‘No surprise there,’ she said with a laugh in her voice. ‘You could hardly be seen riding a donkey, now, could you?’
Alejandro laughed with Grace, and even Nacho’s lips tugged in a smile. The events of last night hadn’t dampened Grace’s spirits, apparently. He liked her spirit. It was hard not to.
‘Any chance we can get some work done today?’ he said, removing his bandana to mop the dust from his face.
‘The grapes aren’t going anywhere, are they?’ Grace demanded as he raked at his ungovernable hair. ‘And why are you trying to change the subject, Nacho? What about the challenge of me riding your horse? Or are you frightened I might show you how easy it is in front of Alejandro?’
He laughed. ‘You wish.’
‘You could lead us, if you don’t trust me not to gallop off with him. I’d love to try him, Nacho …’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Even my brothers are wary of this horse. He’s not a tame pony like the one you’re riding. He’s still half wild.’
‘Alejandro already explained that,’ she butted in. ‘He said your horse used to be the alpha male in a herd of Criollas until you tamed him.’
‘Criollas can never be completely tamed. He still thinks he’s the boss.’
‘Still,’ she said, ‘I bet he’d be kind to me. Shall we find out?’
‘Only I can ride him,’ he said—with all the arrogance of which an Acosta brother was capable, Grace realised, keenly tuned in to the nuances in every voice.
‘If that’s the case,’ she said innocently, ‘the only way I can ever hope to ride him is with you.’
He laughed again. ‘You must be joking—’
‘What’s your problem, Nacho? I realise the stallion is a mountain of muscle compared to me, while the pony I’m riding now is …’ she shrugged and pressed her lips together in a teasing, slanting smile ‘… also a mountain of muscle compared to me.’
Alejandro shot Nacho a sympathetic look before vaulting the fence and leaving him to it. The wily old stockman had left him with no option but to look after Grace. ‘You’re not even dressed for riding,’ he remarked disapprovingly.
‘Oh, come on, Nacho,’ she goaded him.
Grace was half his size, and slender as a willow. She was wearing a long, floating dress that couldn’t have been more unsuitable for riding if she’d tried, and only now he noticed she was barefoot.
And she was blind.
Grace Lundström was the most aggravating woman he had ever known—so perhaps it was time to show her the consequences of biting off more than she could chew.
‘Alejandro,’ he yelled, before the old gaucho disappeared. ‘Can you look after the dog for us?’
‘Sí, Señor Acosta,’ Alejandro replied, in an amused voice that prompted Nacho to narrow his eyes.
He turned back to Grace. ‘I’m prepared to take you for a short walk along the riverbank.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said—a little too sweetly for his liking.
‘But if you’re going to ride with me you do things my way,’ he warned. ‘Stay where you are. I’m going to help you dismount.’
‘Sí, Señor Acosta,’ she said, in a perfect take-off of Alejandro’s mocking voice.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SERIOUSLY terrified at the thought of riding Nacho’s horse, she was still serious about going ahead with it—if only to prove to herself that she could. Plus this was the ideal opportunity for her to prove to Nacho that being blind didn’t put a curb on what she could do.
For once she obeyed him, and remained motionless in the pony’s saddle until she felt the brush of his hands as he took hold of her reins. Even that brief contact was enough to send heat ripping up and down her spine in yet another reminder that the one mistake she was making was to think she could remain immune to the stallion’s master.
‘Don’t move until I tell you to move,’ Nacho instructed, ‘and then you must do exactly as I say.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘If you can’t take this seriously—’
‘But I am taking this very seriously, indeed,’ Grace protested.
‘I said wait,’ he ground out as she slipped her feet out of the stirrups. ‘I’ll lift you clear. And don’t kick the horse on your way down.’
‘If I could see him—’
‘I’ll be your eyes. Now, slide into my arms,’ Nacho instructed, without a moment wasted on pity or scorn.
Her heart was hammering nineteen to the dozen, which made her think that this was one time when not being able to see was a distinct advantage. Launching herself into the unknown, she found herself in Nacho’s arms.
