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Her work provided the lifeline. The sound of churning water saved her. It distracted her and she exclaimed with interest when their route to the polo yard took them past the hydrotherapy spa. ‘Can I take a closer look?’
‘Of course.’ Nero hung back while she went to watch the pony having its treatment. Rubber matting on the floor and side walls prevented accidental injury, and the spa stall was just large enough for the horse to feel safe as the healing salts in the chilly water bubbled around its legs. ‘This is fantastic,’ she commented.
‘The low temperature increases the pony’s circulation and speeds up the curative process,’ Nero explained, coming to stand beside her.
She breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness they had found something of interest in common that didn’t put either her reputation or her heart at risk. ‘I don’t have anything like this in England.’ She flashed a glance at Nero, and then remembered how things stood between them.
‘I’m sure you’ll find everything you need here, Bella.’
‘I’m sure I will,’ she said, determined to ignore the shiver of arousal that rippled down her spine.
CHAPTER NINE
AS PART of the final matching process between horse and rider for the upcoming polo game, Nero was mounted and ready to give a riding demonstration. This was primarily for Bella so he could show her each pony’s paces and quirks, though the newly arrived youngsters from the city had been invited to watch too.
This was why they were here, Bella thought as she watched the rapt faces around her. Nero might look like a movie star, but they all knew he wasn’t playing a role, and he was doing more than show the paces of each horse. He was making the kids hungry—making them aspire to do better—to be the best they could be, so they could make a difference in the world in which they lived. But for now, Nero could turn a polo pony on a sixpence. He could gallop, skid to a halt in a cloud of dust within inches of the fence and make them all scream. He could prompt a pony to weave and turn, back up, rear round and change direction constantly, without appearing to move a muscle. And he did all this with the nonchalance of a Sunday ride in the park.
Nero was cool—really cool. He wasn’t just the master of the game or even the horse he happened to be riding. Nero was master of himself, and that was sexy. He was powerful, and yet he coaxed a wild animal to be part of a team, and to do that he had to be sensitive and almost primal in his understanding of the relationship between two living things—and almost preternaturally refined in the delicacy of the adjustments he made to draw differing responses from the horse. It didn’t take much to start wondering how that sensitivity of his might translate in bed.
And she had to stop thinking like that right away. She joined in the applause when Nero cantered round the ring acknowledging the appreciation of his audience with one hand raised. Staring at his strong tanned hand and imagining how it would feel resting on her naked body—firm, yet light and intuitive when it came to dealing pleasure. She had to stop that too.
‘Did you draw any conclusions?’ Nero demanded, reining in his horse in front of her.
‘Plenty,’ Bella managed as her throat went suddenly dry.
‘Good.’ Slipping his feet out of the stirrups, Nero eased his powerful limbs. ‘I look forward to hearing your comments when I’ve helped the boys take the ponies back.’
‘Right.’ She nodded as he wheeled the pony away, but she was still rather more drawn by his muscular thighs straining the seams of his breeches than by any conclusions she had made on the work front. ‘Get real, Bella,’ she muttered impatiently under her breath.
Nero and Ignacio received her comments with approving nods. At least she hadn’t lost it where horses were concerned. But that didn’t address the bigger problem, Bella mused as Nero started to walk off with Ignacio. Staying in the house with him meant she saw Nero every day. She couldn’t affor
d to slip up again like she had in the barn. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she called to the two men as she headed off in the opposite direction.
She could be happy here, Bella realised as she walked along the path between the paddocks and the warm breeze ruffled her hair. It was the type of life people dreamed of, with the added spice of Nero close by. Reaching the house, she was already anticipating the welcoming smiles from María and Concepcion. The warmth of family, she thought as she opened the kitchen door. Kicking off her boots, she lined them up on the mat. Walking across the room, she left her helmet and riding gloves where Nero left his. It was maybe the closest she’d come to him since their kiss…
Seeing her smile fade momentarily, the two beaming women hijacked her with a piece of chocolate cake. ‘Mmm—delicious,’ Bella exclaimed, biting deep.
‘More,’ the two women insisted, cutting her a second slice.
‘I’ll miss you both so much when I go home,’ she told them both in halting Spanish whilst fending off their attempts to force-feed her. She’d tried to learn more of the language, wanting to get closer to the people she was living with. She had only been in Argentina a short time, but it had made a huge impression on her. It wasn’t just the facilities here, or even the challenging ponies…
It must be something in the air, Bella decided wryly, sucking crumbs off her fingers as she headed for the door. Nero and the pampas? That was quite a combustible combination for anyone to handle…
So she’d leave it for someone with more relationship smarts than she had.
And now she was jealous of that unknown someone.
She must remember not to let her feelings show, Bella realised as María chased her to the door in an attempt to feed her more reviving chocolate cake. Laughing and holding up her hands in submission, she took the cake, dropped a kiss on María’s cheek and ran upstairs to her bedroom.
Trailing her fingertips across the beautiful handworked quilt, Bella’s gaze was drawn as it had been the first time she’d walked into the room, to an oil painting over the fireplace. Bella’s mother had been soft and kind, but the woman in this portrait had Nero’s fierce stare and was dressed like a gaucho in men’s clothes. The only nod to femininity was the froth of chiffon at her neck.
Bella lay on the bed, staring at the portrait. The strong character of the woman in the painting blazed out at her. That must have been one formidable lady, Bella thought, taking in the determined set of the woman’s jaw, the unflinching gaze, and the line already cutting a cruel furrow down one side of her full red lips. The likeness to Nero was uncanny. And I bet she had a sardonic smile too, Bella mused. The woman in the painting looked as if she could cut any man down to size with either a whip or her tongue. It pleased Bella to recognise the countryside in the background, though the estancia appeared much smaller. No wonder the ranch had grown, she thought, smiling as she took in the woman’s planted fist on top of the sturdy fencing. The portrait spoke volumes about Nero’s ancestry and why he was so attached to the estancia. With people like that in his family, how could he not be?
Nothing much had changed, Bella reflected as she went to take a shower. Estancia Caracas might be huge now and home to a very rich man, but Nero was as much a warrior as the woman in the painting. Had no softening influences touched him? What about his parents? Had they been written out of the picture? He never spoke about them. What sort of childhood had he had? And would she ever know?
It seemed unlikely, Bella thought as she soaped herself down. Nero wouldn’t confide in her, and she could hardly question his staff.
One idyllic day melted into another, with Bella growing ever closer to Nero’s staff until she felt like a real member of the team, and the youth scheme was going even better than she had dared to hope. Ignacio lightened everything, making her laugh and drip-feeding her information about Nero, as if the elderly gaucho wanted her to know what made his boss tick. The portrait in her bedroom was Nero’s grandmother, he explained.
