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.
‘Of course,’ she said, tipping her chin at a professional angle as she followed him.
‘I have a polo match next week.’
‘Next week?’ So soon? And the children were arriving when?
She could cope. She would cope.
‘Ignacio thought you would enjoy preparing the ponies with him.’
‘I would,’ Bella agreed, quickly burying her concerns. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’ She thrilled at the challenge.
‘I want the kids to get straight into it as soon as they arrive,’ Nero explained, ‘and this friendly match with a neighbouring estancia will be their first proper introduction to polo, so everything must go smoothly.’
‘And it will.’ She only had one concern left. Did Nero know the meaning of a friendly match? Somehow, Bella doubted it. ‘A week isn’t a lot of time to prepare the ponies.’
‘My ponies are always ready.’
She didn’t doubt it. Proud. Hard. Driven—didn’t even begin to describe this man. Competition was everything to Nero and, just as she had suspected, this would be anything but a friendly match—and those ponies had better be ready.
It wasn’t just the way Nero looked, it was the way he moved, Bella reflected, allowing him to walk ahead of her so she could assess him like prime breeding stock. She might be the Ice Maiden, happily set on her spinster ways, but that was no curb on admiring a perfect male physique. She was a professional, wasn’t she? Bella thought as Nero turned to flash a quick glance her way to make sure she was following. What else did she do all day at work if not stare thoughtfully at muscle and flesh to make sure the beast in question was in tiptop form and had the stamina to do what was required of it without injury? This beast was definitely at the peak of fitness, and Nero’s stamina had never been in question.
‘That was a heavy sigh,’ Nero commented, hanging back to keep pace with her. ‘Not tired already, I hope, Bella?’
‘Not tired at all. In fact, I can’t remember feeling quite so energised.’
‘Excellent.’ Nero’s lips pressed down with approval. ‘The pampas air is obviously good for you.’
Something was, Bella thought as her mouth formed the Ice Maiden line.
‘This is the hospital and recovery block,’ Nero explained as they approached a smart white building.
He held the door open and she walked in under his arm. Heat curled low inside her in a primitive response to Nero’s size and virility. The untamed pampas had loosed something elemental inside her. It was just as well the facilities inside the clinic were exceptional and she could quickly become absorbed in these.
‘We can carry out operations here if we have to,’ Nero explained. ‘Vets live on site. There is also a doctor and a nurse in residence to care for the two-legged members of the team. The distances are so vast here we can’t rely on help reaching us in time.’
Wasn’t that the truth? she thought.
‘Bella?’
‘Wonderful,’ she said, refocusing. ‘May I see the facilities for the children now?’
‘I can assure you they will be well catered for.’
Bella met and held Nero’s proud gaze. ‘I wouldn’t be doing my job if I left out one of the most crucial parts of it.’
‘As you wish.’
Even Nero’s back had something to say about her thoroughness. Nero was a fierce, passionate man to whom pride meant everything, and he didn’t take kindly to having his establishment judged by anyone, especially her. But pride was important to Bella too, at least where doing the best job possible was concerned.
‘I trust this meets with your approval?’ he said, opening the door to the first wooden chalet.
How prim and boring he must think her, Bella realised as she took a look around. If she were a child staying here she would be in seventh heaven—there was even a view of the ponies grazing in the paddocks through the windows. ‘It’s wonderful.’ She turned to find Nero with his arms braced either side of the doorway, displaying his formidable physique as he leaned into the room. ‘Did you plan the finishing touches while we were in Buenos Aires?’ she said, noticing the recent magazines and the latest teen films stacked by the TV.
‘I had nothing better to do.’
Nero’s tongue was firmly planted in his cheek, Bella suspected. ‘What?’ she demanded when he raised a brow. ‘I didn’t spend all my time in Buenos Aires learning to dance the tango…’
‘How very noble of you, Bella. And how reassuring for me to know our evening out wasn’t wasted.’
She groaned inwardly. What a dull companion he must think her. ‘I’ll take some shots for the prince,’ she said, finding her phone.
‘I trust your report will be favourable?’
‘How could it not be when you’ve thought of everything—even fire extinguishers.’
‘You won’t need one,’ Nero murmured under his breath.
The Ice Maiden had never regretted her tag more—and thi
s time there was plenty of room for her to pass Nero at the door without touching him. He was standing well clear.
