Argentinian in the Outback & Cattle Rancher, Secret Son: Argentinian in the OutbackCattle Rancher, Secret Son

by Margaret Way

  This was the signal for the party to step up a gear. No one wanted the wonderful day to end. It was all so exciting, with everyone so friendly. The older guests retired to the house for long in-depth conversations; the under forties were dead set on having a good time.

  There was a great deal of laughter, flirting and, it had to be said, drinking. And dancing to a great band that became more and more high-powered as the night went on was on everyone’s agenda. The band members were enjoying themselves every bit as much as the guests. They’d been well fed, and they hadn’t gone short on liquid refreshments. No one was counting.

  Varo pushed his chair back towards the shelter of a lush golden cane in a splendid blue and white Chinese jardinière. He had been enjoying more than his fair share of female attention, and now he was thankful to be on his own for the moment—free to watch Ava make her way down the staircase with her signature flowing grace, a romantic fantasy in her lovely softest mauve dress. She had removed the silver diadem she had worn around her head for the ceremony. It had suited her perfectly, enhancing the ethereal look. He had loved the idea of the diadem for a headdress. It had been set here and there along its length with tiny real roses nestled into little sprays of sparkling crystals.

  Dev had given each bridesmaid a necklace to match her gown. Varo imagined they would treasure it: hand-made pendants featuring large diamond-set gemstones hanging from delicate white gold chains. Ava’s gemstone was an amethyst, Lisa’s a pink sapphire, Ashleigh’s a blue topaz. They had all looked beautiful, with their long flowing hair and filmy summer dresses. He had danced several times with both Lisa and Ashleigh. Now he was waiting for Ava, who was proving as elusive as a woodland nymph.

  As he looked towards the staircase he felt a sudden chill that had him turning in his chair. It couldn’t be. But it was. Cousin Karen had appeared again.

  “Hi, there!”

  She pulled up a chair close to him, crossing her long legs. She was looking very elegant in her black and white gown, but he found himself feeling astonishingly hostile to her. This rarely happened to him—especially with a woman. But there it was!

  “Well, that went off extremely well, didn’t it?” Karen had prepared a big smile, and was speaking in an enthusiastic kind of voice that didn’t fool him one bit. “Slightly odd, Amelia throwing her bouquet to Ava,” she slid in, her dark eyes hooded.

  “You expected Amelia to throw it to you?” he asked suavely.

  “No, no!” she protested laughingly. “Lord knows I’m in no hurry to marry. I simply meant Ava is already married. Divorce may be streamlined here in Australia—one year and one day of separation. Why the extra day?” she trilled. “But it has to be that before an application can be filed in the court. A hearing date can take a couple of months. You may not know this, but that separation date hasn’t yet been reached.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Varo asked, successfully staring her down. He really wanted to get away from this woman as he would want to get away from a snake.

  She made a sound like a strangled giggle. “Go figure! I thought you and Ava were on the verge of having an affair?”

  He recognised malevolence when he encountered it. “You think this, do you? Or do you fear it? And would it be your business either way?” His voice he kept low, but his black eyes took on a brilliant diamond-like glitter.

  Karen could see he was angry. He really was a magnificent man. “Well, I’ve made it my business because I care about Ava, Varo,” she insisted—not for the first time. “And Luke. As I’ve told you, he worships her.”

  “Apparently she missed that,” he said, with heavy irony.

  “Oh, no!” Karen shook her shiny dark bob that was groomed to racehorse perfection. “It was apparent to everyone who knew them or met them. Luke adores her. She’s his perfect princess.”

  “So it’s all Ava’s fault? Is that it?”

  Karen sighed, holding up one of her manicured hands to avoid his penetrating eyes. “Fault? No, I never said fault. But Ava is a fragile creature. She always has been.”

