The Untamed Argentinian

Nero held the door for her and as she passed in front of him he made her feel so very small and vulnerable. Why must every part of her respond to him so urgently? Her mind must remain set on business, she told herself firmly.

‘This is my den,’ Nero explained, showing her into a smaller wood-panelled room. ‘But you must make yourself at home here.’

Bella felt her smile must be little short of incredulous. Making h

erself at home here would take a little longer than she intended to spend in Argentina. ‘I don’t know how you can ever bear to leave,’ she exclaimed impulsively.

‘That’s only because you haven’t seen my place in Buenos Aires yet,’ Nero informed her dryly.

And was never likely to, she thought. Hey ho.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘YOU must be hungry,’ Nero suggested, leading the way to the kitchen. ‘I know I am,’ he said.

Nero’s lips were pressing down so attractively she would have followed him anywhere, Bella mused wryly.

The kitchen took up a large part of the ground floor, and was another design triumph. State-of-the-art appliances sat comfortably next to well-worn settles and pieces of riding equipment. And, judging by the boots, gloves and polo helmet resting on a small side table next to an easy chair, this was the heart of the home and Nero’s preferred space. The seat and the back of the chair wore the imprint of his body, Bella noticed, dragging her gaze away.

‘What do you think?’ Nero asked.

Censored. Dreams she could have, but she wasn’t sharing them with him. ‘Something smells good,’ she said, inhaling appreciatively. And such smells they were—aromatic broth steaming busily on top of the old range cooker, the scent of freshly baked bread and ground coffee. Bella’s mouth was watering by the time María and Concepcion had invited them to sit at the large scrubbed table.

‘Perhaps you would like María to show you to your bedroom first—so you can freshen up before you eat?’ Nero suggested. ‘Whenever you’re ready, come down, we’ll eat and then I’ll take you on a tour of the stables.’

‘Perfect. Though the bunkhouse would suit me fine,’ Bella protested as María led the way into the hall.

‘The bunkhouse?’ Nero raised an amused brow. ‘I’m not sure the gauchos would take too kindly to you moving in. And how could I deny María and Concepcion the pleasure of your sunny nature?’ he added dryly.

Was she really such a stuck-up, starchy old maid? She must appear so, Bella realised. If only she could learn how to relax without giving Nero the wrong idea.

Her bedroom was beautiful, full of the scent of flowers freshly picked from the garden and deliciously feminine. She would never have indulged herself to this extent with all the lace and frills and flowers at home. It proved to be another occasion when she had to drag herself away.

She hadn’t realised how hungry she was and devoured the delicious meal María placed in front of her. When she finally sat back with a contented sigh she noticed Nero watching her.

‘Ms Wheeler?’ he said formally, standing to hold her chair. ‘Would you care to see the stables now?’

She flashed him a quick smile. ‘Thank you, Señor Caracas. I would love to see the stables…’

The prince hadn’t exaggerated. Nero’s stables were unlike anything she’d seen before—six-star accommodation for horses with amenities second to none. For a moment Bella almost lost her confidence. Everything she was used to back home was so low-key compared to this. Nero’s yard was the Bugatti Veyron Super Sport to her banged-up Mini of a polo yard.

But she produced great horses, Bella reminded herself.

It was Nero who shook her out of these concerns when he reminded her that the youngsters would be arriving soon, and that Ignacio wanted to show Bella the ponies he thought suitable for novices. These were retired ponies who couldn’t take too much weight and whose exercise regime had been drastically reduced. ‘As long as we make sure their mouths can’t be dragged—and I have a cure for that,’ Bella said, explaining her process with the reins to Nero. Before she knew it, she was right back where she belonged, chatting easily to him about horses. This was one area at least in which there were no tensions between them.

The stables were cleaner than many hotel rooms Bella had stayed in; sweet-smelling hay was banked high and her imagination took flight in the shadowy stall. ‘We’d better get on,’ she said abruptly, giving Nero one of her tight-lipped smiles.

‘Why so tense, Bella?’

‘I’d like to see the clinic,’ she said, concerned that Nero could read her mind.

He shrugged. ‘As you wish.’

Nero’s shadow fell over her as he opened the stable door. He made her feel so small and feminine, which was something quite new for Bella. And she would ignore it, she determined.

And that was easy, Bella thought wryly as Nero led the way across the yard. He had changed out of his casual travel clothes into close-fitting breeches, which he was wearing with a deep maroon polo top. The contrast of colours against Nero’s tanned skin made for a compelling picture. The wide spread of his shoulders and the hard, tanned chest just visible at the neck of his top didn’t hurt either. And she wouldn’t have been looking at his breeches if she hadn’t been admiring his fabulous knee-length black leather boots. She noted with concern than the placket at the front of his breeches appeared to be under some considerable strain…

‘This way,’ Nero prompted.