The Gold Collection: Taming The Argentinian. Susan Stephens

      ‘Steady,’ he murmured.

      ‘Me or the horse?’

      She gasped when he caught her round the waist, and the next thing she knew she was airborne.

      ‘I’m lowering you gently into the saddle in front of me,’ Nacho explained. ‘So we don’t give the horse a shock.’

      What about her shock?

      As if her swift rise into thin air hadn’t been alarming enough, she now had her buttocks rammed up hard against Nacho. Fighting the urge to arch her back and feel more of that hard body against hers was the least of her worries. Nacho had somehow swept her skirt back as he lifted her, so now she was sitting astride his horse with her dress rucked up to her knickers and her confidence evaporating rapidly.

      ‘I thought you were going to lead me along the riverbank,’ she protested.

      ‘You thought wrong,’ he said, and with a click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth they were off.

      At the stallion’s first surge forward she was sure she would crash to the ground. She had never felt that much power beneath her before, and not knowing how far she had to fall made each rolling step the horse took absolutely terrifying.

      ‘Are you okay, Grace?’ Nacho demanded, tightening his grip on her.

      ‘I think so …’ Her voice sounded small and feeble, and he must have felt her tension, but it wasn’t just fear of falling that had turned her into such a coward. It was Nacho’s primitive energy that seemed to be throbbing through both of them.

      She could feel his heart thudding against her back, slow and strong, and his hard muscles shifting behind her. The warmth of his body against hers was intimate beyond anything she could imagine. She sat forward a little, to put some distance between them. For all his wealth and polish Nacho exuded an earthy, animalistic quality that made her ultra-aware of him. She could understand now why women wanted to go to bed with him and why men feared him.

      And no one with any sense got this close to danger without expecting to get burned.

      Her inner voice of caution might advise that, but clearly she had no sense, Grace concluded, because she was starting to enjoy the sensation. And, as far as the riding went, she was determined to make a go of it.

      ‘What do you need me to do?’

      ‘As little as possible,’ Nacho said. ‘Just relax. If you tense up the horse will feel it and become restless. You have to go with me—move with me.’

       Really …?

      With her back to him she was free to smile, and then, concentrating, she tried again.

      ‘That’s better,’ Nacho approved when she started to get the hang of it.

      Grace’s legs were slender as a newborn fawn’s, but there was nothing weak or unsteady about her. There was a line between weakness and fragility, and no one would ever mistake Grace for being weak. His mother had been weak. He could see that now. Though nothing excused what he had done. He had never turned his back on anyone before or since the fateful day of the tragedy, and he never would again.

      ‘Is this right?’ Grace asked, jolting him back to the present.

      ‘Just about perfect,’ he confirmed.

      She was riding really well, but then no one could ever accuse Grace of shirking a challenge. He could see now that since her illness she had worked hard to prove herself. She had retrained and learned all sorts of new skills. She had proved herself at the wine tasting, and again with his gauchos, and now she had somehow talked him into letting her ride his best horse. Perhaps most surprising of all was the way the big stallion was picking his route with more care than usual, as if he knew he had precious cargo on board.

      If his brothers could only see this, Nacho reflected with amusement.

      ‘Riding is even more fun than I thought!’ Grace exclaimed.

      He felt the now customary bolt of shock and pain when she turned her lovely face his way and her gaze flew somewhere to the right of his face.

      ‘There’s so much power beneath us,’ she enthused. ‘This is just wonderful, Nacho.’

      Even as he warmed inside he remembered the harm he could do to those he cared about. ‘Sit straight,’ he rapped, mentally pulling back to concentrate on the practicalities of teaching Grace to ride. ‘You shouldn’t be looking at me. You should be looking forward, between the horse’s ears.’

      ‘If I could look anywhere,’ she corrected him humorously.

      Vicious curses invaded his head. ‘Sorry—’

      ‘Don’t be,’ she said. ‘Riding is too much fun for us to worry about anything. Who cares?’

      That Grace had lost her sight? He did. ‘Feel for his ears, Grace. Good. Now, that’s where you should be pointing your nose.’

      She started to laugh. ‘Are you saying I’ve got a big nose?’

      She had a perfect nose. ‘Line up your body,’ he instructed. ‘Not stiffly like that,’ he complained with an impatient sigh. ‘Draw yourself up and relax into his gait. That’s better. Allow your hips to move easily back and forth in rhythm with his stride. Good. Well done, Grace.’ She was a natural. ‘Did anyone else ever take you riding?’ he asked, feeling a stab at the thought that there might be someone in her past who had done so.

      ‘A man once,’ she mused, leaning back against him as she appeared to think about it.

      ‘What man?’ he said angrily, moving away.

      ‘A man at the seaside.’

      ‘The seaside?’ he cut in suspiciously, as visions of sun-drenched beaches and handsome polo players on half-wild ponies sprang to mind.

      ‘The man at the seaside who ran a team of donkeys,’ she said.

      ‘Are you teasing me?’

      ‘Maybe,’ she admitted, and there was a smile in her voice.

      He was relieved. There was no getting away from it. He was very much relieved.

      Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he urged the stallion on—which gave him every excuse to hold Grace more firmly. ‘Trust me,’ he said as she grabbed a hank of mane. ‘You’re safe with me, Grace.’

      Safe with Nacho? Was he mad? Was she mad, for that matter? And a ragdoll pegged out in a gale would have more poise than she had right now. She was bumping up and down on the saddle like a sack of potatoes.

      ‘I’m going to help you to move correctly, Grace.’

      Thank goodness he couldn’t see the expression on her face now, she thought.

      ‘You’re not frightened, are you?’ he said, feeling her tension.

      ‘No,’ she protested. But she was. She was frightened of the way Nacho made her feel … his touch on her body, his breath on her skin; the way she felt so safe, cocooned in the warmth of his arms. She could so easily get used to this—and that would only end in heartbreak.

      At Lucia’s wedding, when Nacho had singled her out, her head had started spinning with wild, romantic nonsense. In the cool light of day she had realised it was pure nonsense without any of the romance. And now Nacho was only being kind to his sister’s blind friend. She shouldn’t read anything more into this riding lesson.

      ‘You’re doing really well,’ he said, loosening his grip. ‘You’re on your own now, Grace.’

      ‘What?’ she exclaimed, a bolt of terror running through her. ‘I’m not ready to go it alone.’

      Nacho said nothing; he just let her go, which was really scary in her darkness. She just had to trust he wouldn’t let her fall.