The Argentinian's Solace. Susan Stephens

she couldn’t help wondering if he might benefit from the same massage therapy she had used to ease her mother’s pain. ‘I was just starting to plan,’ she said, arranging her face in a thoughtful expression.

      ‘Plans based on what?’

      ‘Plans based on what I’ve seen so far.’

      ‘They must be flimsy plans,’ Diego observed, slowing the vehicle. ‘Fernando,’ he said, glancing in the mirror, ‘this is where you’ll be staying until the weather settles.’

      ‘Gracias, Señor Acosta,’ the old man enthused.

      Maxie stared out of the window at a picturesque dwelling painted blinding white. Lovingly restored, it had a flower-festooned entrance and brilliant green shutters either side of tall, arched windows. A cactus garden framed the villa in vivid spikes of green, while the glittering black lava in which it was planted provided a dramatic contrast. Beyond the unusual garden the ocean was slowly turning from sullen grey to crystalline blue beneath a rapidly brightening sky.

      ‘Do I get out here too?’ She was keen to investigate further.

      ‘No, you stay in the vehicle,’ Diego ordered as he opened the door to get out. ‘Unless you want to share the single bedroom with your skipper?’

      ‘No, thank you.’ Maxie firmed her lips. Each time she thought she was getting the hang of dealing with Diego he had some new taunt up his sleeve. And that slack she had thought she should cut him? She was all out of rope.

      Maxie sat in the vehicle, tapping her fingers on her bag as she watched the two men stroll up the path. They appeared perfectly happy to leave her to her own devices …

      He might have known Maxie wouldn’t stay where he’d left her. He had barely walked through the door when her heart-shaped face appeared at the window. Fernando beat a hasty retreat upstairs. He couldn’t blame the old man. It was time someone informed Señorita Parrish that while she was on the island she did as she was told. He gave her a black look when she smiled at him—his body responded also.

      ‘This is nice,’ she said when she walked through the door, ignoring his hostile manner as she stared around. ‘Do you mind?’ she said, lifting her camera.

      ‘You’re here. You might as well.’

      She was already snapping away, while he was trying not to acknowledge the pleasing scent of rain-washed air she had brought with her into the house.

      ‘Perhaps some of the wedding guests could be housed here,’ she mused out loud.

      ‘I’ll have to see if the cottage is available.’

      ‘I’m sure you can make it so,’ she countered, with a smile he guessed she used on all her clients. ‘This place is beautiful,’ she enthused. ‘Did you design it?’

      ‘What do you think?’

      She cocked her head to look him straight in the eyes. ‘I’m guessing no.’

      ‘You’d be right.’ He thumbed his stubble as he watched her at work, cursing the ruined leg that forced him to prop himself up against the wall.

      ‘Everything’s so well put together,’ she observed as she clicked away.

      ‘Blame my sister Lucia.’

      ‘Oh, I think she’s a marvellous designer.’

      ‘I’ll be sure to tell her you said so.’ He vaguely remembered Lucia saying that her hard-nosed brothers must understand that mellow furnishings and comfortable sofas were essential if they didn’t expect their guests to live like horses in a barn.

      ‘I love this!’ Maxie exclaimed, touching one of the hand-painted vases reverently.

      He hummed and shrugged, refusing to admit that seeing what Lucia had done through Maxie’s eyes was a surprise to him too. Her final camera shot was one of him. ‘Holly will adore this,’ she assured him confidently. Having checked the image first, she brought it over to show him.

      Her scent, her warmth, her physical presence after he’d been so long alone almost overwhelmed him. ‘Let’s draw a line under this,’ he said brusquely, barely glancing at the image. ‘I have things to do.’

      ‘Of course,’ she said, putting her camera away. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve delayed you, but I was just thinking we could use this room in some of the backgrounds for the album.’

      ‘Really?’ he said, wanting this over with. But in spite of his impatience his gaze found time to stray to her lips.

      ‘Settings like these,’ she was explaining, ‘will give such personality and uniqueness to the photographs. And these stone walls are lovely,’ she added, stroking them thoughtfully.

      He was more interested in watching those small hands trace the centuries-old stone, until his leg chose to throb a warning that he wasn’t match-fit—for polo or for women.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, mistaking his grimace for a look of disapproval. ‘I must be keeping you.’ Another few moments passed. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

      ‘Yes,’ he bit out, but his damaged leg called him a liar and dragged as he moved past her to the door. Anger erupted inside him. The fact that Maxie’s breathing had speeded up when he brushed past her only heaped more humiliation on top of him.

      ‘Don’t worry—I’ll shut the door for you,’ she offered.

      Catching hold of the door before she could reach it, he slammed it shut behind them, consoling himself with the thought that he had dealt with more wilful ponies than he could count, and the harder they were to handle at the start the better they pleased him when he finally broke them in.

      He seethed all the way to the Jeep. Tossing his cane in the back, he swung in and Maxie jumped in beside him. Her lithe, agile form was another unintentional smack in the face for him, but as she turned to close her door her hair, which had dried into an inky cloud, brushed across his naked arm. He inhaled deeply, dragging in the scent of vanilla and lavender—a delicate and ultra-feminine combination he would never have expected the businesslike Maxie Parrish to choose.

      ‘Hurry up,’ he blazed as she fumbled with her seat belt. ‘I don’t have all day.’

      ‘You’ve really been very patient,’ she agreed. ‘I can’t thank you enough for showing me the cottage, and I promise not to take up so much of your time in future.’

      He hummed sceptically in reply. She was good at pretty apologies. It remained to be seen how she behaved when he piled on the pressure. It hadn’t escaped him that the faster Maxie worked the sooner she would be out of here—and he could get back to licking his wounds in private.