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

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 would Nacho think of the transformation? Grace wondered as she slipped on her sandals. She should pin her hair up—though that would leave her shoulders bare …

And now it was too late to change. The clock had just struck six. Time for business. With no way of knowing what she looked like, she smoothed the full skirt anxiously. Should she have worn a bra? It was a bit late to be worrying about that now, she concluded, brushing her nipples lightly with the palm of her hands to see if the cotton fabric was thick enough to conceal them. Probably not …

She jumped as Buddy barked. It was too late to change her clothes or her mind. She would just have to brace herself and go through with it. She opened the door.

‘Grace—’

Why the sudden silence? Did she look ridiculous? Was she wearing everything the right way round? Had she forgotten to tie the laces on her blouse? She checked discreetly as she invited Nacho to come in. The air swirled as he walked past, and her body responded to the pure zap of Nacho’s energy like a teenager on her first date. She drank greedily on the aroma of citrus soap, mint toothpaste and hot, hard man. There was a lot of heat—and quite a bit of it on her cheeks.

‘You’d better tell me if I look okay,’ she said, closing the door behind him.

There was a long pause, and then he said, ‘You look great.’

Great was a major understatement. Grace looked amazing in the revealing top and traditional skirt. Her breasts were magnificent. He would definitely have to watch the other men tonight. He might be duty bound to maintain cordial relations with his sister and keep Elias onside, but tonight Grace belonged to him.

‘Will I fit in at the wine-treading?’ she asked him.

No, you’ll stand out because you look so beautiful, he thought. ‘You’ll do,’ he said casually. Her skin was luminous, and flushed from riding in the sun, and her hair was gleaming with good health. If he could find fault it was that she’d put her hair up. But as there was only one pin holding it …

‘Describe your outfit,’ she said, distracting him. ‘I want to make sure I’m not the only one dressed up like a marionette.’

Some puppet show, he thought. And then, while he was thinking how beautiful she looked, she hit him with a zinger.

‘I need to feel you,’ she said.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I need to feel you so I know what you’re wearing,’ she said. ‘It’s how I see now.’

‘Don’t you trust me to tell you?’

‘What do you think?’ she said.

She advanced hands outstretched.

‘All right, go ahead,’ he said with a shrug, lifting his arms.

She started with his face. ‘You haven’t shaved.’

‘I wasn’t planning on kissing anyone tonight.’

Her cheeks flushed red. ‘I should think not. I’ve no intention of being a gooseberry.’

He thought she might have had enough of the game by now, but no.

‘You’re wearing jeans,’ she said, brushing his thighs with the lightest of touches. And then she exclaimed with fright as her hands touched naked skin.

CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_5664f2db-625e-5aac-8fe5-704df1701e5f)

‘I CHOPPED my jeans off above the knee,’ he explained. ‘It’s easier than rolling them up.’

‘You might have warned me.’ Her hands moved deftly on, sadly missing any interesting parts of his anatomy. ‘You needn’t hold your breath,’ she said.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he defended wryly.

‘I think I just got scorched by your affront,’ she remarked. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a six-pack at the very least.’

‘At the very least,’ he agreed.

She mapped the width of his chest and seemed satisfied as she stood back. ‘You’re wearing a casual shirt,’ she said. ‘Describe it.’

‘Dark blue—a little frayed, a little faded.’

‘And you still have tattoos?’

‘Of course.’

‘The Band of Brothers—I remember,’ she said, returning to her investigations. Her little hand didn’t make it halfway round his upper arm. ‘And I seem to remember something inked in black on this big muscle here …’

‘You saw my tattoos during that polo match on the beach?’ Should he be quite so pleased she had remembered? ‘How much can you see now, Grace?’ he enquired, as curiosity got the better of him.

She laughed. ‘Enough to know that you block out the light.’

She must be mad. What was she doing, feeling her way around Nacho? She would never have dreamed of doing anything so intimate when she could see—so why now, when she was blind?

There had to be some advantages to being blind, she reasoned.

‘I can see fuzzy shapes,’ she revealed, in the interest of much needed distraction. ‘If the light’s good and I lift my chin I can see …’ The vaguest outline of your sexy mouth … ‘Vague shapes,’ she said, keeping as close as possible to the truth.

‘Is that it?’ he said.

‘Not yet. Stand still,’ she chided when he moved. She was beginning to enjoy this, though her heart was still thundering off the scale. ‘I’m glad you remembered your bandana,’ she said as she traced the band across his brow. ‘Wild hair must be contained at all times, according to health and safety rules,’ she teased.

‘Don’t forget the earring and the scowl.’

Forget safety, Grace thought, hearing the humour in Nacho’s voice. ‘You’re not scowling,’ she said.

Nacho laughed.

This was not going the way he had imagined. He had come to the cottage with a clear plan in his mind. This was not a date. He would be polite to Grace—chivalrous, even. He would escort her to the grape-treading, where he would keep her safe and help her to do her research. And that was it. If he’d known she was going to explore him so thoroughly with her hands he might have made different plans—like taking her to bed and to hell with the grape-treading, along with his guilty past and all his worthy resolutions.