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‘I hope I’m all right dressed like this,’ she said, indicating her jeans and flat shoes. ‘I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I thought if I’d be walking—’
‘You look great,’ he said, barely glancing at her as he walked to the door.
Diego had a sister so he probably blanked out fashion questions as a matter of course, but Maxie wondered if she had underplayed it. Diego was wearing jeans and a crisp white shirt again, but he always looked outstanding, while she felt like a little grey mouse standing next to a tiger.
She might have known Diego would drive a bright red Ferrari. She might have known the moment he stepped out of the building he would be mobbed. She took refuge in the car, not wanting to be subjected to another trial of brief and dismissive scrutiny.
‘You should stay with me,’ he said when he joined her moments later. ‘Why did you run off like that?’ Closing the door, he gunned the engine. ‘I could have used some support.’
It took her a moment before she realised he was serious. It had never occurred to her that someone like Diego might need anything in the way of a boost. ‘I’ll be there for you next time,’ she promised wryly.
‘Make sure you are,’ he said, slanting a glance at her before lowering his sunglasses. ‘That’s why I love the pampas. It’s such a contrast to the city. I can be anonymous there—unless we have a match, of course.’
‘Tell me more,’ she encouraged. This was such a contrast to the dark, brooding man who had met her off the boat, and she was curious about Diego’s life before the accident.
‘We never appreciated the space on the pampas when we were young. My sister Lucia, in particular, positively loathed it. She always felt she was missing out on everything that was happening in Buenos Aires. But now?’ He shrugged. ‘I guess Lucia feels as we all do that the estancia is both our sanctuary and a playground where we all relax. We have one of the best polo pitches in the country,’ he confided, as if this might come as a surprise to her.
‘I can’t wait to see it,’ Maxie said, thinking how frighteningly close she felt to him suddenly. How was she supposed to remain safely on the outside looking in now?
She didn’t have to risk her heart, Maxie told herself sensibly. There was such a thing as friendship. They could just be friends.
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN Diego dropped her off, he explained to Maxie that she was on the most exclusive shopping street in Buenos Aires. She would be spoiled for choice, Maxie realised, wondering where to begin. How incredible was this? Maxie Parrish, a girl who arranged things for other people, was suddenly at the centre of all things up-scale and fabulous. And better still—thanks to the success of her business—she could afford it.
But Maxie soon discovered that money wasn’t the problem. Being treated as if girls who wore jeans and sneakers couldn’t afford to breathe the air on this exclusive street was. After trudging round every shop to no avail, she gave up. Spotting a market, she thought, why not? Buenos Aires wasn’t known as the Paris of South America for nothing. The relaxed sprawl of colourful stalls reminded Maxie of the Left Bank markets in Paris. You never know … she thought, crossing the road to explore.
Fortune favours the brave, Maxie mused as she picked out a flirty dress and some sandals to go with it. She had wanted to buy a pair of simple flip-flops, but the young stallholder had wagged a finger at her and picked out a pair of sexy heels. Maxie felt like a baby stork when she tried them on, but the stallholder insisted she must have them.
‘You’ll be dancing on the street tonight,’ she assured Maxie.
Maxie couldn’t picture Diego dancing on the street—though she would like to, Maxie mused as she added a shawl to her purchases in case it grew chilly that evening. With her shopping expedition over, she rang Diego, who had promised to pick her up as soon as she called.
‘Where are you?’ he said, answering at the first ring. ‘Alto Palermo? Avenida Santa Fe?’
‘No—close to the market,’ she explained, giving general directions.
‘What?’ he exploded.
‘Don’t fuss—I can have a coffee until you get here.’
‘Don’t fuss?’ Diego roared. ‘Like anywhere else in the world, some parts of the city are safer than others.’
‘And this part is perfectly safe,’ Maxie insisted. ‘For goodness’ sake, Diego, I’m not a child. I run a company—’
‘And you are a visitor in a foreign land,’ he flashed.
‘Are you mistaking me for a woman who has lost her way, as all the assistants in those posh boutiques seemed to think I had?’ Before directing her to what those shop assistants had explained would be a more affordable part of town, Maxie remembered angrily.
‘What are you talking about?’ Diego demanded.