Whatever she’d imagined it might feel like, she’d been wrong. Her imagination was in no way equal to the task. Sliding down such a wealth of muscle was like nothing else on earth, added to which Nacho’s handprints were now branded on her body. And, yes, it would be safer to concentrate on more mundane things, like business, but mundane things were a little short on the ground right now, and all she was aware of was Nacho throwing off testosterone like a Catherine wheel threw off sparks.
‘Steady,’ he murmured.
‘Me or the horse?’
She gasped when he caught her round the waist, and the next thing she knew she was airborne.
‘I’m lowering you gently into the saddle in front of me,’ Nacho explained. ‘So we don’t give the horse a shock.’
What about her shock?
As if her swift rise into thin air hadn’t been alarming enough, she now had her buttocks rammed up hard against Nacho. Fighting the urge to arch her back and feel more of that hard body against hers was the least of her worries. Nacho had somehow swept her skirt back as he lifted her, so now she was sitting astride his horse with her dress rucked up to her knickers and her confidence evaporating rapidly.
‘I thought you were going to lead me along the riverbank,’ she protested.
‘You thought wrong,’ he said, and with a click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth they were off.
At the stallion’s first surge forward she was sure she would crash to the ground. She had never felt that much power beneath her before, and not knowing how far she had to fall made each rolling step the horse took absolutely terrifying.
‘Are you okay, Grace?’ Nacho demanded, tightening his grip on her.
‘I think so …’ Her voice sounded small and feeble, and he must have felt her tension, but it wasn’t just fear of falling that had turned her into such a coward. It was Nacho’s primitive energy that seemed to be throbbing through both of them.
She could feel his heart thudding against her back, slow and strong, and his hard muscles shifting behind her. The warmth of his body against hers was intimate beyond anything she could imagine. She sat forward a little, to put some distance between them. For all his wealth and polish Nacho exuded an earthy, animalistic quality that made her ultra-aware of him. She could understand now why women wanted to go to bed with him and why men feared him.
And no one with any sense got this close to danger without expecting to get burned.
Her inner voice of caution might advise that, but clearly she had no sense, Grace concluded, because she was starting to enjoy the sensation. And, as far as the riding went, she was determined to make a go of it.
‘What do you need me to do?’
‘As little as possible,’ Nacho said. ‘Just relax. If you tense up the horse will feel it and become restless. You have to go with me—move with me.’
Really …?
With her back to him she was free to smile, and then, concentrating, she tried again.
‘That’s better,’ Nacho approved when she started to get the hang of it.
Grace’s legs were slender as a newborn fawn’s, but there was nothing weak or unsteady about her. There was a line between weakness and fragility, and no one would ever mistake Grace for being weak. His mother had been weak. He could see that now. Though nothing excused what he had done. He had never turned h
is back on anyone before or since the fateful day of the tragedy, and he never would again.
‘Is this right?’ Grace asked, jolting him back to the present.
‘Just about perfect,’ he confirmed.
She was riding really well, but then no one could ever accuse Grace of shirking a challenge. He could see now that since her illness she had worked hard to prove herself. She had retrained and learned all sorts of new skills. She had proved herself at the wine tasting, and again with his gauchos, and now she had somehow talked him into letting her ride his best horse. Perhaps most surprising of all was the way the big stallion was picking his route with more care than usual, as if he knew he had precious cargo on board.
If his brothers could only see this, Nacho reflected with amusement.
‘Riding is even more fun than I thought!’ Grace exclaimed.
He felt the now customary bolt of shock and pain when she turned her lovely face his way and her gaze flew somewhere to the right of his face.
‘There’s so much power beneath us,’ she enthused. ‘This is just wonderful, Nacho.’
Even as he warmed inside he remembered the harm he could do to those he cared about. ‘Sit straight,’ he rapped, mentally pulling back to concentrate on the practicalities of teaching Grace to ride. ‘You shouldn’t be looking at me. You should be looking forward, between the horse’s ears.’
‘If I could look anywhere,’ she corrected him humorously.
