The Untamed Argentinian

The girl glanced towards the stable door as she spoke, and Bella guessed she must have passed the master of the game on his way out. Nero threw off an aura of power and danger, which had made the young girl anxious. ‘Yes, take her,’ she confirmed, ‘but don’t let her out of your sight for a moment.’

‘I won’t,’ the girl promised. ‘Come on, Misty,’ she coaxed, taking hold of the reins.

‘Actually, I’ve changed my mind—I’ll come with you.’ She had intended to check the other ponies first, but she could do that at the pony lines. Nero Caracas turning up unannounced had really shaken her. He had reminded her that her life was a house of cards that could collapse at any time and that Nero Caracas never paid anyone a visit without a purpose in mind.

She would just have to fight his fire with her ice, Bella concluded, shutting the stable door behind them. She had done it before and come through in one piece. There was still talk about how her father’s gambling had destroyed his career, which was one reason she still had the Ice Maiden tag. Life had taught her to keep rigid control over her feelings at all times. And Misty was more than just a pony; the small mare was a symbol of Bella’s determination to rebuild the family name. She had promised her father before he died that she would always keep Misty safe. So could she fight off this bid from Nero Caracas?

She had to. Nero might be every woman’s dream with his blacksmith’s shoulders, wicked eyes and piratical stubble, but she had a job to do.

‘Good luck, Bella,’ the stable hands chorused as she crossed the yard.

Lifting her hand in recognition of their support, she hurried on, afraid to let Misty out of her sight now.

‘The Argentine team is looking good,’ one of the grooms observed, keeping pace with her for a few steps. ‘Especially Nero Caracas—he’s been living up to his nickname in the last few matches. The Assassin has cut a swathe through the competition—’

‘Great. Thank you.’ She didn’t need reminding that Nero inhabited a brutal world. He might feel at home here, and play the role of gentleman in the prince’s backyard, but Nero lived in Argentina, where he bred and trained his ponies on an estancia the size of a country on the vast untamed reaches of the pampas. The pampas.

This conjured up such fabulous images—terrifyingly wild and impossibly dangerous.

And the sooner he went back there, the sooner she could relax, Bella told herself firmly. They had reached the pony lines where the horses were tethered to wait their turn to enter the match. ‘I’ll never let you go,’ she whispered, throwing her arms around Misty?

?s firm grey neck. ‘And I’d certainly never sell you on to some black-hearted savage like Nero Caracas. Why, I’d sooner—’

The images that conjured up had to stop there. Burying her face against Misty’s warm hide, Bella tried and failed to blot out the image of her moaning with pleasure in Nero’s arms. Daydreams were one thing, but she’d be sure to lock the stable door in future.

He never listened to gossip. He preferred to make up his own mind about people, places, animals, things—

And Isabella Wheeler.

The Ice Maiden’s eyes had been wary and hostile to begin with, but not by the time he had left her. Why was Bella’s luscious, long red hair cruelly contained beneath a net? It was preternaturally neat, but he had detected a wild streak beneath that icy veneer. He had seen enough ponies standing meekly in the corral, only to kick the daylights out of a groom if they weren’t approached with respect. Control ruled Bella. She had earned the highest respect in equine circles, but still managed to remain an enigma, without a shred of gossip concerning her private life. How could she not present him with a challenge he found impossible to resist?

Mounting up, he gathered his reins and called his team around him for the pep talk. He was unusually wired and the men knew it. They stared at him warily whilst keeping a tight rein on their own restless mounts. ‘No mercy,’ he warned, ‘but don’t risk the horses. And take care of the grey the English captain will be riding. Depending on how the grey does today, I might want to buy her—’

Bella wouldn’t sell her horse to him?

His determination to change that mounted as he remembered Bella would barely speak to him. The thought of unbuttoning that tightly laced exterior and seeing her eyes beg for pleasure instead of challenging him was all the encouragement he needed. He wanted her to relax for him. He wanted to discover who Bella Wheeler really was—

The light of challenge was so fierce in his eyes that his team, mistaking it for the fire of battle, wheeled away.

Bella would be different. Not easy, Nero thought as he took his helmet off to acknowledge the roar of the crowd when he galloped onto the field. Bella would not yield to him as easily as her pretty mare had. There was something else behind that composed stare. Fear. He wondered at it. She feared the loss of her pony—that he could understand, but there was something more. And there was another question: why did such a successful and attractive woman live the life of a celibate in what was a notoriously libidinous society?

Because Bella was different. She was an independent woman, and courageous. She had coped well with her father’s disgrace, supporting Jack Wheeler to the bitter end and salvaging what she could of the business. But where a private life was concerned she seemed to have none, and planned to keep it that way, or why else would she dress so severely?

Bella was all business and no fun, Nero concluded, as if to show the slightest warmth or humour might put her at risk. Yet beneath that Ice Maiden façade he’d heard she was much loved by the children she invited to her stables. She could be useful to him. With that thought in mind, he replaced his helmet and lowered his face guard. Training his restless gaze on the stands he searched for Bella as he cantered up to start the match.

CHAPTER TWO

BELLA hated him. Nero Caracas had almost single-handedly annihilated the home team. Never mind that his three team-mates had played well, she held Nero directly responsible for trouncing the team whose ponies she had trained. She had one bittersweet moment when the prince, who was awarding the prizes that day, had named Misty pony of the match, but even that triumph was quickly smashed by the quick look Nero shot her—the look that said, I’m having her. She’s mine. The look that had prompted Bella to flare back silently, Over my dead body.

Over your body, certainly, had been Nero’s outrageously confident response, which he had laced with a wolfish grin. And now she was being forced into his company in the evening too. The prince had invited all the players and their trainers to dinner at the castle. It was not the type of invitation Bella could easily refuse. And why should she? The opportunity to eat dinner with the prince, to see round the royal castle—was she going to let Nero Caracas stand in the way of that? It was a signal from the prince himself that her father’s yard was back in favour. Jack Wheeler’s name would be spoken again with pride. And, realistically, her chance of being seated next to Nero was zero, Bella reassured herself. Protocol was everything in royal circles and she was sure to be seated with her team.

‘I hope you don’t mind that I put you next to me,’ the prince said, smiling warmly at Bella, ‘and that you’re not sitting with your team…?’

‘Of course not, Sir, it’s an honour,’ Bella replied graciously, trying not to care who was sitting across the table from her on the other side of the prince. Or the fact that Nero seemed unusually chummy with their royal host.

‘The captain of the winning team and the owner and trainer of the pony of the match—it seemed an inevitable pairing to me,’ the prince confided in his usual laid-back manner.

‘Indeed, Sir,’ Bella agreed, coolly meeting Nero’s amused stare. What was going on?