  “Perhaps she needs a real man and not your Luke?” Varo suggested smoothly. He rose to his impressive six-three, a stunningly handsome man, and stared down at Ava’s poisonous cousin. “Would it clarify anything in your mind if I said you cannot hide your jealousy of Ava? I suspect it has always been there. She’s so beautiful, and I have noted she takes into account everyone’s feelings. I would say before her own.”

  Karen appeared genuinely shocked by his action. She too rose to her feet, colour flagging her high cheekbones. “It’s much too soon for you to make an assessment, Varo. I’m only trying to prevent a huge mistake.”

  “And you would be desolate if your little plan came awry?” he challenged. “I think this is all a deliberate attempt at sabotage, Ms Devereaux. Now, if you will excuse me, I plan to dance with Ava.”

  Karen shook her head sadly. “My conscience is clear. I’ve done my level best.”

  “I would say you have. Only it’s your motivation that is being questioned. Rest assured, Ms Devereaux, we can handle this ourselves.”

  Karen blushed and turned away, a white-hot fury moving through her. She would get even with Ava if it was the last thing she did. She was already going along that road, blind to anything else. She didn’t really know or understand why, but she had always wanted to rob her cousin in some way. She especially wanted to rob her of any chance she might have with the arrogant, supremely macho Argentine. To think she had half fancied him too! He had certainly got her adrenaline going for a while. Now she hated him. Few men intimidated her. Juan-Varo de Montalvo did.

  Varo drained a vodka before he went in search of the elusive Ava, who had disappeared. Eventually he found her out on the terrace, dancing with one of the polo-players, a long-time family friend and, as he correctly guessed, a long-time admirer of Ava.

  He tapped the polo-player’s shoulder, his name having sprung to mind. “May I cut in, Jeff?” he asked lightly. “Ava has promised me my quota of dances.”

  Jeff didn’t look the least put out. “You’re saying I’ve had mine?” He laughed, lingeringly releasing Ava. “Indeed, I have.”

  “Muchas gracias!” Varo smiled at the other man, who smiled back. Varo then took Ava very smoothly into his arms, their feet immediately fitting the soft, slow romantic beat. “You see me. You disappear again,” he chided gently.

  She tilted her face to him, caught up in the same physical exhilaration, the sense of belonging. “I saw Karen pull up a chair beside you. I didn’t like to interrupt.”

  He gave an exaggerated groan. “Please do if there is ever a next time.”

  His arresting face was all high cheekbones, striking planes and angles in the shadowy golden light. “What was she saying this time?” she asked.

  His voice dropped to a low, confiding whisper. “You don’t want to know.” He gathered her in close, feeling his hunger for her tighten into the now familiar near-painful knots of tension. He only had so much strength to resist such magical allure.

  “Possibly what Karen should do is train to become a private investigator,” Ava said thoughtfully.

  “I promise you she’d be good at it.” He laughed.

  “So what did she say?” Ava persisted, very glad her cousin was going home the following day.

  “Same old thing.” Varo shrugged. “Your husband wants you back.” He hesitated a moment, then said, “Could you tell me how long it is since you’ve been separated from him?”

  They seemed to be dancing alone. Other couples had drifted away. “Ah, now, I’m ninety-nine point nine percent sure Karen told you.”

  His tone was taut. “I don’t listen to Karen. I listen to you.”

  “Why talk about it on a day like today?” She sighed, swaying like a feather in his arms.


  “Why refuse when it is something that is important to me?” he countered, steering her into the light so he could capture her exact expression.

  Ava realised his intention. “Luke and I are two months short of the mandatory separation time, Varo,” she said. “Which is exactly as Karen must have told you: one year and one day. The day after my solicitor will file my application in the court. Luke no longer has a hold on me, Varo. My marriage is over.”

  “You think the court will look favourably on your application for divorce?” They had stopped dancing, but he was holding her in place.

  “Why not?” she fired, her beautiful eyes ablaze. “My solicitor—he’s a top man—has assured me it will.”

  “Your husband may throw difficulties in your way,” Varo said. She felt so soft, so silken, so fluid in his arms she might have been naked beneath her exquisite sheer dress. “Perhaps you will be told to provide more information?”

