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And she didn’t care a jot.
Liar, Bella thought as she left the hotel. But she was determined to make the most of her short stay in one of the world’s most vibrant and beautiful cities. This was just one of the places Nero called home, and she was curious to explore it. Buenos Aires was full of personality and charm, the staff in the hotel had assured her. Everywhere she went she would find porteños, as the residents of Buenos Aires were called, performing the tango on the streets. Crowds gathered, music played, and dancers dressed for the occasion would entertain you, they told her with a smile.
She didn’t have to look far before she discovered a small square at the end of the street where an impromptu dance floor had been created simply by laying board down on the cobbles. The sun was warm, the sky was blue, the setting was exquisite and she joined the crowd to watch. Colourful gardens surrounded her and the central fountain in the tiny square provided a pleasant overlay to the music. A small white rococo church with steeples like plump figs added to the charm of the setting. She was really in South America now, Bella thought, feeling excited and rather cosmopolitan. Shading her eyes, she watched the dancers and soon she was lost in their skill, and in the music, and was hardly aware that someone had walked up behind her.
‘How easy it would be to relieve you of this,’ a husky male voice very close to her ear said disapprovingly.
‘Nero!’ Her heart lurched violently. So much for playing it cool. The heat of the dance was all around them—most of it in her cheeks when Nero held up the wallet he had taken from her handbag.
‘Your handbag was open,’ he explained. ‘Lucky for you the hotel told me where I could find you. I hope you’re packed and ready to leave?’
‘Of course.’ She was thrown immediately from carefree tourist into awkward sort-of-employee, and had to move quickly on from that mind-set to professional woman whose only purpose in being in Argentina was to do a worthwhile job for the prince of her country. She held out her hand for the wallet and Nero gave it to her. Stuffing it back into her shoulder bag, she fastened the catch securely. ‘Do you make a habit of this?’ she demanded.
‘Do you make a habit of leaving your wits behind when you travel?’ Nero countered.
They stared at each other. The dance between them had begun. Tango must be catching, Bella thought dryly. ‘Shall we?’ she said, keen to break eye contact.
‘By all means.’
She turned for the hotel. That husky Argentine accent was the sexiest in the world, she decided as she led the way.
And she’d soon get used to Nero’s voice and let it wash over her, Bella told herself firmly, quickening her step. But however prim she tried to act, Buenos Aires worked against her. There was too much passion here—too many dancers expressing their feelings on this Sunday morning, swirling, spinning, legs flicking, arms raised at acute angles—men in spats, women dropping as if into a dead faint in their partners’ arms, only to revive so they could continue the fight. It was exhausting just watching them.
‘Tango gets into your blood,’ Nero commented when they reached the steps of Bella’s hotel.
Then she must be sure not to let it get into her own blood, Bella thought. ‘I’ll just ask the porter for my suitcase. I left it ready in the lobby when I checked out.’
‘Your case has already been taken to the airport.’
‘The airport?’ Bella’s throat dried. Was Nero sending her home? Were her services no longer required?
‘I take it you won’t mind being my only passenger?’ he demanded.
She must have looked at him blankly. ‘In the jet,’ he prompted.
‘You’ll be flying a jet to the estancia?’ she confirmed.
‘Yes. Is something wrong with that?’
‘No, of course not.’ Didn’t everyone have a selection of private jets from which to choose?
The cockpit of Nero’s executive jet was yet another confined space in which Bella was forced to sit too close to Nero. Of course, she could have sat in the back where there were comfortable leather seats, and entertainment as well as refreshments on tap, but she had given way to a childish urge to sit next to the pilot.
And taste a little of that danger she was growing so fond of?
She had always been fascinated by the concept of flight, Bella argued primly with her inner voice.
And fascinated by Nero.
Why pretend? She had an overriding desire to sit next to Nero.
He checked the buckles on her seat belt and helped her to fit the headphones securely. ‘Okay?’
Her senses soared to answer him before she could. He smiled deep into her eyes. Nero saw everything, Bella realised, turning quickly to stare out of the window. By the time he had completed his pre-flight checks she could hardly breathe for arousal. He was totally in control, and his self-assurance filled her with confidence—and not just as to how well Nero would fly a jet.
‘There’s no need to be nervous,’ he said, turning to look at her.
‘I’m not nervous,’ she protested, consciously relaxing her grip on the seat. Just sitting next to him was making her nervous. Going to Nero’s estancia, where the only way out was by private plane, or goodness knew how long a road trip, was nothing short of insanity.
