The Untamed Argentinian

She wasn’t falling for that again. ‘I do,’ she said, patting her saddlebag.

‘Hey,’ Nero called after her as she nudged Misty forward to hide her glowing cheeks. ‘You forgot to tie your hair back, Bella.’

She was already feeling for the hairband on her wrist when it occurred to her he was teasing.

‘What are you frightened of?’ Nero challenged as she tied it up again, bringing his horse level with Misty. ‘Are you worried you might show a softer side?’

‘I’m only worried about getting my hair tangled when I ride,’ she said mildly. ‘And you’re hardly in a position to talk about a softer side.’

Nero acknowledged this with a shrug. ‘But I’m not frightened,’ he said.

And she was? Yes, she was, Bella acknowledged silently—of some things, some men, but most of all she was frightened of losing control—of letting go. She hid these thoughts behind a counter-attack. ‘You’re the Assassin, remember. What do you know about fear?’

‘Only a fool doesn’t know fear,’ Nero countered, ‘but I’m not afraid. There’s a big difference, Bella.’

With those dark eyes searching hers, she was glad of her shirt buttoned to the neck and the severe no-nonsense cut of her riding breeches. No way could this encounter be mistaken for anything other than it was—a purely chance meeting of the world’s top polo player riding out on his ranch with a visiting professional who would soon be returning home.

CHAPTER TWELVE

FULFILLING her role as a professional judge of horseflesh, Bella turned her attention from Nero to his horse. He was riding a magnificent black stallion, far bigger than any of the polo ponies in his yard. She guessed this must be a descendant of the Spanish war horses Nero had told her about. His mount certainly looked pretty impressive with its fancy scarlet saddlecloth, silver bit and the silver headband to keep its thickly waving fore-lock back. Nero wore silver spurs, and when the horse danced impatiently as he turned it in circles to calm it she saw that his belt was decorated with silver coins, and the typical gaucho dagger Ignacio had told her was called a facon was firmly secured in the back. More interestingly, Nero hadn’t shaved and looked more dangerous than he ever had.

‘How about a race?’ he challenged with a curving grin.

‘You are joking. Misty barely reaches the withers of that fire-breathing monster.’

‘Then I’ll give you a head start,’ he said.

‘Don’t patronise us, Caracas.’

Nero’s answer to this was a tug of his lips and a Latin shrug. ‘If you’re not up to it—’

Bella barely needed to touch Misty with her heels. The mare got the message and bounded forward.

A contest? Bella thought with relish. She was up for that. Let the best horse win!

‘Hey,’ Nero shouted after her as he took up the chase. ‘Your hair’s come loose, Bella!’

Bella’s hair would feel like skeins of silk beneath his hands and her kisses hot. The thought of challenging the Ice Maiden to a race had got his juices flowing, Nero realised, reining back to slow his stallion. It would be the easiest thing in the world to overtake her, but that would mean the end of the chase—and, as any hunter knew, the thrill of the chase was everything—something to be drawn out and appreciated, so that the final outcome might be relished all the more. And seeing Bella crouched low over her pony as she rode with absolute determination to win this contest made him think the final outcome mustn’t be too long coming.

They rode like the wind with no boundaries in front of them other than the snow-capped mountains more than half a day’s ride away. The thrill of the chase excited Bella and, as the wind blew her hair back from her face, she felt this was the first time she had felt completely free since landing in Argentina—maybe the first time she had ever felt so free. The thunder of hooves warned her that Nero was close behind, the challenge in his eyes that if he caught her she would pay the consequences. She wouldn’t give up without a fight. Goaded into renewed effort, she crouched low over Misty’s neck as they streaked like an arrow across the pampas, but it was only a matter of time before the renowned agility of her polo pony lost out to the brute strength of Nero’s stallion. Feeling the hunter relentlessly closing the distance between them stopped the breath in her throat. There was something so controlled about it—so confident. Hot, hectic panic overwhelmed her and blazed a trail down her spine that spread across her back like cracking glass. There was nowhere to run—nowhere to hide—just miles of flat plain ahead of them. She would need a half mile head start to get away from him, and any moment now Nero would gallop past them. The anticipation of that was infuriating, and terrifying, and thrilling.

But Nero didn’t overtake her. He must be holding back, Bella realised. Misty was fast but the polo pony was a sprinter, while a long gallop like this was little more than an easy hack for Nero’s stallion. He should have disappeared ahead of them in a cloud of dust by now. Beneath her, Misty was straining to gallop faster. Having the stallion so close behind had unleashed a primitive flight mechanism in the mare. Misty’s flared nostrils and laid-back ears were as telling as the arousal flooding Bella when she realised Nero had no intention of riding past her; he was wearing her down, knowing she was as unlikely to put her horse at risk as he was. Nero understood her a little too well.

Feeling Misty starting to flag, she steered her towards a covert of some gum trees. It was still a victory, Bella reasoned, slapping Misty’s neck in praise as they slowed down. They had still won the race, and she had decided the finish line.

She was shivering with excitement by the time she reined to a halt. At least she’d made a good choice in stopping here—not only was it cooler, but an underground stream had thrust its way through the soft, fertile earth so the horses could drink their fill. Kicking her feet free of the stirrups, Bella dropped to the ground. She heard the chink of a bridle close behind her and then heard Nero spring down to the ground close by. ‘Well?’ she demanded, swinging round, hands on hips. ‘Are you going to congratulate me?’

‘You have my respect,’ Nero conceded in a husky tone. ‘You have a good pony, Bella, and you have trained her well.’

‘Well, thank you, kind sir,’ she said dryly. ‘Forgive me if I’m wrong, but something in your tone suggests you believe you could have overtaken me any time.’

‘And you don’t think that’s the case?’ Nero raised one sweeping ebony brow.

A rush of excitement thrilled though her. She loved this game, loved the opponent best of all.

‘You surely don’t think you could outrun me?’ Nero mocked.

She countered this with an amused huff. ‘I did outrun you.’