One Night in Buenos Aires: The Vásquez Mistress. Sarah Morgan

man was having such an effect on her. Yes, he was good-looking but so were many of the men she’d met since she’d arrived in South America.

      But there was something about him …

      ‘Your English is amazing.’

      ‘That’s because I sometimes talk to women before I throw them over my shoulder.’ He studied her for a long disturbing moment, a powerful, confident male totally at home in his surroundings. Then his gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered there, as if he were making up his mind about something.

      The heat went from oppressive to unbearable and the chemistry between them was so shockingly intense that she actually felt herself sway towards him in anticipation.

      She desperately wanted him to kiss her and the strength of that need shocked her because she’d been pushing men away since the day she’d arrived at Buenos Aires. She was here to work, study and learn, not to meet a man. But suddenly her lips were tingling with anticipation and she found herself trapped by the lazy, knowing expression in his dangerously attractive eyes. It was as if he was savouring the moment and she knew that he’d read her thoughts. Her sense of anticipation exploded into an all-consuming sexual excitement that she’d never before experienced.

      She waited breathlessly, knowing that she was poised on the brink of something wickedly exciting and sensing that this man was going to change her life for ever.

      But instead of kissing her he gave a slow, expressive smile and turned his attention to her horse. ‘Your horse needs a drink.’

      Released from the force of his gaze, Faith felt her entire body go limp and her face flood with colour. ‘My horse needs a lot of things.’

       What had happened just then?

      Had she imagined the connection between them? Had it all been in her head?

      Her eyes slid to his broad shoulders and the long, lean length of his strong legs as he led her horse to the river.

      No, she hadn’t imagined it. But this was no teenage boy eager for a quick grope and instant satisfaction; she was dealing with someone else entirely. He was all man, from the glossy black hair and darkened jaw to the powerful muscle that hardened his unmistakably male physique. He was cool, sophisticated and experienced and her stomach curled inside her because he carried himself with such confidence and she knew, she just knew, that he was playing with her.

      Feeling as though the temperature had just shot up by a hundred degrees, Faith glared at his broad back and then bit her lip, wishing she could get rid of the agonising sizzle that was burning inside her.

      Angry with herself and with him, she lifted her chin and strolled towards him, determined not to let him see how much he’d affected her.

      ‘I need to be getting back.’ She took Fuego’s reins and vaulted into the saddle, taking some satisfaction from the way the man’s eyes lingered on her slim thighs.

      She hadn’t imagined the chemistry. The searing attraction wasn’t all on her side.

      ‘Wait.’ He closed a hand over Fuego’s reins, preventing the horse from moving. ‘You say that you work at the estancia. In what capacity? Do you work in the guest quarters?’

      ‘You’re showing your prejudices again.’ Agonisingly aware of him, she rubbed a hand over the horse’s neck to focus herself. ‘All the Argentine men I’ve met so far seem to think that a woman’s place is in the—’ She stopped herself just in time, but he lifted an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with wicked humour.

      ‘You were saying? We Argentine men think a woman’s place is in the …?’

      He was so desperately attractive that for a moment she couldn’t speak and she certainly didn’t want to finish her sentence. It would draw the conversation towards an extremely dangerous area that she knew was best avoided. ‘Kitchen,’ she said lamely. ‘Kitchen.’

      His smile deepened. ‘Kitchen? If that’s what you think then you obviously haven’t yet deciphered the workings of the average male mind here in South America.’

      That smile connected straight to her nerve endings and she was infuriated with herself for being so susceptible to his charm and masculinity.

      ‘The average male mind is of absolutely no interest to me,’ she said sweetly, ‘unless the mind belongs to a horse.’

      ‘Is that what brought you to Argentina? Our horses?’

      Faith glanced around her, at the endless sweep of grassland that surrounded them. ‘I came because I read about Raul Vásquez.’

      The man stilled. ‘You travelled thousands of miles to meet Raul Vásquez?’ There was a coolness to his tone that had been absent before. ‘You are hoping to catch yourself a billionaire, perhaps?’

      Faith gazed at him in astonishment and then burst out laughing. ‘No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. Billionaire polo-patrons aren’t exactly my style, and anyway, I’ve never even met the man. He’s off in the States at the moment, negotiating some high-flying deal or other and he employs thousands of people. I don’t expect our paths are ever going to cross.’

      He studied her with disturbing intensity. ‘And that would disappoint you?’

      ‘You misunderstand me. I’m not interested in the man, but I am interested in his polo estancia. That’s why I’m here. Raul Vásquez breeds horses and trains them and his vet facilities are the best in the world. I read a paper in a journal written by Eduardo, his chief vet. I contacted him. Landing a job here is my dream come true.’

      ‘Eduardo employed you?’ That statement was greeted by incredulous silence. ‘You’re a vet?’

      ‘Yes, I’m a vet.’ Watching the frank astonishment in his eyes, Faith gritted her teeth. ‘Welcome to the twenty-first century. Women do become vets, you know. Some of us can even walk and talk at the same time, although news of that accomplishment clearly hasn’t yet reached South America.’

      ‘I’m aware that some women become vets,’ he said smoothly, ‘But this is a busy, commercial stud-farm, not some small-animal practice in the city.’

      ‘I wasn’t interested in a small-animal practice. For me it’s always been about horses.’

      His gaze slid to her arms and lingered. ‘I don’t doubt your commitment or your enthusiasm, but sometimes physical strength is required, especially out here in the pampas where we deal with powerful stallions and hormonal mares.’

      Her heart rate suddenly doubled. ‘Here we go again. You think it’s all about muscle, aggression and domination, but what you need to realise is that there’s more to horsemanship than brute strength. And Raul Vásquez understands that. He has some revolutionary training methods.’

      ‘I’m fully aware of his training methods. Answer me one question …’ His tone was soft and deadly and his gaze returned to her face. ‘Who was in charge when you were galloping across the pampas with the wind in your hair? You or the horse?’

      ‘Oh, the horse,’ Faith admitted, her eyes sparkling with humour. ‘But brute force wouldn’t have changed that fact.’

      ‘He needs to be ridden by a man. A man with sufficient skill and strength to control him.’

      Faith came back at him instantly. ‘He needs to be understood. If you want to change behaviour, then you have to first try and understand the reason behind that behaviour. Horses do things for a reason, just like humans.’

      She’d spent her life studying and all her spare time around horses. No man had ever captured her attention.

      Until now.

      His confidence and sophistication tied her in knots and she felt horribly self-conscious and more than a little confused by her own reaction.

      She would never in a million