‘Would you like to see the ponies we have chosen for you to look at?’
‘I’d love to.’
‘So you do trust our judgement?’
‘Ignacio’s reputation precedes him.’
‘As does mine, I have no doubt,’ Nero observed dryly as they walked along the dusty path together.
This time she thought it better to say nothing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AS BELLA had expected, Nero and Ignacio had judged the ponies perfectly. ‘These will be a match made in heaven,’ she said, ‘and will give the kids loads of confidence.’ She was conscious of Nero brooding at her side and wondered what was on his mind.
‘We’d better go,’ he said, pulling his booted foot from the fence rail. ‘The first group of kids will be arriving soon, and I’ve no doubt you’ll want to settle them in.’
‘It’s you they’ll want to see,’ Bella pointed out. Whether he chose to accept it or not, Nero was a national hero. ‘It’s no secret that half the kids we’re expecting to join the scheme would have scoffed at the idea of leaving the city for the wilds of the pampas if there hadn’t been a certain attraction named Nero Caracas waiting here for them.’
‘Are you attempting to flatter me?’ Nero laughed. ‘I should warn you, I am immune to it.’
In the same way that familiarity bred contempt? Bella thought. ‘I’m merely stating a fact.’
‘Then allow me to reassure you,’ Nero murmured as they walked back to the hacienda side by side, ‘I’ll be with you every step of the way.’
Oh, good, Bella thought wryly as her glance crashed into Nero’s. ‘I’m sure the children will appreciate that.’
‘And you will too, I hope?’
The mocking note in Nero’s voice hadn’t escaped her. ‘That goes without saying,’ she said.
‘Your wish is my command, Bella.’
And if she believed that then she was well on her way to becoming a doormat. Nero would tolerate her involvement at Estancia Caracas for the sake of his scheme and the prince’s goodwill—and nothing more. She would have to work harder than she ever had in her life to make this work, Bella realised as Nero snapped his whip against his boots. At least she’d be too tired to dream about him at night. If brooding Nero intended to shadow her she would just have to act out a part—someone confident in her personal as well as her professional life—someone sophisticated who could handle Nero’s high-powered sex appeal and take it all in her stride. Someone else?
There was no one else. There was just Bella Wheeler, the Ice Maiden, and Nero Caracas, the Assassin. Oh, good.
They parted in the kitchen to shower and freshen up. When Nero came downstairs again it amused him to see María stuffing empanadas, the delicious little stuffed pastries, inside Bella’s mouth as she crossed the kitchen on her way out, and pressing even more pastries into her hands as she tried to get through the door. Someone had made a friend.
‘Sorry,’ Bella garbled, chewing down a mouthful as he left the house to join her.
‘Don’t apologise,’ he said, stealing a pastry from her hands. ‘Hmm, delicious,’ he agreed, smacking his hands together to get rid of the crumbs.
She risked a smile.
‘What are you wearing?’ he demanded.
‘Dungarees—I thought, settling kids in, carrying cases…’
He shrugged.
‘You don’t agree?’
‘There are others here who can carry cases. Wasn’t it you who said we’re the inspiration? And, as in this instance, I agree you’re right, and so I dressed the part.’ Nero ran a hand down his black polo shirt with the team emblem—The Assassin’s skull and crossbones boldly embroidered in white on black over his heart. His hand moved on down his close-fitting breeches, tough riding boots and the knee protectors he customarily wore during a match. ‘This is all about first appearances, you said—give the kids something to remember?’
‘I see what you mean…’ She frowned, but swiftly rallied. ‘I suppose none of them would have a clue who you were if you were waiting for them wearing jeans.’
He met the innocent look with the faintest of smiles. ‘You’re probably right,’ he agreed mildly.
‘So, as I’m short of a Hammer House of Horrors polo shirt, what do you suggest I wear?’ she asked.
Holding the concerned gaze, he put a curb on his amusement. ‘What would you think if you were greeted by a woman in dungarees?’
Bella shrugged. ‘The grooms were too busy caring for the horses to hang around waiting for my coach?’ she suggested, reasoning that the grooms were all young—and, however scruffy they got in the course of their work, all attractive. The kids would only think an older woman in dungarees a poor substitute who probably knew nothing about horses, anyway.