Vicious curses invaded his head. ‘Sorry—’
‘Don’t be,’ she said. ‘Riding is too much fun for us to worry about anything. Who cares?’
That Grace had lost her sight? He did. ‘Feel for his ears, Grace. Good. Now, that’s where you should be pointing your nose.’
She started to laugh. ‘Are you saying I’ve got a big nose?’
She had a perfect nose. ‘Line up your body,’ he instructed. ‘Not stiffly like that,’ he complained with an impatient sigh. ‘Draw yourself up and relax into his gait. That’s better. Allow your hips to move easily back and forth in rhythm with his stride. Good. Well done, Grace.’ She was a natural. ‘Did anyone else ever take you riding?’ he asked, feeling a stab at the thought that there might be someone in her past who had done so.
‘A man once,’ she mused, leaning back against him as she appeared to think about it.
‘What man?’ he said angrily, moving away.
‘A man at the seaside.’
‘The seaside?’ he cut in suspiciously, as visions of sun-drenched beaches and handsome polo players on half-wild ponies sprang to mind.
‘The man at the seaside who ran a team of donkeys,’ she said.
‘Are you teasing me?’
‘Maybe,’ she admitted, and there was a smile in her voice.
He was relieved. There was no getting away from it. He was very much relieved.
Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he urged the stallion on—which gave him every excuse to hold Grace more firmly. ‘Trust me,’ he said as she grabbed a hank of mane. ‘You’re safe with me, Grace.’
Safe with Nacho? Was he mad? Was she mad, for that matter? And a ragdoll pegged out in a gale would have more poise than she had right now. She was bumping up and down on the saddle like a sack of potatoes.
‘I’m going to help you to move correctly, Grace.’
Thank goodness he couldn’t see the expression on her face now, she thought.
‘You’re not frightened, are you?’ he said, feeling her tension.
‘No,’ she protested. But she was. She was frightened of the way Nacho made her feel … his touch on her body, his breath on her skin; the way she felt so safe, cocooned in the warmth of his arms. She could so easily get used to this—and that would only end in heartbreak.
At Lucia’s wedding, when Nacho had singled her out, her head had started spinning with wild, romantic nonsense. In the cool light of day she had realised it was pure nonsense without any of the romance. And now Nacho was only being kind to his sister’s blind friend. She shouldn’t read anything more into this riding lesson.
‘You’re doing really well,’ he said, loosening his grip. ‘You’re on your own now, Grace.’
‘What?’ she exclaimed, a bolt of terror running through her. ‘I’m not ready to go it alone.’
Nacho said nothing; he just let her go, which was really scary in her darkness. She just had to trust he wouldn’t let her fall.
It was completely unnerving at first, but she was so determined to do it that gradually she found her balance, and once she’d done that she started enjoying herself. Turning her face to the sun, she sighed with pleasure.
‘Buddy’s come to join us,’ Nacho remarked. ‘Shall we give him a run?’
‘Oh, please,’ she agreed, sitting up straight again. ‘Let’s go faster.’
The speed, the wind in her hair, cantering across the countryside with Nacho—all of it was exhilarating. And also a pointed reminder that she was a novice where so much in life was concerned, while Nacho was notoriously the master of all things with risk attached. She was sexually inexperienced. He was not. Yes, she’d had a few attempts at relationships, but had never seen what all the fuss was about. And there had been piano practice in her young life, followed by hard work when she was older, leaving barely any time to spare for thoughts of romance.
But she could think about romance now. With the stallion’s hooves pounding beneath her it was impossible to think of anything but romance. She could be galloping across the desert with a sheikh, or riding into the sunset with a cowboy. Or, better still, Grace concluded, smiling to herself, she could be riding across the pampas with Nacho.
He had nudged the horse into an easy canter, knowing the swaying rhythm would be easier for Grace to handle than a high-stepping trot. And it was. But with Grace pressed up against him and all that power harnessed beneath them there was fever in his blood.
‘Work your hips back and forth,’ he said, trying to concentrate on teaching Grace to ride. ‘You need to loosen up, Grace.’
