The Untamed Argentinian

Before she could ask if she would have any part to play in this, Nero went on to say that he would wind down in Buenos Aires before travelling to his estancia, which would give Bella chance to recover from the flight.

What form would Nero’s wind-down take? And how much did she hate herself for wondering if she would even see him in Buenos Aires? She was still brooding about it when she ate breakfast with a group of red-eyed grooms.

It was ridiculous to care. This was business, Bella told herself firmly as she paid the bill and checked out of the small bed and breakfast hotel where she and the grooms had been staying. And she could hardly ask Nero what his intentions were—unless she wanted to appear desperate, of course.

Nero had been all male disapproval last night, but a spark had flared between them. She had acted cool at the castle, only for him to discover her dancing the night away, apparently surrounded by men. He had chosen not to notice the girlfriends dancing with her. Nero hadn’t seen anything beyond the heat of the night, the throb of the music and the fact that everyone but him was in the same abandoned state. Nero would keep his word and honour their business arrangement, but he wouldn’t forget. That pride of his would never allow it.

As she walked up the steps of Nero’s private jet, Bella felt she was leaving everything certain behind and entering a world far beyond the scope of her imagination. There was a uniformed flight attendant to show her round while Nero joined his copilot in the cockpit. Everything in the interior of the plane was of the best—thick cream carpets, pale leather armchairs, just like a topclass hotel. Señor Caracas had his own private suite, the attendant explained, but Bella could take her pick from any of the other four options on board. She was still reeling from this information when the attendant added that Señor Caracas would mee

t her for breakfast the next morning as this was an overnight flight, and that in the meantime if she needed anything at all she only had to call him.

Was Nero avoiding her? Thinking back to her wild abandonment the previous evening, Bella went hot with embarrassment. It was so unlike her to expose herself like that—to become the butt of speculation.

But she’d done nothing wrong, Bella told herself firmly. Meanwhile, she should enjoy this. Her bedroom was small, but beautifully fitted with polished wood and a comfortable-looking bed dressed with crisp white linen. Thanking the attendant as he put her small suitcase down on the soft wool carpet, she vowed to put last night behind her and start again. This was just a short and fascinating interlude, after which she would return to her old life and Nero would carry on with his as if they’d never met.

And on that prescription she spent a restless night, tossing and turning, and waking long before the steward had arranged to call her. Having showered and dressed neatly in jeans and a long-sleeved top, she went to find breakfast. Nero was already lounging at the table in the salon, also dressed casually, his damp hair suggesting he was fresh from the shower. He greeted her politely above the hum of the engines and put down his newspaper.

Beyond that…nothing.

Nero was aloof, but knowing, Bella thought, flashing him a covert glance as she gave her order to the hovering steward. He had perfected the art of saying nothing and conveying too much, she thought, feeling her cheeks blaze red. Nero knew she had wanted him the other night—knew she had expected him to kiss her. It hadn’t changed his mind about their business arrangement, but it had changed Nero’s manner towards her, giving him more the upper hand than ever. He had formed an opinion about her and, mistaken though that opinion was, she didn’t feel like offering an explanation for having fun in her free time.

He stared at Bella thoughtfully. She was discreetly dressed with her hair scraped back from a make-up-less face. Did she think he was going to throw her to the floor and have his evil way with her? After the other night he’d got her message loud and clear, as if he needed a reminder. As if he was interested.

But he was interested, which gave him a problem. And the more Bella played him, the more interested he became.

Bella wasn’t sure what to expect when the plane landed. She had thought plenty about their destination and had bought every travel guide going, though beyond describing the pampas she had learned nothing about Nero’s ranch. She couldn’t wait to see where he lived and realised it was a measure of the power Nero wielded, as well as the security surrounding him, that only wild speculation could be rooted out regarding the lifestyle of one of the world’s most private men. The first surprise came when they landed. She hadn’t really thought about the practicalities of leaving a private jet. It proved to be a real eye-opener. Her passport was checked on board and a sleek black saloon was waiting for them on the tarmac at the foot of the steps.

