The Untamed Argentinian. Susan Stephens

There’s nothing wrong with sharing that knowledge amongst friends, is there?’ The prince stared at her intently.

      What could she say without appearing mean-spirited? ‘You’re quite right, Sir,’ she agreed, avoiding Nero’s sardonic stare.

      ‘And you could take Misty with you,’ the prince added, warming to his theme. ‘I’m sure Nero would have no objections?’

      Was this a joke? Bella wondered as the two men exchanged a knowing glance. And now Nero’s stare was heating her face, but she couldn’t pretend the cash on offer wouldn’t be useful—

       So Nero had won.

      Misty could only benefit by being ridden by the greatest polo player in the world, and riding high in the prince’s approval meant the future of her stable yard was assured. ‘This doesn’t mean I would sell Misty to you,’ she assured Nero.

      As the prince exclaimed with disappointment on Nero’s behalf, Nero said smoothly, ‘I don’t think we need to worry about that yet.’

      But some time she would need to worry, Bella interpreted, tensing even as the prince relaxed. She was up against the might of Nero Caracas with no one, not even the prince, to back her up. ‘I couldn’t leave my work here,’ she said firmly.

      The prince sat forward as Nero offered what must have sounded to him like a reassurance. ‘I would send a team to take over what is already an established scheme,’ Nero said with a relaxed shrug. ‘They would handle all your outstanding commitments.’

      Was she the only one who could see the glint of irony in Nero’s eyes?

      Apparently, Bella thought as the prince sighed with approval. ‘We would be in this together, Bella,’ the prince confirmed, tying the knot between them even tighter. ‘All I’m asking from you is that you share your expertise in the setting up of a similar scheme in Argentina to the one you already run in England.’

      How reasonable that sounded, Bella thought as the prince turned his kind-hearted gaze on her face. Nero might as well have hog-tied her and served her up on a silver platter. Had his penetrating stare also worked out that he scrambled her brain cells and made her stomach melt? Almost certainly, she thought as his ebony brow lifted.

      ‘Well, what do you think, Bella?’ the prince prompted gently.

      ‘Could I have some time to think about this, Sir?’

      His Royal Highness hesitated.

      ‘Not too much time,’ Nero cut in, apparently oblivious to the rules of royal etiquette when it came to getting his own way.

      After dinner a recital was to be held in the Blue drawing room, with the chance for everyone to freshen up first.

      Freshen up? Bella raged silently, checking her hair was still securely tied back in the gilt-framed mirror hanging on the wall of the unimaginably ornate rest-room. After listening to the prince’s well-intentioned suggestions on one side, and batting off Nero’s sardonic sallies on the other, she felt like a tennis ball being swiped between the two, frayed a little around the edges, but still ready to bounce—right over Nero, preferably.

      Conclusion?

      Her carefully controlled life was rapidly spiralling out of control.

      Taking one last look around at all the beautiful things in the restroom—dainty chairs with soft leaf-green covers and the comforting array of traditional organic scent bottles lined up on a crystal tray for visitors to sample—she had the strongest feeling that if Nero had anything to do with it, it would be some time before she would be making a return visit here.

      In this same anxious mood she opened the door and managed to bump straight into him.

      ‘Ill met by moonlight,’ Nero murmured with amusement as Bella exclaimed with alarm.

      Her breath echoed in the silence as she stared up at Nero’s strong, tanned hand on the wall by her face. ‘Excuse me, please—’

      He didn’t move.

      ‘I said—’

      ‘I heard what you said.’

      ‘Then would you let me pass, please?’ She would fight off the effects of that deceptively sleepy stare.

      ‘What’s your hurry, Bella?’

      ‘We should be getting back to the recital…’

      Nero hummed.

      Bracing herself, she looked up. Moonlight was indeed bathing them both in a strange sapphire light as it poured in through one of the castle’s many stained-glass windows. The effect was wonderful for Nero’s dark skin and thick black hair—she guessed her own face was a watery blue and her red hair a strange shade of green. Heating up under Nero’s amused scrutiny, she launched a counter-attack. ‘What were you doing at dinner with the prince and all that talk of a scheme?’

      ‘It wasn’t talk, Bella—’

      ‘And I suppose it wasn’t a ruse to make me sell Misty to you, either?’

      ‘The scheme will continue, with or without your help, Bella.’

      In his severe formal clothes, in this most refined of settings, Nero Caracas looked like a dark angel and more dangerous than ever. ‘You led the prince to think I might sell Misty—and that my compliance with the scheme was a given.’

      Nero’s lips pressed down in a most attractive way. ‘There’s no mystery,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I offered to pay whatever price you ask for the pony. I doubt you’ll find anyone who will match my offer.’

      Or match Nero’s compelling aura, or his physical strength, Bella thought, fighting off the seductive effect. It was impossible to be this close to Nero Caracas without feeling something, she reasoned, willing her voice to remain steady. ‘I told you once—and this is the last time—Misty isn’t for sale.’

      ‘And what if the prince wants to buy her?’

      Stunned by the idea, Bella gasped.

      ‘Don’t tell me that thought hasn’t occurred to you,’ Nero murmured in his lazy South American drawl. ‘And if the prince does want your mare, how can you refuse him?’ Nero gave her a moment to soak this up, before adding dryly, ‘Perhaps I can save the situation for you.’

      Bella’s eyes narrowed. ‘What would it cost me?’

      ‘Oh, come now, Bella. You know Misty would be happier with me than the prince.’

      Check. And mate. Nero had cut the legs from under her. Forget the threat he posed in the personal sense—polo ponies lived to play the game and Misty adored the high-powered cut and thrust of the international arena. It was common knowledge that the prince had practically retired from the game, which meant Misty would hardly be played at all, whereas as one of Nero’s pampered ponies, Misty would get every opportunity to indulge the passion the small mare lived for.

      ‘Having doubts?’ Nero prompted, pouncing on her hesitation.

      ‘None,’ she lied. ‘I only wish you had some scruples.’

      Nero laughed. Throwing back his head, he revealed the long, firm column of his throat. ‘Your innocence is touching, Bella.’ Dipping his head, he stared her in the eyes to drive the point home. ‘I have no scruples when it comes to the game.’

       Which game?

      In the heat of the moment, she grabbed his arm. ‘Just keep the prince out of this.’ Feeling the heat and muscle beneath her hand, she quickly released her grip. Inhaling sharply, she shook herself round. Nero was an experienced man. You didn’t come up against him without getting burned. This was all a game to him and if she had any sense she’d put some much needed space between them…

      Nero’s hand slammed against the wall at the side of her face.

      ‘Get