‘And?’ Nero pressed, dipping his head to stare her in the eyes.
‘The owners and trainers had better things to do?’
‘And how would that make you feel?’
‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘You’ve made your point.’
‘As you made yours,’ Nero pointed out wryly.
He was right. If Bella had been one of the kids arriving on the coach she would like to think her arrival counted for something—enough, at least, for the people who ran the course to be waiting to greet her. ‘I’ll go and put something else on.’
Nero glanced at his watch. There was just enough time for Bella to change her clothes. He watched her return to the house, straight-backed, with a brisk stride. He anticipated the transformation with interest.
‘Much better,’ he approved when she cocked a brow before mutely running her hands down her neatly packaged frame.
Much, much better, he thought as his body responded with indecent enthusiasm to Bella’s transformation. This was far better than dungarees, and a vast improvement on her working breeches. It was even better than Bella in a straight-laced evening dress.
‘Would you like me to do a twirl?’ she asked with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
‘I’ve seen you dance, remember? So I know twirls aren’t your strength.’ He held her gaze. He loved holding her gaze. And so they stared at each other—staring into each other’s eyes, neither one of them prepared to back down.
Until the sound of a coach approaching forced them both to glance away. But even as he stood ready to welcome the children he was keenly aware of the extremely attractive woman standing at his side dressed in no-nonsense breeches and a crisp white tailored shirt.
The children were settling in, but there was no time to relax. While his team of gauchos took the children through safety procedures and introduced them to the ponies, it was time for Nero and Bella to turn their thoughts towards the polo match. ‘Let’s get started, shall we?’ he said, heading off towards the stables.
Bella pulled a wry face as she tucked a strand of rebellious hair back into position. ‘I hope you don’t live to regret involving me in this.’
He did too.
‘Are you sure you’re not going to find this too much? Teaching reckless kids and even wilder ponies?’ He stared into her eyes, wanting to study Bella more deeply. He was a practical man. Sometimes lust intruded. Usually he would take a practical view of what was on offer—make his decision—yes or no, and then move on. Bella was too vulnerable for that. She might be acting the role but, like any actress, Bella’s woman-of-the-world façade came off with the costume.
‘I’m sure,’ she said, meeting his gaze confidently. ‘I have some experience of…coping.’
She spoke without emotion, and then he remembered Bella had three younger siblings—brothers, none of whom were interested in horses or their father’s yard, and all of whom had gone on to university, thanks to Bella’s riding boot up their backside. The children had lost their mother at an early age, and when their father had gone to pieces it had been left to Bella to set things on an even keel. There was more to this I
ce Maiden than most people even guessed at and, remembering what he’d seen of her other side on the dance floor, he said, ‘I hope you’ll make time for your tango lessons. Or will they have to be put on hold for now?’
Her timing was perfect. There was a short pause, and then, ‘Why should they be put on hold?’ she asked, ‘Ignacio has promised to hone my technique, so the next time you and I hit the dance floor, I’ll be ready for you.’
‘Oh, will you?’ he said.
So Ignacio was going to teach Bella the tango, was he? First María, and now Ignacio—what was happening here? ‘You want to watch Ignacio,’ he said, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion. ‘Many a good tune is played on an old fiddle.’
Bella laughed, letting herself go for the first time in a long time, but then she angled her chin to stare into his eyes. ‘Are you jealous, Nero?’
He huffed and turned away.
‘Could we have a drink before we start thinking about the polo match?’ she asked, catching up with him in the yard.
‘Water okay for you?’
‘Perfect,’ she said.
He led the way into the barn. Opening the door, he let it swing shut behind them. They were instantly enclosed in warm silence. Walking over to a sink in the corner, he filled a container with the crystal-clear water that flowed straight from the glacier via an underground stream to the hacienda. ‘We’ll take this with us,’ he said, offering the container to Bella first.
She drank deeply and then handed it to him. He did the same. As he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth he caught her staring at him. His mouth curved with amusement as he read her thoughts. They had shared a drink from the same container. It was the closest their mouths had come to touching—up to now.
She was within touching distance of Nero. There was something magical about a hay barn. Perhaps it was the mountains of dried grass soaking up the sound, or the dust motes floating on sunbeams giving the impression of a shimmering golden veil between them. It was a soft—a ridiculously soft—frame, in which Nero appeared violently masculine.
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