She took him at his word and leaned her head against his chest in a gesture that was both intimate and trusting, surprising him again.
‘Is Buddy okay?’ she said, sitting up just as he was getting used to having her resting against him.
‘He’s fine.’ Reining in, he slowed the stallion to a walking pace. ‘Did Alejandro mention the grape-treading to you tonight?’
‘He did say something about a party,’ she admitted. ‘He also said he hoped I’d be there. But I suppose I’d need an invitation for that …’
He laughed. ‘Stop fishing, Grace. You know you’ve got one.’
‘I know why,’ she said. ‘You’re hoping I might use the event in our forward publicity if Elias decides to go ahead and place an order.’ She laughed. ‘But if you think my attendance tonight guarantees that order, think again. I’ve got a lot more to see.’
‘Are you playing hardball with me, Señorita Lundström? Because if you are I shall have to frighten you into submission. Are you ready for more speed?’
‘Try me,’ she said. ‘You don’t frighten me, Señor Acosta.’
As she spoke she turned, and as she turned his gaze slipped to her lips. ‘At least allow me to try,’ he murmured.
He had to admire Grace when the stallion bounded forward and she started whooping with excitement. ‘Does nothing frighten you?’ he called against the wind blowing in their faces.
‘Only the darkness,’ she yelled back, making him rage inwardly against the cruel fate that had left her blind.
He reined in at the guest cottage, where he told Grace to wait while he dismounted so he could help her down. But, as he might have known, she didn’t wait and somehow managed to slip to the ground without his help, only staggering slightly as she regained her balance.
‘Thank you,’ she said formally, holding out her hand for him to shake. ‘That was wonderful, Nacho. And now I’ve taken up enough of your time.’
She was dismi
ssing him. ‘Alejandro has hung Buddy’s harness on the fence,’ he said. ‘It’s over there to your right—’
‘No use pointing, Nacho.’
‘Grace, I—’
‘I know. You’re sorry.’
‘Hanging from the main post,’ he explained patiently.
‘What time will you call for me tonight?’ she said, finding the harness.
‘Same time as last night.’
‘Fine by me,’ she said. ‘Thanks again for the riding lesson.’
‘There’s just one thing.’
‘Which is?’
‘Buddy can’t come tonight.’
‘That’s okay,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I was expecting it.’
‘Until tonight, Grace …’ He vaulted into the saddle.
‘Until tonight,’ she said, turning for the door.
Being without Buddy for one night wouldn’t be a problem, Grace reflected as she let herself into the house. Even back home there were some places he couldn’t go. She kept the hated stick for those occasions. It was collapsible, and fitted in a suitcase, which was about the best that could be said for it …
Nacho hadn’t gone yet. She could hear his horse snorting and stamping. Nacho must be watching her. It made her nervous.
As she took the key out of the lock she stepped back and almost tripped over Buddy. She swore like a trooper and then heard Nacho laugh. ‘All right for you,’ she called out.
‘Dios, Grace,’ he shot back, ‘I thought you were so well behaved, but now I realise it must have been you who led my sister astray.’
She laughed. ‘Sussed. Decorum was never my strong point. Talking of which—what do I wear tonight?’
Nothing would be his preference. ‘I’ll speak to someone,’ he said, ‘and I’ll have some suitable clothes delivered to the cottage for you to wear.’
‘Really?’ she called excitedly. ‘Great.’
The thought of Grace in traditional clothes suitable for the grape-treading gave him quite a buzz as he rode back to the hacienda. He reflected on the day’s events. How it had made him feel having Grace pressed up close against him on the horse. How it would feel tonight, escorting her to the grape-treading. Had he lost it completely, inviting her? Yes, it was a good research opportunity for Grace, but it would be a lot more than she’d bargained for. The annual wine-fest was hardly a sedate affair. Treading the grapes dated from antiquity—pagan times, before civilisation came along to spoil the fun and dictate restraint. It wasn’t unusual for the next working day to start at noon, if at all—and those who arrived alone invariably left in pairs.
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