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Bella nodded, relieved to be talking about something innocent after the way her thoughts had been turning.
‘It was built in the golden age before the First World War when the world was still innocent,’ Nero mused.
Bella turned to keep the magical building in sight. ‘And yet it looks so right here—’
‘Where nothing is innocent,’ Nero murmured.
Silence hung between them for a while and then it became clear they were leaving the centre behind and entering an area with a uniquely quaint beat rather than a city atmosphere. ‘I thought you might like the cobbled streets and Bohemian atmosphere…’
Was Nero teasing her? It was never easy to tell. Whatever his motive, it was clear he had booked the strait-laced Ice Maiden into one of the hottest areas of the city. The narrow streets were still crowded with pedestrians and there was a wide choice of clubs and bars and interesting little shops.
‘I hope you approve, Bella?’
‘I’m certainly intrigued.’ She was longing to explore.
‘Here we are.’ Nero drew the vehicle to a halt outside a small chic boutique hotel. ‘I chose this particular hotel because it’s far enough away from the action for you to get some sleep, but close enough, should you wish to sample it,’ he added with a touch of irony.
‘I’ll be far too busy sleeping,’ she countered, turning away from Nero’s mocking stare.
She was acutely aware of his strong hands on the wheel and the determined jut of his chin. Nero was in control for now and she had to step up to the plate or go home, and she had no intention of going anywhere until her job was done. Nero might think he could control every woman as he controlled his polo ponies, but not this woman. And with that silent pep talk over Bella felt a lot more confident. ‘Thank you for the lift.’
Leaning across, Nero stopped her opening the door, which was enough in itself to blank her mind of all her fragile resolutions. ‘Allow me,’ he said, staring into her eyes.
Oh, that long, confident Latin stare—when would she ever learn to deal with it? Bella wondered as Nero opened the door for her. She hadn’t missed the ironic twist of his mouth. Nero thought she was easy meat and simply acting tough. He was right about one of those—she was acting. She was in a strange country with a man she hardly knew, and she felt vulnerable. Only when they reached Nero’s estancia and she was working with her horses in a setting she understood would she be totally at ease again.
She stood for a moment on the cobbles in the warm gardenia-scented air. She just wanted to soak everything in. She could hear music playing in the distance. This was even better than the Buenos Aires she had dreamed about. And was that really a couple dancing in the street?
‘Tango—the lifeblood of Buenos Aires,’ Nero informed her in his deep, husky voice.
Bella’s heart was beating off the scale—surely Nero must hear it? She hadn’t even realised he’d come to stand so close beside her. Sensibly, she moved away. She had to keep all her wits about her on this trip. This was only page one of her Argentinian adventure, and the book promised to be as exciting and surprising as the country Nero called home.
CHAPTER FIVE
DETERMINED to maintain her cool, Bella fixed her gaze on the hotel entrance as she started up the steps. The polished wooden door had black wrought-iron decoration of a type that seemed to be fashionable in the area. Nero was definitely right about the area’s appeal. The cobbled streets and colonial buildings, coupled with Bohemian chic and the tango, gave it an irresistible charm.
She gasped as Nero held her back.
‘Don’t you want to stay and watch the dancers for a moment?’
Night was closing fast and shadows elongated the dancing couple into lean, languorous shapes. They were dancing without inhibition—not for an audience, but for themselves. They were unaware that they had been captured in the spotlight of a street lamp in the middle of the city. Staring intently into each other’s faces, the dancers inhabited their own erotic world of fierce stares and abrupt movements, finishing in sinuous reconciliation. The tango was the dance of love, Bella realised.
‘There is a milonga, a neighbourhood dance hall where people go to dance tango—quite famous, actually—just across the street,’ Nero explained, bringing Bella back down to earth again. ‘That couple will almost certainly be practising for their performance tonight.’
‘I’d love to see them dance,’ Bella murmured, transfixed by their skill. The man was resting the woman over his arm so that her hair almost brushed the pavement, and the woman was slim and lithe, and dressed for a night of dancing such as Bella couldn’t even begin to imagine—and had certainly never experienced.
And was never likely to, she told herself sensibly, but how she envied the woman her confidence and her style. She was wearing the highest stiletto heels and the sheerest black tights with a fine seam up the back, and her dress was the merest whisper of black silk that flicked and clung to her toned, tanned body. The man was taller, but he too was lean and strong. He guided and directed his partner in a way that seemed to have no answer to it until she snapped her legs around him, and that spoke of another truth—that a woman with the right sort of confidence could tame any man.
Right, Bella thought as she watched them, but not this woman, not me. And not this man, she reflected, stealing a glance at Nero. No wonder she was a stranger to this type of dancing. Pulling herself round, she turned to follow the porter into the hotel.
‘Do you want to go there later?’
She stopped dead, completely dumbfounded by Nero’s question. She felt a shiver of awareness streak down her back. She must have misheard him, surely? ‘I’m sorry?’ She turned to face him.
‘Perhaps you’re too tired to go out tonight?’ Nero suggested dryly.
Nero was inviting her to join him at the tango club? The mocking challenge in his voice sent warning tingles down her spine. But wasn’t this what she had wanted? On the simplest level she longed to see something of Buenos Aires while she had the chance. Let’s not even go near the complicated level, Bella concluded. But hadn’t Nero said that tango was the lifeblood of the city? ‘As long as I don’t have to dance,’ she said, feeling happy now she had put a condition on accepting his invitation.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said dryly, ‘I’ve seen you dance.’
