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‘Why are you frowning?’ Dante demanded, jerking her out of her recollections.
If love were a fairy tale, Dante had got the frog and prince thing completely wrong!
‘Are you going to dismount and let your horse drink?’ he prompted.
She sprang down to the ground before he could help her out of the saddle. She didn’t want to risk him touching her.
‘I’d like your opinion on this living accommodation...’
She refocused rapidly to take in the block of luxury apartments in front of them, and then realised they had ridden down a pathway flanked by the most beautiful gardens.
‘This is spectacular,’ she gasped, as she stared around. ‘It’s like an oasis in the desert. It’s ideal for what we need. Can we go inside and take a closer look?’
‘This is where we’ll house the VIPs during the cup,’ he called back as he led the way.
It was hard to believe they had ever lain in bed together, or that they had known each other as intimately as any couple could. His broad, muscular back was turned against her, making him seem like a stranger.
The building was so striking, it took her mind off her troubled thoughts for a while. The block of apartments curved in a horseshoe around the banks of a glittering manmade lake. When she stepped inside she was silenced as she stared around the light-filled space.
‘There’s a hot spa and a small heated outdoor pool for each apartment, as well as a butler service on call,’ Dante explained.
‘Butlers on horseback?’
‘In helicopters. It’s faster.’
‘Of course.’ Somehow she managed to keep a straight face. She had a lot of wealthy clients who had all sorts of unimaginable luxuries they took for granted, but in all her experience she had never heard of anything to compare with this.
‘Take your time to look around. I’m going to leave you to it, while I inspect the rest of the units to make sure they’re all up to the standard I requested.’
He filled every inch of her world with heat and machismo, and he made her ache with wistfulness for everything they’d lost; a loss he didn’t even know about. She quickly busied herself making notes, as he paused and turned to face her.
‘There’s just one thing you need to keep in mind,’ he said. ‘The Goucho Cup means everything to me. The game is my passion, and it’s a passion I want to share with the world. I’m determined to prove that it isn’t a game for a privileged few but an exciting spectator sport. I’m going to need your help to make that dream a reality. Are you in?’
‘You know I am.’ How could she not be infected by his enthusiasm, or by Dante’s dark, compelling stare?
Those few moments of intensity between them left her reeling, and it was almost a relief to move on to discussing food outlets and supply chains, though there was a moment later in the day when he turned to her to demand, ‘Who would have thought fate would throw us together again like this?’ But then he shook his head and snapped, ‘Forget it.’
That was one thing she couldn’t do. Fate had always meant them to be together—just not in the way she had expected.
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN THEY RETURNED to the ranch house she made the excuse that she needed a chance to compile her notes. Dante was way too distracting, and she was glad of some space. She ate alone and went straight to bed, but she couldn’t sleep.
Getting up, she worked through the night. There was a point in the cold dark hours when she wondered if frustration could actually cause a physical ache. The pain when she thought about Dante seemed real enough. She set up a calendar to mark off the days to the Gaucho Cup, and from that to her next job, but that only made the black hole without Dante yawn in front of her like an unbridgeable chasm.
She managed a few hours of sleep before dawn. The scent of blossom was heavy in the air when she opened the window. Leaning out, she dragged in some greedy breaths—then shot back, seeing Dante in the yard. Even cloaked in shadows he was a stunning sight. She watched him prowl into the stable block and wondered why he was up so early. The urge to follow him, to find out where he was going proved to be one old habit that time hadn’t dimmed.
Remembering the thrill of riding out with him at dawn the day before, she tugged on her breeches as fast as she could, pulled her hair into a ponytail and dragged on a top and riding boots—then stilled, hearing the sound of hooves on cobbles. She smiled at the sound of Dante’s husky whisper as he coaxed his horse to leave the prospect of an early feed in favour of the wide open spaces of the pampas. She’d catch him up—stalk him on horseback, as she had years ago.
