The Gold Collection: Taming The Argentinian: A Taste of the Untamed / The Untamed Argentinian / Taming the Last Acosta. Susan Stephens
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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.
‘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