The Gold Collection: Taming The Argentinian. Susan Stephens

      ‘It’s a job that’s too big for you, Grace,’ Nacho argued. ‘Elias expects too much of you. And the outcome is far too vital for me to take a chance—’

      ‘On a blind woman?’ she flashed.

      Silence greeted this, even as shame scorched her cheeks. That had been a low blow, and one she had promised herself she would never resort to.

      ‘You disappoint me, Grace,’ Nacho said quietly. ‘I was about to say for me to take a chance on a novice like you. Restoring the family vineyards is a multi-million-dollar venture and I won’t risk failure.’

      ‘Which is why you consulted Elias, presumably?’ she said, playing her last card. The thought of leaving this job unfinished, of leaving with her tail between her legs—the thought of leaving Nacho and maybe never seeing him again—was devastating to her. ‘Don’t you trust Elias’s judgement?’

      ‘Up to the point where we met in London—and then Elias conveniently forgot to tell me that he wouldn’t be coming to view the vineyards himself.’

      ‘He hasn’t been well recently.’

      Silence told her that Nacho had had no idea about this.

      ‘I only saw him recently,’ he said in a puzzled tone.

      ‘He hides it well,’ she admitted.

      Shifting position, Nacho exhaled heavily. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

      But not sorry enough to change his mind, Grace concluded, hearing the door open. Nacho was happy to accept the judgement of a master vintner like Elias, but he was not prepared to listen to a girl he associated with nightclubs, silly costumes and trays of drinks.

      With nothing left to lose, she said, ‘As my time here is short, shall we get the wine-tasting done tonight?’ The only way to convince Nacho she had anything to offer was to prove herself to him.

      The door squeaked, as if he were pulling it to again, which she took to be a good sign.

      ‘How about a blind tasting?’ she suggested without a trace of irony. ‘Elias warned you have a very fine palate … for an amateur.’

      ‘Are you insulting me? Or is that meant to be a compliment?’

      Was that a touch of humour in Nacho’s voice at last? Her body heated at the thought while her mind told her to remain focused on her job. ‘I thought it might appeal to your competitive spirit,’ she said innocently, dragging greedily on the scent of warm, clean Nacho.

      ‘Go on,’ he prompted.

      She heard the door click shut. ‘I’m inviting you to share a sensory evaluation of your wine with me.’ Why did that sound so suggestive and risky? She pressed on. ‘You’ll have the advantage of sight, while I can only use my other senses.’

      ‘How many advantages do you think I need, Grace?’

      Nacho’s voice was carefully neutral, but she suspected he had decided to accept her challenge. ‘This will be your chance to discover if I’m as good as Elias says I am.’

      ‘Okay,’ he said. But just when she was silently rejoicing he added, ‘Pack your case and if you fail you’ll be ready to leave.’

      ‘I won’t fail,’ she said, firming her jaw.

      ‘I guess we’ll find out tonight, Grace,’ Nacho murmured, sounding utterly confident that the result would go in his favour.

      She felt the cool night air on her face as he opened the door.

      ‘I’ll be back to collect you at six,’ he said.

      ‘And I’ll be ready for you,’ she promised as she moved towards the door.

      With a gasp she stumbled over a chair leg, and would have fallen to the floor if Nacho hadn’t caught her.

      ‘Grace—’

      She was in his arms, which felt so good, so safe, so right. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Nacho wasn’t supposed to be rescuing her because she couldn’t see where she was going. The only time she wanted him to hold her like this was under very different circumstances. And that clearly wasn’t going to happen …

      She pulled herself upright.

      ‘Sit down, Grace. Catch your breath,’ he said, stepping back.

      The cold tone in Nacho’s voice told her everything she needed to know. He had been as far from being about to kiss her as it was possible to get. Why would he want a blind woman when he could have any woman?

      ‘Goodbye, Grace.’

      He closed the door carefully behind him—and then hit the wall backhanded with his fist. He barely felt the blow. All he felt was Grace—in every part of him. However hard he tried to fight off the feeling, Grace fought back with her indomitable spirit, her unique qualities, and her sheer unadulterated sex appeal.

      Saving Grace when she’d stumbled had only reminded him how attractive she was—and how emotionally inconvenient spending time with her this evening would be for him. The thought of kissing Grace had lost none of its appeal, and if he hadn’t seen first hand how one rash decision could spread disaster like ripples on a pond he would have done more than kiss her. But he had enough on his conscience already without yielding to his every whim.

      Her world seemed darker than ever now Nacho had gone. She curled up in a chair with her thoughts in pieces. Mostly they were centred on her arms, where he’d held her, and on her mouth, where he hadn’t kissed her.

      Why would he? Why would anyone want to kiss a blind woman? She could prove herself to as many people in as many ways as she wanted, but she could never get past the fact that she was blind. That was how people saw her—how they would always see her—how Nacho would always see her. The joke of it was she had forgotten she was blind while she had been with him. She’d smiled and laughed and parried his comments, even got angry with him—all of which had felt perfectly normal and exciting. He’d made her forget what she might be missing out on and had filled her world with so much more besides.

      But now he’d left it was as if that light had gone out and now there was nothing but darkness around her again. And fear was back, fierce and strong, and fear said no one would ever see past her blindness.

CHAPTER FIVE

      IT WAS no use. Feeling sorry for herself would get her absolutely nowhere. She held the record for proof of that. She had to get on with things.

      The room was becoming increasingly chilly, which meant the sun was close to setting—which in turn meant Nacho would soon be back to take her to the wine-tasting. Whatever had happened between them—now or at the wedding—her job came first, and she was going to look the part by the time he knocked on the door.

      Getting ready for a night out wasn’t so different these days from the way it used to be—other than the thought of spending a whole evening in close proximity to Nacho, which put her on edge. She would just have to get over it, Grace reasoned.

      Having showered and rubbed her hair dry on a towel in the bathroom she had mapped out carefully when she had first arrived, she dressed in what—thanks to Lucia’s system—she knew was a pair of white capris, flesh-coloured sandals and a pale blue, short-sleeved cotton top. She smoothed her hair and tied it back. Make-up was easy. She’d been lucky in that she’d had some warning her sight was going, so she’d had a chance to practise her technique.

      It was so easy for her now that she could actually do her make-up without even thinking about it, Grace reflected wryly as she slicked some gloss on her bottom lip and pressed her lips together. Her cheeks felt hot enough from the thought of seeing Nacho again not to need any rouge, and she was lucky to have been born with black eyelashes. But she still liked her eyeshadow. Two sweeps of the small