The Gold Collection: Taming The Argentinian: A Taste of the Untamed / The Untamed Argentinian / Taming the Last Acosta
Her hair might be standing on end for all she knew. She smoothed it self-consciously.
‘Ready to go, Grace?’
‘Yes, of course.’
Her throat felt tight as she reached for her briefcase. That was a small victory. She heard Nacho swoop to get it for her, but she got there first. She rarely lost anything these days, because it was so crucial she knew where everything was, and she had left it ready. Hanging the strap crossways over her body, she called Buddy, found the handle of his harness and reached for the door.
Was the air actually fizzing with electricity as she walked past Nacho or was that all in her head?
He closed the door behind them, and somehow managed to be at the gate in front of them.
‘The Jeep’s ahead of you, Grace. Would you like me to put Buddy in the back?’
‘That’s all right. I’ll do it.’
She was going to start as she meant to go on. This was business and she was going to do it right. She felt her way round to the back of the vehicle. It was already open, and she did a good job of loading Buddy. It was only when she came round to the passenger door that she hit a snag. She mapped the door time after time, with increasingly sweaty palms, but she still couldn’t find the handle. She felt so stupid—so hot and bothered—so frustrated.
‘I presume I’m allowed to do this much for you?’
She took a step back as the door opened. Did she appear so prickly and defensive? Grace wondered as Nacho helped her in.
The answer to that was yes. She wasn’t cut out for the role of victim. But there was no reason to overreact to every little comment he made, either.
Feeling for the seat, she settled in and Nacho swung in beside her. When he closed the door she had the sense of being contained in a very small space with him. He was a huge physical presence, but then she had always known that. It was Nacho’s physicality and energy rather than the sheer size of him getting to her now, and she was heating up all over just at the thought of his big body closing in on her own small frame. She could smell that he was still damp from the shower and had used some sort of menthol soap … or perhaps that was toothpaste? Anyway, he smelled really good.
Were her nipples erect? she wondered suddenly. Could she risk checking? She decided not, and crossed her arms over her chest instead as he started the engine and they moved off. She could imagine his powerful hands on the wheel, controlling their direction with the lightest of touches. The leather seats were big and comfortable. She explored hers discreetly, and then relaxed. The seats were huge. There was no chance they could rub up against each other accidentally.
‘It’s just a short drive to our newly refurbished wine facility,’ Nacho explained. ‘We could have walked there, but I thought you might be tired after the upheaval of the day.’
Now she couldn’t tell if he was smiling, frowning, or even laughing at her. He’d cottoned on very quickly to the fact that she could read a lot from a voice and was becoming increasingly clever at masking his opinion.
‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ she replied, settling for not making anything of his comment. ‘I’m looking forward to tasting the wines.’
‘Viticulture in this area goes back centuries,’ he said, going on to explain something of its history.
She breathed a sigh of relief, realising that Nacho was actually treating her like an intelligent human being. ‘So you’re the guardian of history around here?’
‘That’s a nice way to put it,’ Nacho agreed, and this time there really was some warmth in his voice.
Her first compliment, Grace registered—not that she was looking for any. Especially as they made her cheeks burn red.
‘I’m only sorry you won’t be able to see the old buildings we’ve been restoring,’ Nacho commented.
She was taken aback for a moment, but then she realised she appreciated his frankness. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I process loads of mental images through my other senses. And don’t forget I have a whole library of images to draw on from the days when I could see. I’m lucky in that respect.’
‘Yes, you are,’ he agreed.
For the first time she began to relax. Nacho’s candour suited her. To be treated normally was exactly what she wanted.
‘So, what are your impressions of Argentina so far, Grace?’
‘Well, it’s certainly lovely weather after a freezing cold British winter, and the people are very kind. And there are all sorts of wonderful new scents and sounds here.’
‘Horses?’ he suggested dryly.
‘Different,’ she said. ‘And there’s a sort of samba rhythm in the air.’
Nacho laughed. ‘Still the romantic, Grace?’
Was she?
‘Still mining for choice pieces of information to add to our forward promotion for your wines—if Elias places an order,’ she said coolly.
They fell silent after that sally, each rebalancing their opinion of the other, she thought.
Cocooned in darkness, she was given a chance to think back to the first time she’d seen Nacho. She’d found him frighteningly attractive, and in particular had seen something incredible about his eyes. He had such a keen stare it had seemed to suck information from her brain, while Nacho’s own thoughts remained guarded. She remembered he rode with a bandana to keep his unruly hair from his eyes. When she had first seen him dressed for polo, with that bandana instead of a helmet, she had thought he looked exactly like the king of the brigands as he led his team out. He was clearly the boss and everyone accepted his leadership.
Maybe it was that edge of danger about Nacho, that sense of him having seen things and done things that might shock her if she knew about them, that perversely made him all the more attractive. An inconvenience she would have to get over if she wanted to appear businesslike tonight.
‘Grace?’
‘Sorry.’ She rejigged her thoughts. ‘I was just thinking—I mean, I was just trying to imagine your wine facility.’
‘I’ll describe it to you.’
‘That would be great,’ she said, surprised to find him so amenable. ‘Is the river close by?’
‘Why do you ask?’
His voice had changed completely. She could have kicked herself. Of course she knew about the tragedy—everyone did—but there was something in Nacho’s voice she hadn’t heard before. Something that suggested that although his parents might have drowned in a flood there years ago the tragedy still affected him. What really surprised her was that Nacho had always appeared to be the ultimate in grounded men, but there was a strand of defensive anger in his voice, along with what could only be described as guilt and raw grief.
‘So, I gather you like it here?’ he said, changing the subject.
She guessed that was a welcome relief for him, and needed no encouragement to enthuse about her experience so far.
‘Like it here? I love it,’ she said impulsively. ‘What was it like growing up on the pampas, Nacho?’
She had said something wrong again, Grace realised when the silence thickened.
‘It was all sorts of hectic chaos,’ he said at last.
‘Go on,’ she prompted, eager to keep the faltering conversation going.
‘There was no privacy,’ he said, revealing the other side to Lucia’s coin.
It probably hadn’t ever occurred to Lucia that her brothers had been fighting to express their individuality too.
‘Not nearly