Kept at the Argentine's Command

All she needed now was to keep her adrenal glands from overshooting the mark.

She fumbled in her bag for her handkerchief, soaked in lavender, peppermint and rosemary oil, and held it to her nose with one hand as she attached the earbuds to her mp3 player and pushed them into her ears with the other.

She shut her eyes and willed the meditation track she’d been listening to throughout the flight to drop her back into her own little world, where nothing could harm her.

Alejandro checked the connections and then opened the back door to grab a hand towel from the storage space under the front seat.

The little French princess was plugged into her music, a handkerchief at her nose to block out the odour of the sheep…the farmer…of anything that offended her delicate sensibilities. Which probably included him.

There’s a name for men who force themselves on unwilling women.

Bull.

He shut the rear door with a slam.

Lulu pulled the earbuds out and looked around with a start. She transferred her attention to the raised bonnet.

Which was when it occurred to her that he was at the wrong end of the car.

The sheep appeared to have moved on. Carefully she edged open the door and, when it felt safe, stepped out onto the road. Nothing happened. The ground didn’t tilt under her, and there was nothing but the smell of fresh grass and sheep manure and peat. She inhaled. It wasn’t bad.

Alejandro saw the flash of turquoise skirts disappear to the rear of the car. The boot came up.

He lowered the bonnet and came around to find Lulu wrestling the spare tyre out of the wheel well.

‘Should I ask what you’re doing?’

She ignored him, yanking at the tyre with both hands, moving it to the rim of the boot and then bouncing it onto the ground.

With a little lift of her chin she rolled it around to lean it against the side of the car.

‘I suppose a better question is do you know what you’re doing?’ he asked, his voice taking on a note of real amusement.

In answer, she retrieved the canvas bag tucked to the side of the wheel well, untied it and produced the wheel brace like a trophy, together with the jack and jack handle, which she laid out on the ground.

Alejandro gave her a grudging nod of respect and Lulu felt a small surge of confidence.

There was very little she had to thank her deadbeat dad for, but the fact that she could change a tyre, fix a leaky tap and unclog the drains in a bathroom were all down to a childhood when she hadn’t had a choice. Maman hadn’t been able to afford help—they’d had to do everything themselves.

‘You might want to take those shoes off first, querida,’ he suggested.

She gave that the disdainful look that comment deserved. ‘I’m an ex-ballerina. After pointes four-inch heels are nothing.’

Still, it was a bit of a wrestle to get the hubcap off and keep her balance, so he might have had a point, but once she had it free she used the wheel brace to loosen the nuts. She crouched down in a puff of satin and tulle underskirts and positioned the jack under the car.

She was aware that Alejandro was leaning over her for a closer look. Determined to do a good job, she began turning the jack handle and the car lifted with a slow creak.

When the wheel was clear of the ground she clasped it on either side and pulled.

The weight of it had her staggering backwards, and she gave an ‘ouf’ as Alejandro caught and steadied her.

Lulu had the oddest sensation that she would have liked to stay there, with his big solid body sheltering her and his hands sending all sorts of messages to parts of her she had grown used to ignoring.

‘That’s enough,’ he said in his deep voice. ‘I’ll finish this.’

For a moment Lulu had an altogether different image in her mind from the one she beheld as he let her go, stepped in and lifted the spare tyre with enviable ease, swiftly replacing all the wheel nuts with the brace and winding the jack in a reverse position to lower the car to the ground.

He’s turned me into a nymphomaniac, she thought. Who knew what he did to women who already liked sex?