  The music had stopped. Now it started up again. Of all things, the famous Bolero. It was being played by the band with a compulsive up beat and a strong tango rhythm. Instinctively their interlocked bodies reacted. Along the length of the terrace other couples devoted themselves to their own form of the tango, while trying to keep within the spirit of the dance. Certainly the embrace was high on their list, with strong body connections, heads and faces touching.

  “I know I have to be careful,” Ava said, her voice unsteady. “I think we both know Karen will be reporting to Luke the minute she gets back home. If she hasn’t done so already. I have come to the sad conclusion there’s nothing my cousin wouldn’t do to hurt me.”

  His body was finding it impossible not to move into the dance he knew so intimately. What woman could he desire more than Ava? When he was with her he felt somehow complete.

  “When does she leave?” he asked rather curtly beneath his breath.

  “Midday tomorrow.”

  He held her in a formal open embrace, gauging her knowledge of the dance. She followed him in total communication, arching her upper body away in the “ballroom” style of tango she would have been taught. She would know the famous dance had originated in Buenos Aires, but she didn’t as yet know the striking difference between the Argentine tango and the positions and steps she had learned.

  Only he would show her…

  Ava felt rapt, carried along by sensation and responding perfectly to his signals. “You’re such a beautiful dancer, Varo,” she breathed, in a trance of pleasure.

  “So are you. But your style is a little…formal. Let me show you.” He moved her in close. Her breasts were against his chest, but there was a space between their hips. “Relax now. Relax totally,” he said hypnotically. “Follow where I lead. Argentine tango continually changes. It is very improvisational. Emotion is extremely important. We have that, do we not?”

  She felt desperately moved by his words. Did he mean them? Or was he giving way to infatuation? She was still so unsure of herself. Karen’s planned intervention hadn’t helped. They were dancing around the perimeter of the broad spacious terrace. The rhythm in his body, the musicality, seemed sublime. She had never known anything approaching it. It lifted her own dance skills, which she had been told many times were exceptional. But not like this. This was a communion of bodies…of souls…

  No one cut across them. Everyone was now sticking to their own “lane”, casting frequent glances at Varo and Ava and what they were doing. It might have been a master class, with a group of advanced students following the master’s lead.

  After a while—though Ava was scarcely aware of it, so caught up was she in the dance—the other couples cleared the terrace until it resembled a stage. The tango was the most passionate, the most exciting dance of them all. And here it was being so beautifully, so thrillingly performed on this wondrous day of days.

  The wave upon wave of applause was sincere. Couples surrounded them, clapping and chanting, “Bravo!”

  “That was the best example of the tango I’ve ever seen,” exclaimed a flushed-faced Moira O’Farrell—no mean dancer herself. “I had no idea you were such a terrific dancer, Ava. So sexy!”

  “This is the day to kick over the traces,” her partner supplied.

  In fact Ava had surprised them all—almost transfigured from the lovely, serene Ava they knew. She had packed so much passion into the famous dance it had been startling to those who knew her. Of course the Argentine was a past master. And the right partner was of tremendous importance. But neither had in any way been consciously showing off. It had passed way beyond that. It had appeared more like one glorious, even blatant, seduction.

  * * *

  The party broke up about three o’clock. The band had ceased playing an hour before that. Time to catch a few hours’ sleep before the lavish brunch that was being served from eight o’clock onwards.

  All the older guests had long since turned in. Finally the last stragglers went in search of their accommodation. Ava felt it her duty to remain at the party until the very end. Her mother and father had gone off on the crest of a wave, some time before one a.m., declaring themselves thrilled everything had gone so well.

  “You don’t see a lot of Karen, do you, darling?” her mother had asked, after kissing her goodnight.

  “Not really.” Ava had kept her smile.

