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“Come to Argentina with me. Share your gift.” He shrugged. “Or don’t. It’s up to you.”
Game, set, and match, she thought. Dante knew exactly which buttons to press. She never could resist a plea on behalf of the ponies, and he knew that. If animals needed her, she’d always be there for them.
Will that be enough?
It would have to be.
Consciously relaxing the tension in her face, she smiled a breezy welcome to her father, who was coming downstairs to join them, looking more optimistic than she’d seen him in years. She’d do anything to keep that smile in place.
“So,” he said, looking from Rose to Dante and back again, “when are you two off to Argentina?”
Chapter Nine
Argentina! She couldn’t believe she was actually here. It was a long flight, but being with the horses in the main body of the jet had distracted her and kept her busy. Closing her eyes, she stepped into the blinding light of a beautiful day. It wasn’t the strength of the light that made her pause after the shaded, temperature-controlled interior of the huge transporter jet, but the desire to savor the scents and sounds of a new land. It was just a shame, Rose reflected with amusement, that aviation fuel was the top note in that perfume. Looking around at the miles of unseen green toward the horizon, she decided that the scent of the pampas wouldn’t be so different from Ireland.
“Can I help you with your cases?”
The deep voice distracted her. “Oh no, that’s okay, but thank you—”
She smiled up at Tom, a polo player she’d traveled over with. Tom was a good-looking guy, but he didn’t rock her boat. Only Dante could do that, and Dante hadn’t traveled with them. He’d come on ahead in a smaller jet. Like she had a bicycle at home, and her dad’s rickety car for longer journeys, Dante had a fleet of private jets.
And a life of his own, Rose reminded herself as Tom went ahead toward one of the SUVs lined up waiting. She turned around for one last glance at the fabulous jet with the Blood and Thunder team’s logo of a black stallion’s head emblazoned on the side, with its state-of-the-art stalls for the ponies and full veterinary section including an emergency operating theatre. There was a separate luxury area where owners could rest up, but Rose had eaten with the grooms and dozed with the horses. They were her charges. That was the only reason she was here.
The jet had landed on a private airstrip in the middle of the pampas. Or, more accurately, in the middle of Dante’s ranch. They’d been flying over his land for hours, one of the grooms on board had explained to Rose’s amazement as they prepared for landing. Her father’s farm had seemed enormous to Rose when she was a little girl, and then she’d marveled at the idea of an island being owned by a polo team, but this was something else. Calling Dante the Romani chieftain seemed more appropriate than ever. His was a land of many contrasts; a land to explore and never travel the same path twice. It made her long to know him better. She wanted to understand his roots, his past, and every significant event that had made him the complex man he had become. Perhaps here, she would stand a better chance. Miguel had hinted at some tragedy in Dante’s past. She’d thought that was the loss of his mother, but no, Miguel had said, there was more, but Miguel protected Dante fiercely, and he wouldn’t tell her anything else.
Shouldering her bag, she stilled as all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck lifted. She didn’t need to turn around to know who was standing behind her.
“Good flight?”
“Perfect, thank you.” Her heart rampaged in her chest as she turned to face Dante. Perfect like Dante. Though how she could find such a forbidding-looking individual perfect defeated Rose. She just had to accept that whatever Dante had—and he had plenty of it, she was addicted. Freshly showered with his thick black hair still a little damp, and his face a deeper bronze than ever, no doubt thanks to riding on the pampas every day, he was dressed in battered jeans protected by worn leather chaps. A heavy-duty leather belt cinched his waist, and he’d parked the shave, so the sharp black stubble that had given her so much wicked pleasure when they’d made love was more evident than ever. It made him seem more overwhelmingly and brutishly physical. And she loved that look on him. Her body responded on cue.
“No trouble with the horses?” he enquired.
“None,” she confirmed.
There were more questions in Dante’s eyes. Alongside concern for the horses was a flare of victory. She was in his world now. His lust hadn’t waned. She wanted him too. Mutual attraction leapt between them like a living force. It was almost a relief when he turned away to check that all the horses were safely loaded up.
“You’ll ride with us,” he said when he was done.
She followed his glance to the group of gauchos waiting beneath the shade of some trees. They were all, without exception, mounted on magnificent horses. One of them was guarding a particularly challenging-looking black stallion that wasn’t taking too well to confinement. Dante’s mount, she guessed. The only other horse without a rider was mild and much older. Contentedly cropping grass, he didn’t appear to have a care in the world. This would be her mount, Rose concluded.
“This isn’t a holiday, Rose—”
Dante was halfway to his men when he called back to her. She was instantly alert, and then angry. She’d only just arrived. This was all new to her. Couldn’t he wait even a minute for her to get her bearings? This was—
Her job, Rose accepted as she started to jog.
The leathered gaucho who was holding on to the old horse’s reins had a world of experience in his eyes. His sharp stare said he wouldn’t take anything or anyone on face value.
And why should he? Rose thought. Thanking him, she mounted up.
Without so much as a glance her way, Dante cantered to the head of his small posse, and he and his men galloped away.
Welcome to Argentina, Rose.
Persuading the old horse to stop munching, she turned him in the direction of what was no more than a dust cloud by now. Urging him into what turned out to be a surprisingly eager ca
nter, she grinned as she leaned over his neck—and grinned some more when the canter transitioned into an enthusiastic gallop. There was no magic involved. It was just the thought of the food waiting for him in the stable.
