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The sexy sibilant syllables tickled her ear as she whispered back, ‘Absolutely certain—’
She wasn’t sure about anything—her own sanity was most in question. But she had excelled in Scottish country dancing at her all-girls school.
‘In that case…’
Snatching her to him, Nero managed in the shadows of the dimly lit club to look more saturnine and menacing than he ever had. She tilted her chin a little higher to acknowledge the round of somewhat hesitant applause. ‘You’d better lead,’ she conceded.
‘Oh, I’ll lead,’ Nero assured her.
‘And take it slowly, please—’
‘I will,’ he promised, sounding amused.
And then her palm was flat against Nero’s strong, warm hand and a whole universe of new feelings opened up to her. It would pass, Bella told herself confidently. She was only going to dance with him. What was the worst that could happen? She could make a fool of herself. Something told her that Nero would never allow that to happen. And for just once in her life she wanted to unselfconsciously do something she had watched and admired others do. ‘I just have to make sure I don’t tread on your feet,’ she said awkwardly as they waited for the music to begin.
‘Relax,’ Nero murmured. ‘Just imagine that you’re a pony I am breaking in.’
What? ‘I’d rather imagine I’m a woman and you’re a man who is very kindly teaching me an unfamiliar dance.’
‘Oh, I think you’ll be familiar with this dance,’ Nero murmured.
Bella gulped. She had to be the only person here who wasn’t familiar with the dance of love. But how could she not respond to Nero’s hand in the small of her back, or the insistent pressure of his thigh? He could be so subtle and so persuasive and, though she wasn’t doing anything clever like flicking her leg through his, she was moving to the music. Nero’s control of the dance was absolute, and yet his control was so light she could understand why his polo ponies were so responsive to him. Was it wrong to want a little more pressure? Was it really possible that Nero had such an incredible level of sensitivity, or such a sense of rhythm, and such an acute insight into what pleased her most?
‘You dance well,’ he said as a smattering of applause greeted their first experiment. ‘You have a natural flair.’
Only thanks to him, she thought.
‘And now let’s try and put a little more passion into it. Look at me, Bella. Look at me as if you hate me.’
At least something was easy.
‘That’s good. Now soften a little…entice me…’
She could do that too—but not too much. A brush from Nero’s body was like a lightning bolt to her system. No one was required to weld themselves to their teacher, Bella reassured herself. She would call upon her under-used acting skills instead. Raising a brow, she stared at Nero beneath her eyelashes. Lifting her ribcage, she adopted a more dramatic pose—a move that got her a little more applause.
‘Easy,’ Nero growled in her ear when she attempted to lead him. ‘This is only your first lesson.’
‘Then there will have to be many more,’ she assured him, growing in confidence and feeling invincible as more couples joined them on the floor.
Perhaps the right word was invisible…
Whatever. She was beginning to think the ability to dance the tango was a prerequisite for living in Argentina. ‘From what I’ve seen tonight, I’m going to need those lessons,’ she admitted.
‘You certainly will,’ Nero agreed. ‘And I’ll be sure to find someone good to teach you.’
As Bella went stiff and pulled away Nero drew her back again, inch by steady inch. And, yes, she should put an end to this, but why, when Nero kept each move so slow and deliberate and she could easily follow him, and he never once made her feel that he was mocking her, or that he would step over the all-important boundary from stylised dancing into something more threatening and real? He always maintained a space between them and, though some people undoubtedly found tango as intoxicating as sex, she had realised it was the promise of sex rather than the act itself, and as a woman who didn’t like
admitting how inexperienced she was, that held enormous appeal. Unlike the frenzied bouncing in the marquee at the polo ground, this was dance as art.
Nero loosened his grip when the music faded and led Bella back to their table. ‘You’re full of surprises, Bella Wheeler,’ he said, narrowing his eyes as he gave her a considering look. Raising his hand, he called the waiter over to bring them another drink.
‘Just some more water, please.’ She had more surprises locked away inside her than Nero could possibly guess at, and she was going to keep a clear head while she was in Argentina to make sure she kept it that way.
CHAPTER SIX
KEEPING a clear head guaranteed Bella an early night. Nero delivered her to the door of her hotel and, with a brisk nod, bid her good night. Put him out of your head, she told herself next morning. She was ready to explore.
The Sunday traffic was every bit as crazy as when she had arrived, but she welcomed the noise and bustle of a new day, thinking this was the most exhilarating introduction to a city as fascinating as Buenos Aires that she could possibly have. And she certainly wasn’t going to sit in her hotel room wondering what Nero was doing. He had said he would call for her at eleven that morning to take her to his estancia. Where he was or what he did before then was Nero’s business.
