The Gold Collection: Taming The Argentinian: A Taste of the Untamed / The Untamed Argentinian / Taming the Last Acosta

Maybe it was that edge of danger about Nacho, that sense of him having seen things and done things that might shock her if she knew about them, that perversely made him all the more attractive. An inconvenience she would have to get over if she wanted to appear businesslike tonight.

‘Grace?’

‘Sorry.’ She rejigged her thoughts. ‘I was just thinking—I mean, I was just trying to imagine your wine facility.’

‘I’ll describe it to you.’

‘That would be great,’ she said, surprised to find him so amenable. ‘Is the river close by?’

‘Why do you ask?’

His voice had changed completely. She could have kicked herself. Of course she knew about the tragedy—everyone did—but there was something in Nacho’s voice she hadn’t heard before. Something that suggested that although his parents might have drowned in a flood there years ago the tragedy still affected him. What really surprised her was that Nacho had always appeared to be the ultimate in grounded men, but there was a strand of defensive anger in his voice, along with what could only be described as guilt and raw grief.

‘So, I gather you like it here?’ he said, changing the subject.

She guessed that was a welcome relief for him, and needed no encouragement to enthuse about her experience so far.

‘Like it here? I love it,’ she said impulsively. ‘What was it like growing up on the pampas, Nacho?’

She had said something wrong again, Grace realised when the silence thickened.

‘It was all sorts of hectic chaos,’ he said at last.

‘Go on,’ she prompted, eager to keep the faltering conversation going.

‘There was no privacy,’ he said, revealing the other side to Lucia’s coin.

It probably hadn’t ever occurred to Lucia that her brothers had been fighting to express their individuality too.

‘Not nearly as much freedom as you might expect,’ Nacho went on. ‘And nowhere to go. When you’re young all you want is the city and the nightlife, and what you get here is miles of wilderness, mountains and the stars.’

‘And because you were the oldest you always had to look after your brothers and sister?’ Grace guessed. Grasping the nettle, she dived back into the past, where she suspected Nacho’s ghosts lay. ‘Lucia said that after your parents were killed you worked very hard at looking after them.’

‘I did my best,’ he said, clearly not willing to be drawn on this point.

‘That must have been hard for you,’ she probed.

‘Not really,’ he said, shifting restlessly in his seat. ‘Lucia had the worst of it,’ he said after a few moments. ‘Growing up must have been hell for her, with four brothers looking over her shoulders.’

‘God help her if she got a boyfriend, I suppose?’ Grace suggested with a grin.

This time she could imagine Nacho’s ironic expression as he murmured, ‘So she told you?’

As the tension eased a little she decided she would have to be patient. They’d get around to talking about Nacho eventually—she’d make sure of it. ‘What about your brothers?’

‘Ruiz was the perfect student,’ Nacho explained with a shrug in his voice. ‘He was also the perfect son and the perfect brother. In fact Ruiz never put a foot wrong. He always knew how to get on with everyone and how to get his own way. Diego was the dark side of that coin—dangerous, some said, though I always thought that was overstated. Diego was just deep.’

‘And what about the youngest? Kruz?’ she pressed.

She heard Nacho scratch his cheek, the stubble resistant against his fingernail. ‘Kruz was a handful …’ He sighed. ‘Kruz was always in trouble.’

‘And you?’ she slipped in, sensing that talking about Kruz was opening up a whole can of worms. Nacho would probably prefer talking about himself—as difficult as she knew he found that.

‘Me?’ he said. ‘I spent most of my time getting Kruz out of trouble.’

‘That’s not what I meant and you know it,’ she chided, realising he’d eluded her again.

‘I know what you meant,’ Nacho assured her. ‘And all I’m prepared to say on that subject is that what you see is what you get with me, Grace.’

Right up to that moment she’d had no reason to disbelieve a word Nacho said, but now she did.

‘The gates,’ Nacho explained as the Jeep dropped a gear and began to slow. He brought it to a halt.

‘They must be big gates,’ Grace observed, noting the length of time it took for them to open.

Nacho confirmed this, and then the Jeep growled and they drove on.

‘We’re approaching the old buildings down a long, tree-lined drive,’ he explained.

‘It’s brilliantly lit,’ she said. ‘One of the things I can still detect is a big change in light.’ She felt she had to explain this as she sensed his surprise that she should know anything about the light levels. ‘I’m really lucky in that I can still detect light. It has helped me to work out which way round I’m facing on many occasions. When you can’t see anything much, you’re happy to take what you can get.’ She laughed, but Nacho was silent.

They drove in silence. She could imagine Nacho steering with just his thumb on the wheel at this low speed, perhaps sparing her a glance from time to time. She sensed he was totally relaxed and yet thoroughly observant—as he was on horseback, and as he had been at the wedding where they had kissed. Even when he was still she thought he gave off about the same level of threat as a sleeping tiger.

‘The building is old—mellow stone,’ he explained, breaking the silence as he brought the Jeep to a halt again. ‘It’s beautifully preserved. Right now the moonlight is making the stone glow a silvery-blue.’

‘And the sun will turn it rose-pink in late afternoon,’ she guessed. ‘There’s more light now,’ she said with interest, sitting up. ‘A different light.’

‘Wrought-iron lanterns hanging either side of the main doors,’ Nacho explained. ‘They give off quite a strong glow. It makes the mullioned windows on either side of the door glitter. How am I doing, Grace?’ he said with a hint of amusement as he applied the brake.

‘Not bad,’ she said with a small smile. ‘And how about the front door? No, don’t tell me. It’s huge and arched … stout oak with iron studs?’

‘Argentine sandalwood,’ he explained. ‘But otherwise that’s not a bad description, Grace. Welcome to Viña Acosta.’

Where my trial by wine begins, she thought, releasing her safety belt.

She climbed down carefully when Nacho opened the door, guessing his hand was there to help her if she needed it. She avoided it in the interests of independence, but she did feel it brush her back, where it lit a series of little fires she couldn’t ignore.

Nacho let Buddy out of the back of the Jeep and when the guide dog came to her side she attached the leash to Buddy’s harness. ‘We’re all set,’ she confirmed.

Nacho led her into a pleasantly warm entrance hall with a stone floor. It wasn’t large. She could tell that by the way their voices bounced off the walls and were very quickly muffled. The smell was distinctive and familiar. It reminded her of the tasting room at the warehouse, but here she guessed the woodwork would be impregnated with centuries worth of fruit and must and skins and juice.

‘This is the tasting room,’ Nacho explained as he opened another door. ‘There aren’t any steps.’

Grace had already guessed as much from the way Buddy was leading her, but she thanked Nacho for the warning.

‘If you’d like to sit down, Grace?’

Recognising this request, Buddy led her across an uneven stone floor to a wooden bench. He stopped when Grace felt it nudge her legs. She reached forward to feel for the table she knew must be there and, gauging the space in between bench and table, she slid into the seat. While she was unhitching Buddy’s harness she heard a rug hit the floor.