tobacco and horse, along with leather and the smell of clean clothes dried in the sunshine. She could feel the older man’s stare, steady on her face, and sensed it lacked opinion or censure. He was merely interested and friendly, and she thought he seemed kind.
‘I’d like to ride a horse,’ she said, coming right out with it. Angling her head, she put a wry expression on her face as she braced herself for refusal.
‘No problem,’ he said. ‘Have you ever ridden a horse before?’
‘A donkey at the seaside,’ she admitted with a grin.
The elderly gaucho laughed at this. ‘Then it will be my honour to teach you how to ride one of our gentle Criolla ponies, señorita.’
‘Do you mean you’re all right with it?’
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ he said.
Grace exhaled shakily. ‘No reason at all,’ she said.
He had just crested the hill when he saw Grace riding in the paddock. His heart took a leap as he quickly evaluated the risk at the scene. Having reassured himself that Alejandro, his head man, was riding shotgun alongside Grace, while Buddy rested patiently in the shade, he realised he hadn’t felt so anxious for a long time.
He didn’t slow his pace until he was close enough for Grace’s pony to smell the stallion, at which point he reined in because he didn’t want to spook it. Grace was concentrating, her mouth fixed in a determined line, as Alejandro issued instructions. As she squeezed her knees, urging the pony from a brisk walk to a bouncing trot, he grimaced, imagining that at any moment she might be thrown off.
Dismounting at speed, he lashed his reins to the fence.
‘Nacho … Is that you?’
He felt