The Gold Collection: Taming The Argentinian. Susan Stephens

come to join us,’ Nacho remarked. ‘Shall we give him a run?’

      ‘Oh, please,’ she agreed, sitting up straight again. ‘Let’s go faster.’

      The speed, the wind in her hair, cantering across the countryside with Nacho—all of it was exhilarating. And also a pointed reminder that she was a novice where so much in life was concerned, while Nacho was notoriously the master of all things with risk attached. She was sexually inexperienced. He was not. Yes, she’d had a few attempts at relationships, but had never seen what all the fuss was about. And there had been piano practice in her young life, followed by hard work when she was older, leaving barely any time to spare for thoughts of romance.

      But she could think about romance now. With the stallion’s hooves pounding beneath her it was impossible to think of anything but romance. She could be galloping across the desert with a sheikh, or riding into the sunset with a cowboy. Or, better still, Grace concluded, smiling to herself, she could be riding across the pampas with Nacho.

      He had nudged the horse into an easy canter, knowing the swaying rhythm would be easier for Grace to handle than a high-stepping trot. And it was. But with Grace pressed up against him and all that power harnessed beneath them there was fever in his blood.

      ‘Work your hips back and forth,’ he said, trying to concentrate on teaching Grace to ride. ‘You need to loosen up, Grace.’

      She took him at his word and leaned her head against his chest in a gesture that was both intimate and trusting, surprising him again.

      ‘Is Buddy okay?’ she said, sitting up just as he was getting used to having her resting against him.

      ‘He’s fine.’ Reining in, he slowed the stallion to a walking pace. ‘Did Alejandro mention the grape-treading to you tonight?’

      ‘He did say something about a party,’ she admitted. ‘He also said he hoped I’d be there. But I suppose I’d need an invitation for that …’

      He laughed. ‘Stop fishing, Grace. You know you’ve got one.’

      ‘I know why,’ she said. ‘You’re hoping I might use the event in our forward publicity if Elias decides to go ahead and place an order.’ She laughed. ‘But if you think my attendance tonight guarantees that order, think again. I’ve got a lot more to see.’

      ‘Are you playing hardball with me, Señorita Lundström? Because if you are I shall have to frighten you into submission. Are you ready for more speed?’

      ‘Try me,’ she said. ‘You don’t frighten me, Señor Acosta.’

      As she spoke she turned, and as she turned his gaze slipped to her lips. ‘At least allow me to try,’ he murmured.

      He had to admire Grace when the stallion bounded forward and she started whooping with excitement. ‘Does nothing frighten you?’ he called against the wind blowing in their faces.

      ‘Only the darkness,’ she yelled back, making him rage inwardly against the cruel fate that had left her blind.

      He reined in at the guest cottage, where he told Grace to wait while he dismounted so he could help her down. But, as he might have known, she didn’t wait and somehow managed to slip to the ground without his help, only staggering slightly as she regained her balance.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said formally, holding out her hand for him to shake. ‘That was wonderful, Nacho. And now I’ve taken up enough of your time.’

      She was dismissing him. ‘Alejandro has hung Buddy’s harness on the fence,’ he said. ‘It’s over there to your right—’

      ‘No use pointing, Nacho.’

      ‘Grace, I—’

      ‘I know. You’re sorry.’

      ‘Hanging from the main post,’ he explained patiently.

      ‘What time will you call for me tonight?’ she said, finding the harness.

      ‘Same time as last night.’

      ‘Fine by me,’ she said. ‘Thanks again for the riding lesson.’

      ‘There’s just one thing.’

      ‘Which is?’

      ‘Buddy can’t come tonight.’

      ‘That’s okay,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I was expecting it.’

      ‘Until tonight, Grace …’ He vaulted into the saddle.

      ‘Until tonight,’ she said, turning for the door.

      Being without Buddy for one night wouldn’t be a problem, Grace reflected as she let herself into the house. Even back home there were some places he couldn’t go. She kept the hated stick for those occasions. It was collapsible, and fitted in a suitcase, which was about the best that could be said for it …

      Nacho hadn’t gone yet. She could hear his horse snorting and stamping. Nacho must be watching her. It made her nervous.

      As she took the key out of the lock she stepped back and almost tripped over Buddy. She swore like a trooper and then heard Nacho laugh. ‘All right for you,’ she called out.

      ‘Dios, Grace,’ he shot back, ‘I thought you were so well behaved, but now I realise it must have been you who led my sister astray.’

      She laughed. ‘Sussed. Decorum was never my strong point. Talking of which—what do I wear tonight?’

      Nothing would be his preference. ‘I’ll speak to someone,’ he said, ‘and I’ll have some suitable clothes delivered to the cottage for you to wear.’

      ‘Really?’ she called excitedly. ‘Great.’

      The thought of Grace in traditional clothes suitable for the grape-treading gave him quite a buzz as he rode back to the hacienda. He reflected on the day’s events. How it had made him feel having Grace pressed up close against him on the horse. How it would feel tonight, escorting her to the grape-treading. Had he lost it completely, inviting her? Yes, it was a good research opportunity for Grace, but it would be a lot more than she’d bargained for. The annual wine-fest was hardly a sedate affair. Treading the grapes dated from antiquity—pagan times, before civilisation came along to spoil the fun and dictate restraint. It wasn’t unusual for the next working day to start at noon, if at all—and those who arrived alone invariably left in pairs.

      And now his big horse had bolted and it was his turn to swear. Sensing his abstraction, the mighty stallion had lost no time heading towards the hills and freedom. Wrestling him back under control was a welcome outlet for his energy, but it did nothing to soothe his thoughts. Grace liked teasing him, but then she drew back. She craved independence. Well, she could have it—with his blessing. She would just have to take her chances with the men at the grape-treading.

       Are you seriously advocating open season where Grace is concerned?

      He wouldn’t let her out of his sight tonight.

      It was safe to say that the outfit which had arrived at the cottage didn’t conform to Grace’s usual take on a party outfit. That would be more likely to consist of a knee-length shift in silk or wool, depending on the weather, and safe, low-heeled shoes. But this wasn’t a usual party, Grace reflected as she sorted out the clothes by touch. Though ‘grape-treading’ was probably an old term, used loosely these days to describe what happened to the fruit at the start of wine production, she decided.

      She tried on the skirt first. Masses of fabric brushed her calves, making her feel like a country girl in an oil painting. The blouse was flimsy, and it had lace around the generous neckline—which would slip straight off her sloping shoulders. She held it to her face and inhaled the scent of soap and sunshine. As to colour? White was her best guess. The blouse was also cut low across the bust, and fastened with laces rather than buttons.

      What