  “Good. I never liked that girl. She’s rather unpleasant. For once I agree with your late grandfather. He never liked her either. You’ve got your own life, darling. She has hers. Hate to say it, but I don’t trust her.” Elizabeth’s fine eyes had met those of her daughter’s. “Be on your guard,” she’d warned.

  Ava went around the ground floor turning off all the main lights but leaving on a few lamps. There was no one around now. Oddly enough she didn’t feel in the least tired. She felt wired. It was a kind of refined torture—wanting someone desperately, having to keep oneself apart.

  Varo had raised the point of the period of separation. Her application was a few months off being filed. She had an enemy in the house. In her cousin. Luke, for whatever reason, did seem intent on getting her back. Control was natural to men. Maybe even the best of men. She could pay a heavy price for allowing herself to have become so involved with Varo.

  God, it’s worth it!

  She took the rear staircase to the upper floor, moving cautiously so as not to make any noise. Now, why did she do that? Was she deliberately playing with fire? Was she out of control? She could see Varo had not gone to bed, although they had said their formal goodnights thirty minutes ago. His bedroom was still illuminated. A shaft of light was raying under the door. She stood in the corridor, staring down the length of it. Wall sconces remained on, shedding a soft light.

  All was silence. All was utterly still. The house slept.

  She moved on soundless feet towards Varo’s door, as if it was some forbidden rite. Her long chiffon skirt softly swished around her ankles. Her heart was beating in a frantic, unnatural way. She tossed her long hair over her shoulder, although golden strands clung to her heated cheeks.

  What are you doing?

  Her inner voice spoke up so sharply she backed away from the door, feeling a surge of panic.

  You’re not divorced from Luke yet.

  Even so, she stood glued to the spot.

  If I’m punished, I deserve it.

  Astonishingly, as if he had a super sixth sense, Varo’s door came open and his strong arm drew her swiftly inside as if she were a puppet on a string. Tingles started up all over her body…exquisite…probing. She began to flush from head to toe, as though molten liquid was being poured into her. She felt radiant, intoxicated, fearful.

  “Varo, what are you doing?” Even her voice sounded afraid.

  “Waiting for you. What else?” His dark eyes glittered as they rested on her. Her long blonde hair f
loated sinuously around her lovely camellia-skinned face, framing it. He could clearly see the pulse beating in the hollow at the base of her neck. That excited him. Her sparkling eyes were huge. Such emotion, such appeal was in them, it only served to inflame his passion.

  “Dear Lord,” she whispered. “This is madness!”

  Madness. The word seemed to echo around the room, bouncing gently off the walls.

  “Far better than doing nothing,” he returned tautly, drawing her into his warm, close embrace. “Let me tell you about my mother and father when they were young. They surrendered to madness too—only they called it love.”

  Words of protest kept coming and going inside her head, but she didn’t utter a one. She knew full well she was doing something dangerous. She knew she should be careful. But she wasn’t a thinking woman in his arms. She lifted her face to him like a flower to the sun in the sky for its blessing. Tenderly he began to trace the contours of her mouth with a padded finger.

  The sensation that poured into her made her shudder. She took his finger into her mouth, her tongue caressing it.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said.

  “Varo, I am. Technically I’m still married.” Her voice was strained, full of intensity.

  His answer was a mix of hard authority and deep emotion. “It’s not you and Luke any more. It’s you and me.”

  “But how? You will go away soon. You could forget all about me. You might say you’ll call me, e-mail me—God knows I’d spend my time checking—but once you get home things will be different. Family affairs will keep you very busy. You said you and your father had big plans.” She knew she might be left with nothing but a broken heart.

  Except he said, very simply, “We wait a while.”

  Was she to agree to that? Why could she not find her voice? Of course she had to wait. Even without Luke’s throwing up difficulties, and if her application was successful, the decree nisi would only become final one month and one day from the date of the divorce order. She still didn’t know how soon her application would come before the court. What she did know was that she and Varo had reached the point of no return. She had confirmed that by hovering outside his door. He with his finely tuned sensibilities had known she would come to him. He had been waiting as though it were her decision.