Kept at the Argentine's Command

The last three weeks had been the happiest of her life. Alejandro had taken her with him wherever he went and, although she’d kept close to him, she had grown accustomed to the open spaces around her and was secure in the knowledge nothing was going to come cycloning out of that endless blue horizon to sweep her up.

If it did Alejandro would probably punch it.

The thought made her smile as she headed for the car.

The horse-riding lessons had developed into her doing a little gentle riding up and down the corral every day. He’d taken her about Luna Plateada in a Jeep, introduced her to the hands, to the gauchos, to the rhythms of the life they lived here.

She had seen that his heart was not so much with the estancia but with the horses and the breeding programme. Besides the Criollos he had interests in a stud in the Caucasus, with Khaled Kitaev, where they were breeding mountain Kabardins.

She’d spent many nights lying beside him, listening to him musing over breed characteristics. She knew more about the oestrous cycles of mares than she really thought she ought to. But she liked the way he grew so passionate on the subject—as if it had his heart and soul in a way she suspected neither polo nor this ranch did.

The ranch was something he held in trust for the next generation.

It wasn’t really about him.

Polo, she suspected, was his stress-breaker.

It was the horses that mattered—they were his passion.

As she was driven past the stables and they headed out for the highway Lulu pressed her hot cheek to the cold glass of the window and let the truth sink through her.

She was in love with him, and the only thing that mattered now was working out how to make this work.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

AS HE ATTACHED his gear Alejandro was only too aware of the crowds outside. He couldn’t stop thinking about Lulu. Out there. Possibly in the sick bay. He blanked it and told himself she was in good hands with Xavier. If she was feeling in any way under pressure she would do what she needed to do. If he’d learned anything it was that Lulu was superb at self-care.

But he hadn’t been parted from her for even a day since he’d brought her to the estancia, leaving aside the twenty-four hours he’d spent in Buenos Aires at the beginning of her visit, and it felt a little strange to be on his own again.

Weird.

He focused on what he needed to do, but in the back of h

is mind as he cruised the stable where his mounts were tethered he knew these last three weeks had been the best of his life.

When Khaled had rung and said he was getting married he’d thought his old friend was loco. But right now he understood that psychology. Keeping Lulu on a short leash appealed greatly, and putting a ring on her finger was the best way of ensuring that. She was definitely an old-fashioned girl. A wedding ring would have special properties for her. She wouldn’t stray. She would stay with him. He could have her for ever.

Only experience told him that nothing lasted. Not mothers or wives. You thought you had something in your grasp, but if it didn’t want to stay you had nothing.

The night after Lulu’s confession in the stables he’d asked her over an alfresco dinner on the terrace how she managed at L’Oiseau Bleu, and he’d put the information she’d given him into practice.

‘When I started, I had Gigi with me. We learned about the place together—how it works, what goes on—so there were no surprises.’

This he knew was key. Routine was everything for Lulu.

‘There’s a strict schedule for every show and that helps a lot. Also, you’re in a team. I do have limitations, but nobody could link them to my anxiety condition.’

She’d looked so serious about this he had immediately wanted to confront anyone who questioned her over it.

‘As it is, I’ve been offered solo roles so many times I can’t count, and the money would be so much better.’ She’d given a little Gallic shrug. ‘Mais cela est impossible! I feel more comfortable in the chorus line. Besides—’ She’d broken off, suddenly looking a little shy.

‘Besides…?’

‘The solo roles are nude.’

‘Nude?’ Alejandro had put down his knife and fork. ‘You mean you go on stage…?’

‘Topless.’