‘The assistants who refused to serve me just because I’m wearing jeans and sneakers?’ she blazed back, wondering where all this passion had been hiding. ‘I’ve told you where I am,’ she flashed as anger and humiliation battled inside her, ‘and I’ve told you I’m going to have a coffee.’
‘Dios, Maxie!’ Diego rapped down the phone. ‘You’d better tell me which café. And where it is.’
She hadn’t found one yet. She gazed around, searching for inspiration. ‘Tortoni’s?’
‘Don’t move a step. I’m coming for you!’ Diego roared, nearly shattering her eardrum.
‘See you in the café—’ Maxie stared at the silent receiver in her hand. Diego hadn’t even given her a chance to cut the line. But as she prepared to cross the road it occurred to her that it was rather nice to have someone to care about what she did. She hadn’t had that since her mother had died. She could look after herself, of course, having done so for most of her life, but that didn’t stop Diego’s protective streak being a nice thing about him. But he was only concerned to hear she had strayed from the safety of the main shopping area, Maxie reasoned as she stared up at the façade of what appeared to be a popular café. Diego would feel that same sense of responsibility for all his employees. She only had to think about Maria and Adriana to know that.
As the door of the café opened she was greeted by a gust of warm air and the pungent smell of coffee. The noisy interior was full of men hunched over coffee cups as if the inky brew was the elixir of life, and families noisily sharing platters of food with all age groups represented, their happy faces reminding Maxie of so many mixed bouquets as they nodded their heads in time to the music.
And what music! The insistent throb of tango instantly invaded her veins. Couples were dancing between the tables, their gazes fixed on each other as they moved in a way she had never imagined could be so earthy and yet so sophisticated. She could hardly bear to blink in case she missed anything as the waitress showed her to a table.
Maxie was so enthralled by the dancing she allowed her coffee to go cold, and only snapped to at the sound of screeching brakes. This was swiftly followed by the slam of a car door, and she wasn’t the only one staring at the entrance as Diego stormed in. Her breath caught in her throat as his glance swept the room.
‘Maxie,’ he growled, heading straight for her.
Diego nodded to a waiter, who quickly pulled out a chair.
‘Hello, Diego.’ Maxie tried to remain cool as her heart thundered nineteen to the dozen. How could anyone look so gorgeous? How could anyone carry such an air of command? It was enough to transfix every man and woman in the place, she noticed—but then Diego wasn’t just a famous polo player, he was a frighteningly charismatic man, whom she guessed every woman wanted to go to bed with, and every man longed to call friend.
But he was hers.
Well, sort of, Maxie reasoned, trying not to give way to the waves of longing washing over her. She stared down in bewilderment at the crumbly little pastries on the plate in front of her, which the waiter had just put down without her ordering them.
‘Eat,’ Diego instructed. ‘I’ll watch your mouth.’
Trying to read Diego’s thoughts was always a nonstarter.
Was he teasing her, or was that a threat?
‘Eat,’ he repeated while she was still trying to work this out. And with that he turned away as if she was of no further interest to him.
‘Excuse me, señorita?’
She glanced up to find one of the men who had been dancing the tango leaning over the table, trying to attract her attention. ‘Yes?’
‘You are not dancing?’
‘No,’ she agreed, wiping her mouth on her napkin.
‘I would like to dance with you.’
Diego swung round so fast the table rocked. ‘The señorita is with me,’ he barked.
‘Pardon, señor,’ the man said with a bow, giving way.
Diego was interested now. He was so interested she couldn’t say, ‘I was going to refuse …’ fast enough before he moved his chair back and stood up.
‘You should have told me you wanted to dance, Maxie.’
‘But I don’t. In fact, I can’t dance,’ she explained.
‘Why not?’ Diego frowned.
Conscious that everyone in the café was staring at them now, she reduced her voice to an urgent whisper. ‘I’m hardly dressed for it.’
Resting one strong hand on his tight hips, Diego scanned the room. All the couples dancing were dressed in everyday clothes, she noticed.
‘Are you all out of excuses?’ he demanded.
Not quite. ‘I have two left feet.’
‘Lucky for you I have one of each.’
Staring at Diego’s outstretched hand, she pulled back in her chair. ‘Seriously—I can’t dance.’
‘But I can.’
