‘Don’t,’ he said shortly.
‘It’s time for me to go, Nero,’ she said as if she were encouraging him. She turned then and walked towards the house without a backwards glance. She had always known, deep down, Nero wasn’t going to ask her to stay. Nero Caracas was a free spirit whose life had taught him that he could only be happy on his own. He had given her all that he could.
And that was a lot, Bella reflected as the shadow of the hacienda fell over her. Nero had made her believe in herself and in her inner strength, and in the beauty that came from a woman who was happy in her own body, and he had cemented that belief by making love to her. Nero Caracas, the Assassin, polo hero, national icon, the world’s most eligible bachelor and most beddable man, the heartbreaker of Argentina. Why was she surprised that it hadn’t worked out? She was a professional career woman, Bella told herself firmly, ignoring the tears battering the back of her eyes. Tilting her chin at a determined angle, she told herself firmly that polo was her life, not polo players—whoever they were, they were incidental—which wasn’t enough to stop her heart feeling as if someone had smashed it into tiny pieces with a polo mallet.
She just needed a minute to settle her thoughts and then she’d get on with the rest of the day. The rest of the day? What about the rest of her life?
Nero spent the rest of the morning arranging transport to England for Bella and her horse. They’d use his private jet, of course, and with one of his own vets in attendance. He couldn’t do more for Bella. He could never do enough for her.
And thoughts like those were where it all started to go wrong. He could see the future in Bella’s eyes, while his was firmly lodged in his head. It was the same plan he’d had all along—be the best, make his grandmother and Ignacio proud—there was no room in his life for anything but the ranch and polo.
Nero’s eyes softened briefly, and then grew resolute again when he remembered the hearts and flowers in Bella’s eyes and the cold, clear thoughts in his. Rather than soften towards him, she would have done better to remain the Ice Maiden, for his heart was still the same piece of stone. He’d seen what families could do to each other—and knew he didn’t want that. He wouldn’t inflict that on any woman. What? And break her like a horse? Would he strip away Bella’s successful career and dim that flare of emerald fire in her stare? What gave him the right to do these things when she had done everything he and the prince had expected of her and more? Could he take her pony? No.
Could he love her?
The only thing he knew about love was that it was corrosive and destroyed everything in its path. He refused to even think about it. He and Bella had enjoyed a great short-term professional relationship and that was it.
He should never have seduced her. He should never have enjoyed her. He would never stop thinking about her. His only option was to send her away before he wrecked everything for her. She must go back to England, where she could continue her valuable work and pick up her successful career. Work was something he understood. Work meant building, as he had rebuilt the ranch. Love destroyed. These were some lessons a boy growing up never forgot. He wanted Bella, but what could he offer that wouldn’t take her from the life she had built for herself half a world away?
Nothing more needed to be said, Bella reflected, which was both strange and sad. She had to go and Nero had to stay. She had started her packing straight after her shower. By the time she went downstairs Nero was in the kitchen drinking coffee as if it were any other day. It was every other day, but it was radically, horribly changed by the unbearable tension between them. She felt fresh and clean, neatly ordered and ready for work—with a yawning hole in her chest where her heart used to be.
‘Thank you, María,’ she said with a warm smile when Nero’s housekeeper passed her a steamy cup of freshly brewed coffee. She turned away fast. She couldn’t bear to see that look in María’s eyes. How did María know? Was everyone on the pampas psychic?
This definitely wasn’t the usual relaxed morning in the kitchen, Bella registered, feeling the tension rise to unsustainable levels. Nero finished his coffee. Putting his newspaper down, he stood, reminding her of how small she’d felt in his arms, and how protected.
‘When you’ve got a minute, we should discuss your travel arrangements,’ he said.
‘Of course,’ she said briskly, ‘but I want to talk to the children first. And Ignacio. I want them to hear I’m leaving from me.’ She swung round, conscious of María standing close behind her as if hovering, waiting to give comfort. ‘And of course I’d really appreciate a few minutes of your time, María—I’m going to miss you all so much.’
Instead of answering this, María enveloped Bella in a hug.
And now they both had tears in their eyes.
‘I’ll be at the stables,’ Nero said as h
e wheeled away.
As the jet soared into the sky Bella stared out of the window, feeling as though she was joined to Argentina by an umbilical cord and that cord was being stretched tighter and tighter until finally it snapped. There was just a solid floor of cloud beneath her now. She could have been anywhere—going anywhere.
Turning away from the window, her throat felt tight as she answered politely when the flight attendant asked her if she had everything she needed. Not nearly, Bella thought. The man quickly left her, as if he could sense that she was nursing some deep wound.
She stared unseeing at the dossier in front of her. These were the papers and photographs and the quotations from the children, which she had collected to show the prince. She could have sent most of it by e-mail, but wanted…needed, maybe, concrete evidence of her time in Argentina.
She’d miss the children, Bella thought, focusing on a group shot. She’d miss everyone. Ignacio, dressed for the occasion in full gaucho rig, positively exuding a sense of adventure and exoticism. The kids with their cheeky grins—long-time enemies, some of them, with their arms around each other, smiling for the camera—teams now, not gangs. María and Concepcion, their laughing faces so kind and smiling. And Nero. Nero towering over everyone in his polo rig, looking every bit the glamorous hero with the wind ruffling his thick black hair and his fist planted firmly on the fence beside him. No wonder control was so important to him. He’d seen where the lack of it had led, and what restoring it and going forward could achieve.
And she wasn’t going to cry.
Who knew bottled up tears could hurt so much?
Picking up the champagne the flight attendant had poured for her, she raised a glass to absent friends.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LIFE went flat the moment Bella left Argentina. The atmosphere inside the estancia was instantly sombre, and the mood in the stable yard was scarcely any better.
‘Everyone misses her,’ Ignacio complained, stating the obvious.
‘Do I need telling this?’ Nero scowled at his old friend, who simply shrugged.