The Gold Collection: Taming The Argentinian: A Taste of the Untamed / The Untamed Argentinian / Taming the Last Acosta. Susan Stephens
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you think you could stand there watching without me knowing?’ she said, bouncing by.
‘I thought I could try,’ he admitted wryly.
‘With a tread that’s so distinctive I could never mistake it, and the snorts of your fire-breathing stallion to confirm what I already know? Yep, you could do that,’ she teased him as she bounced past again.
The first thing he noticed was that she was smiling, and that she was radiant. ‘You seem to be enjoying yourself,’ he said.
‘I am,’ she enthused. ‘Alejandro is such a wonderful teacher!’
He exchanged a look with his elderly friend. Alejandro shrugged as if to say, I was here—where were you?
‘I want to ride your horse next,’ Grace called out to him from the far side of the corral.
‘In another universe,’ he called back. ‘My stallion’s far too big for you.’
‘No surprise there,’ she said with a laugh in her voice. ‘You could hardly be seen riding a donkey, now, could you?’
Alejandro laughed with Grace, and even Nacho’s lips tugged in a smile. The events of last night hadn’t dampened Grace’s spirits, apparently. He liked her spirit. It was hard not to.
‘Any chance we can get some work done today?’ he said, removing his bandana to mop the dust from his face.
‘The grapes aren’t going anywhere, are they?’ Grace demanded as he raked at his ungovernable hair. ‘And why are you trying to change the subject, Nacho? What about the challenge of me riding your horse? Or are you frightened I might show you how easy it is in front of Alejandro?’
He laughed. ‘You wish.’
‘You could lead us, if you don’t trust me not to gallop off with him. I’d love to try him, Nacho …’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Even my brothers are wary of this horse. He’s not a tame pony like the one you’re riding. He’s still half wild.’
‘Alejandro already explained that,’ she butted in. ‘He said your horse used to be the alpha male in a herd of Criollas until you tamed him.’
‘Criollas can never be completely tamed. He still thinks he’s the boss.’
‘Still,’ she said, ‘I bet he’d be kind to me. Shall we find out?’
‘Only I can ride him,’ he said—with all the arrogance of which an Acosta brother was capable, Grace realised, keenly tuned in to the nuances in every voice.
‘If that’s the case,’ she said innocently, ‘the only way I can ever hope to ride him is with you.’
He laughed again. ‘You must be joking—’
‘What’s your problem, Nacho? I realise the stallion is a mountain of muscle compared to me, while the pony I’m riding now is …’ she shrugged and pressed her lips together in a teasing, slanting smile ‘… also a mountain of muscle compared to me.’
Alejandro shot Nacho a sympathetic look before vaulting the fence and leaving him to it. The wily old stockman had left him with no option but to look after Grace. ‘You’re not even dressed for riding,’ he remarked disapprovingly.
‘Oh, come on, Nacho,’ she goaded him.
Grace was half his size, and slender as a willow. She was wearing a long, floating dress that couldn’t have been more unsuitable for riding if she’d tried, and only now he noticed she was barefoot.
And she was blind.
Grace Lundström was the most aggravating woman he had ever known—so perhaps it was time to show her the consequences of biting off more than she could chew.
‘Alejandro,’ he yelled, before the old gaucho disappeared. ‘Can you look after the dog for us?’
‘Sí, Señor Acosta,’ Alejandro replied, in an amused voice that prompted Nacho to narrow his eyes.
He turned back to Grace. ‘I’m prepared to take you for a short walk along the riverbank.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said—a little too sweetly for his liking.
‘But if you’re going to ride with me you do things my way,’ he warned. ‘Stay where you are. I’m going to help you dismount.’
‘Sí, Señor Acosta,’ she said, in a perfect take-off of Alejandro’s mocking voice.
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