The first thing Bella noticed as she exited the aircraft was how beautifully warm it was after the chill of London. The sky was blue and as she walked down the steps the spicy scent of Argentina blotted out the sickly fumes of aviation fuel. Waving the chauffeur away, Nero opened the passenger door for her and as soon as she was comfortably settled inside he shut the door and walked round to the driver’s side. The checkpoint at the exit might not have existed. The bar was quickly raised and they were waved on their way by a guard who saluted them as if they were royalty. Which, in many ways, Nero was, Bella reflected, shooting him a sideways glance. The king of polo was looking more than usually splendid this morning and, in spite of all her strongest warnings to self, she felt her senses roar. Dark and dangerous described Nero to a T and who didn’t like to dabble their toes in danger from time to time…?

‘Are you going to buckle your seat belt any time soon?’

Nero’s voice was rough and husky and she nearly jumped out of her seat to be caught in the middle of some rather raunchy thoughts about him. She buckled up without reply and gave herself a telling off. Better she leave the danger to those sophisticated women—the ‘stick chicks’ as they were known in polo circles. Far better for someone like her to stay in the stables with the ponies, Bella concluded wryly.

They were soon speeding down the highway towards the city. It was impossible to relax in such a confined space with Nero sitting beside her. He broke the silence only once to explain that he had booked her into a hotel in the centre of Buenos Aires where she would have the chance to recover from the thirteen-hour flight.

‘Thank you,’ she said, falling silent again. Nero didn’t want conversation, and she didn’t have the first clue how to start one with him. Without their mutual interest in horses or the kindly prince to prompt her, she was lost.

Nero drove as he played polo, at speed and with confidence, and there was enough testosterone bouncing round the small cabin of his high-powered car to drown in. If a man could increase his sex appeal just to taunt her, then that was exactly what Nero had done. The relentless march of his sharp black stubble had won the razor war and he looked every bit the tough, tanned lover, wearing jeans that clung to his hard-muscled thighs and sleeves rolled back on his casual shirt to expose his powerful forearms.

What would working for him be like? Bella wondered. Everything in Nero’s life was his way or no way. It remained to be seen what would happen when he worked alongside a woman who felt exactly the same way about her ponies.

As they drove on through the unprepossessing outskirts of the city Bella’s personal concerns shrank to nothing in the shadow of the shanty town stalking the highway. No wonder Nero wanted to share his good fortune with youngsters who had so little. What she was seeing now would make it easy to forget her personal feelings about Nero and throw everything she’d got behind his scheme.

‘It’s known as Villa 31,’ he said, noticing her interest in the depressing sprawl. ‘It’s been here fifty years or more, and it’s still growing. No point dwelling on it,’ he added. ‘We have to do something.’

Narrowing his eyes, Nero stared ahead as they sped past the chaotic urbanisation, but he was seeing a lot more than the road, Bella guessed.

It was late afternoon when they arrived in the centre of Buenos Aires, by which time shadows were falling over the graceful buildings. This was another side of the coin, Bella thought, as she peered out of the car window at the romantic soul of Argentina. No wonder Buenos Aires was known as the Paris of South America, or that Nero was so proud of his homeland. The sun was still putting up a good fight and as it sank had turned the ancient stone a rosy pink, though as the day waned she thought Nero seemed to grow in force and intent like a creature of the night. It was as if this return to his homeland had stirred fresh passion in him, and as it swirled around them in the confined space of the car it infected Bella too. She had never felt so acutely aware, or so excited by the prospect of what lay ahead of her.

Nero had joined the heavy traffic on a grand twelve-lane boulevard with a soaring monument at the end of it. ‘El Obelisco,’ he explained, his glance sparking a lightning flash down Bella’s spine. ‘The tapering obelisk celebrates four hundred years of the founding of our capital city. There is so much beauty here,’ he murmured, resting his stubble-shaded chin on one arm as he waited for the traffic to move. ‘As you will learn, Bella,’ he said, turning to lavish a longer look into her eyes, ‘Argentina is a country of huge contrasts and monumental passions.’

The passion she already knew about, but the pride in Nero’s voice made Bella envy his sense of belonging. She felt her body thrill at his attention, and it was all she could do to stop her imagination taking over. The most she could reasonably hope for, she told herself sensibly, was that this trip heralded a fresh start between them. If they could put their differences behind them she could experience something of the diversity of Argentina with Nero as her guide.

‘Everything is on such a vast scale,’ she commented, dragging her stare away from the huge phallic monument. It was a r

elief to let her gaze linger on what appeared to be a glorious fairy-tale chateau lifted straight out of some lush green valley in France.

‘That’s the French embassy,’ Nero explained. ‘It’s a fantastic example of Belle Epoque architecture, don’t you think?’