Kept at the Argentine's Command

Now, as she came apart around him, her legs wound tight around his waist, the little picture fell off the wall and she didn’t have it in her to care.

In the aftermath he tumbled her onto the bed and sprawled beside her, breathing heavily.

Lulu lay on her back, feeling the cool air rush over her overheated body, and wondered at this new world opening up to her.

Her body felt replete. Her heart was still pounding, but it was from excitement and exertion, not anxiety, and her mind seemed to be pumped full of happy chemicals, because all she could formulate on her face was a smile.

She turned her head and saw a look of similar satisfaction on Alejandro’s face as he looked at her.

She didn’t feel one bit shy.

‘You must love horses,’ she said.

He began to chuckle. ‘Where has your mind gone?’

She rolled herself onto him and propped herself up on his chest, his chest hair tickling her nipples. He bent one arm behind his head the better to look at her.

‘I want to know all about you,’ she confessed.

Pillow talk. It wasn’t something he usually did, but Alejandro found he really didn’t mind.

‘I’ll tell you about Luna Plateada—the beautiful stallion my great-great-grandfather brought with him to Argentina in the nineteenth century.’

‘Yes, please.’

‘The legend goes that the bloodline of that horse is still alive in our current champion.’

‘It sounds very romantic. Is it true?’

‘Practical. The story enhances the price of the stock we’ve bred from him.’

‘Still, it’s a good story.’

Lulu smiled at him, all big eyes and hot, shiny cheeks. Perspiration had stuck some of her curls to her temples and cheeks. She looked as if she’d had a wild time. He stroked them back.

‘Where did your great-great-grandfather come from?’

‘Curiously enough—here in Scotland. His name was Alexander Crozier—he added the “du” after he became a land baron.’

‘That sounds like another romantic story.’

‘To tell the truth, he was most likely a swindler and a gun-for-hire. I suspect the family legend of him washing up in Buenos Aires and meeting my great-great-grandmother, being hit by a grand passion and winning her by building up a successful ranch has more to do with his ambitions. He probably fought and stole and bribed his way into a position where he could marry into one of Buenos Aires’s oldest families.’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘Let’s just say the du Croziers haven’t been known for their moderation since. It had to come from somewhere, novia.’

‘What does that mean—“novia”?’

‘Sweetheart.’

‘Oh.’

She looked adorably flushed, and the urge to stop talking and delve back into her sweet embrace had him shifting beside her.

But he knew she had to be sore, or would be sore come the morning, because he suspected she’d been a little stretchy with the truth.

He’d never been with a virgin, but he would put money on this being her first time and it made him feel responsible for her in some way—or that was as close to his feelings as he wanted to investigate.