Argentinian Billionaire (Blood and Thunder 2)

“A figure of speech,” she assured him with one of her paint-stripping looks. “And as far as I’m concerned, it’s the horse that’s done everything,” she insisted as she praised Lucifer with affectionate slaps on his neck. “I’ve just removed the obstacles that prevented him from showing his better side.”

“Well, whatever you’ve done, I appreciate it.”

“Thank you,” she said, pinking up.

“I’ll have to find a way to repay you,” he said as his horse nuzzled him as if thanking him for the lesson.

“I already receive a fair wage. Oh…” Rose’s brow puckered as she looked at him suspiciously, no doubt judging him on his reputation and their past encounters. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’ll tell you tonight.” He turned to leave.

“Tonight?” she called after him.

His stare raked her as he swung around. He wasn’t accustomed to being questioned. “Don’t tell me you have to wash your hair.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Then make sure it’s dry before seven. That’s when I’ll pick you up,” he explained. Raising a hand in farewell, he added, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Had Dante Formosa just asked her out on a date? Rose puzzled as she released Lucifer into his paddock.

Get real. He had her in mind for a postprandial shag.

Well, hard luck, sweet lips! I’m having an early night—for the sake of my peace of mind, as well as my chastity.

Dante’s problem was the same as Lucifer’s, Rose reflected as she watched Dante’s horse running free. They both had an overload of energy. Find Lucifer a mare and let him work out his frustration, and a good horse would be cured.

Would the same treatment work for his master?

Dante would never change, Rose concluded as she walked back to the stable block. Transform that player from a serial shagger into a half-reasonable human being and possible love interest? Not a chance. She might be good with horses, but she wasn’t a miracle worker. She would stay in and wash her hair. She’d wash her hair every night from now on until Dante got the message. She wasn’t an easy lay. She wasn’t any type of lay. She was here to work with the ponies, not to massage the egos of their masters. If Dante Formosa thought he could walk into her life in his overtight breeches and wreak havoc—he was probably right. Hadn’t he already done so? She was still thinking about him, and that was a very bad sign.

~~o0o~~

He parked the Harley outside the grooms’ accommodation and knocked on Rose’s door. It was a few minutes before seven in the evening. Freshly showered, he was keen to make a start of a night he anticipated would have a most satisfactory conclusion.

Silence.

He knocked a second time, more forcefully.

He wasn’t used to being kept waiting. He wasn’t used to making an effort where women were concerned. He was more used to fending them off. The window in Rose’s bedroom was open. The lights were on. The bed was made. Her clothes were put away. Everything was neat and tidy, but there was no sign of Rose.

She was probably putting the last touches to her appearance, he reasoned, smiling as he anticipated a fragrant Rose, her black hair loose and curling in wild abandon around her shoulders, clad in some flimsy, provocative number for their date.

She opened the door wearing pajamas, with a toothbrush in her hand.

He frowned. “Did I mention fancy dress?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I mentioned washing my hair— What are you doing?” she yelped.

Nothing more threatening than removing a smear of toothpaste from her mouth. “Adorable,” he mocked. “Shall we say ten minutes?”

“I don’t think you heard me,” she said, frowning. “As you can see…” She ran a hand down her faded pajamas. “I’m ready for bed.”

“I can work with that.”

“On my own,” she said firmly.

“Change of plan. We’ve got a club to go to.”