The Gold Collection: Taming The Argentinian: A Taste of the Untamed / The Untamed Argentinian / Taming the Last Acosta
hammering—hammering so hard now she could hardly breathe.
So now she thought through her favourite waltz, page by page, bar by bar, note by note.
She really couldn’t wait any longer. She would have to find the bathroom—crawling if she had to. She’d done it before. She knew that if she crawled around the perimeter of a room she would find doors and hopefully, eventually, the room she needed. Then a noise caught her ear.
‘Buddy?’
Grace exclaimed with excitement. She had never been so relieved to hear the scratch of claws on wood before. Nacho must have brought him up before he left so she wouldn’t be stranded. She’d been wrong to imagine Nacho would simply get out of bed and leave her to it. She was right about him. He was caring. And sexy as hell.
Feeling confident now, she turned her face into the pillow to drag in Nacho’s warm, clean scent. She smiled, absorbing the contented ache of a body that had been very well used. What a night! Nacho had revealed himself to Grace in ways she could never have imagined. Who would guess there was such a tender, humorous individual beneath that autocratic manner? Or that he could be such an amazing lover …?
The hardest of the Acosta brothers?
She didn’t think so. Nacho was wonderfully warm. And she had relaxed properly for the first time in a long time, Grace realised as she stretched contentedly. She had learned a lot about herself too—like her insatiable capacity for passion. She felt womanly and appreciated, thanks to Nacho.
‘Go find your harness, Bud,’ she called, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed so she could test the floor with her feet. ‘I bet he’s brought it up …’
He had, and once she had Buddy to lead her around Grace moved swiftly to get ready for the day. She found her clothes neatly arranged on a leather sofa, and her toiletries waiting in the bathroom. Even her stick was propped against the sink, where she couldn’t miss it.
‘Someone has guessed that you don’t go everywhere with me,’ she told Buddy with amusement.
The shower had been left on an appropriate setting, and there was a stack of towels waiting for her on the side. She showered and dressed quickly, trusting her guardian angel had also matched up her clothes: jeans, sneakers, underwear and a tee, obviously brought over from the guest cottage. And then with Buddy’s help she found her way down to a warm kitchen, fragrant with the smell of freshly baked bread. The room was alive with the chatter of at least two women.
Nacho’s housekeepers, Grace presumed, greeting them brightly. ‘Buenos días …’
‘Buenos días, Señorita,’ the women chorused gaily, ushering Grace into the room.
If the women wondered at Grace’s sudden appearance in the main house they certainly didn’t show it. Their welcome couldn’t have been warmer. She heard the scrape of chair legs on a stone floor and felt Buddy’s tug as he prepared to take her towards the seat that was being offered to her. Releasing him, she sat down.
The two women vied with each other to offer Grace every type of food and drink imaginable. Grace tried to find an appetite, so she didn’t offend them, but all she could think about was when Nacho would be back. He would be out riding, she guessed, and one housekeeper, Maria, confirmed this. Señor Acosta was planning to meet Grace later that afternoon, Maria explained.
So long to wait! Grace hid her disappointment. She did have work to do, but first, if there was a piano in the house, maybe she could play it …
She asked the question and was surprised at the long pause. She wondered if it meant the two older women were exchanging glances. ‘I understand if no one is allowed to play it,’ she said, remembering the tragedy that had killed Nacho’s parents, and the fact that Lucia had mentioned it had something to do with a piano. She couldn’t imagine what—how could a piano and a flood be connected?—but Grace had never liked to probe around such a sensitive issue.
Maria had obviously come to a decision, as the housekeeper exclaimed, ‘It would be maravillosa … wonderful to have music in the house again, señorita. The piano is in the hallway. Please, allow me to show it to you. But first I must find the key.’
Grace’s excitement mounted. It had been so long since she had played a piano—since before she had lost her sight. So she wasn’t even sure she still could. And she didn’t really know why she had this sudden urge to play again, but she felt something here and knew she had to answer the longing. If she could only play for Nacho …
Her heart pounded with excitement at the thought as Buddy led her out of the kitchen and into the hall.
The hallway was big and fresh and filled with light. Grace always rejoiced that she still had a sense of light— it made everything feel so much better. There was a flower display somewhere … she could smell the blossom. And beeswax. And floor polish. She smiled to think she would never have noticed things like that before. And that she would have found her rubber-soled sneakers annoying as they squeaked across the marble tiles, she realised, smiling wryly. She had so much to be grateful for.
Buddy brought her to a halt next to Maria, who was unlocking the piano. It was tucked beneath the grand staircase. No wonder she hadn’t known it was there. Buddy had never had to make a detour round it. She felt for the piano stool, and then remembered that Nacho’s mother would have been the last person to sit on it. It felt like a real privilege to be taking her place, hopefully playing the music that had once brought her and her children so much pleasure.
‘I’m afraid the piano hasn’t been played for years, señorita,’ Maria murmured as Grace’s hands hovered above the keys.
‘That’s what I thought,’ Grace said quietly, thinking about the woman who had sat here before her. I hope you don’t mind me playing your piano, she reflected silently. ‘I haven’t played for some time, either,’ she explained to Nacho’s housekeeper ruefully. ‘I’m not even sure I can still play.’
Grace’s heart squeezed tight when Maria touched her arm. ‘I’m sure you can do anything you set your mind to, señorita.’
Grace could only hope Maria was right.
She sat for a long time without doing anything after Maria left. Putting off the moment, she guessed. The hall felt very quiet, very still, very empty. It was easy to imagine ghosts were listening. ‘I don’t want to let you down,’ she murmured, reminding herself that all piano keys were set out in a logical sequence, so it should be no big deal that she couldn’t see. The notes weren’t going anywhere, and she could hear what she was playing just as well as she ever had. She just had to remember what Clark, the pianist at the club had told her. ‘Close your eyes, Grace, and let the music flow …’
What if it didn’t flow?
It would flow, Grace told herself firmly. Nothing had changed since those nights at the club.
Everything had changed. Her fingers fumbled over the keys as if she was a toddler let loose on a piano. It didn’t help that the instrument was so badly out of tune. She couldn’t hear what she should be playing. She couldn’t find her way into the tune—any tune. She couldn’t trust her own judgement. Even the simplest nursery rhyme was beyond her reach.
This was ridiculous. She had to calm down and get over the fear. Dashing the tears away, she thought back to what they’d told her at the rehabilitation centre: she must always give herself time to think. Taking a deep breath, she tried again—first a scale, and then an arpeggio, and now a simple Chopin waltz, one of the slower ones she had always been able to play from memory. She started hesitantly, but her courage quickly grew. Clark Mayhew had been right. The music hadn’t left her. It was still here in her head and in her fingers.
The hall was a natural amphitheatre, and even the suspect tuning seemed to add a poignant, haunting strain to the melody. The keys that had been sticking to begin with were working now, as if the piano was glad to be played again. Her heart