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One-night stand.

Whore?

Absolutely not. She was tying up loose ends. She was filing away memories and then moving on. She was here on business and she was having some pleasure. What was so wrong with that? People did it all the time! She just hadn’t got round to it until now.

Rocco was an expert at it. Had been from the very first moment she had met him. A roll in the hay and then off down the lane. She was going to learn from that. Surely, if nothing else, she would
learn
from that. Because she’d
be damned if she was going to be the one huddled in a sheet with a broken heart this time.

It only took Dante twelve hours to track him down. In person. Rocco was walking back from the kitchen with two bottles of water and a decision about exactly where to eat lunch in his mind. He’d worked up a king-size appetite, and as soon as Frankie came out of the shower he was going to feed her, nourish her, make sure she had enough fuel for them to continue where they’d left off. It was pretty much all he had head space for just now.

He’d done too much thinking in the past few hours—watching her as she slept, biting down on his anger. He should have done more at the time. He should have checked she was all right. He should have at least figured out that the reason she’d never been mentioned was that she’d been sent away in disgrace.

Damn, but this just proved his point. Being responsible for others was a non-negotiable non-starter. Lodo, Dante—and now this. Nothing good came of it but feelings of guilt, regret, that he could have done more.

What concerned him most was that even though she had every right to hate him and hold him responsible she had come here—after all this time. And no matter what she claimed—that it was a business trip, that she’d wanted to see the ponies—she had tracked him down. And right now she was in his bedroom.

That part wasn’t the problem—not at all. And she didn’t seem like the kind of woman who’d turn needy and emotional. But still, you never knew … Sometimes it was the wild ones who were the most vulnerable.

So he had to be crystal clear that this was a short-term party for two. With no after-party. Of course, that would be a whole lot easier if he wasn’t so turned on by her.
If he’d been able to get her out of his system like every other woman before. But that wasn’t looking as if it was going to happen any time soon.

‘Hey,
guapo
!’

Rocco paused, and scowled at Dante as he sauntered in from the grounds.

‘What are
you
doing here?’

Dante’s easy golden grin slid over him, for once jarring his mood.

He didn’t want to be disturbed—didn’t want to have to think through or account for what he was doing. He just wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.

‘You didn’t seriously think I would stay away? Took me a while to track you down, though. Never thought you’d hole up
here.
’

He drew a hand through his dark blond hair, reached for one of the bottles of water.

‘There’s more in the fridge. These are for us.’

‘
Us?
As in
la chica irlandés
? So she’s still here?’

He whistled. And grinned. And removed his hand when he saw that Rocco wasn’t going to relinquish the bottle.

‘Ah. So we’re still working through the obsession?’

He nodded his head. ‘We’re getting there.’

Dante was smirking, prowling about, checking things out.

‘You got plans?’ Rocco cracked the lid on his water, necked half of it, tried to swallow his irritation at the same time.

‘Well, the party’s moved on—everybody’s in Punta. Waiting on
you
.’ He tossed away his jacket and eased himself onto a sofa, looking as if he was just about to film a commercial. As usual.

‘Don’t let me hold you back. I’ve got stuff to do at the estancia. Might take me the weekend to fix—’

Dante ignored him, cut in. ‘You know you’ve created a whole lot of buzz? The way you acted last night. But hey, it’s cool. I’ll get out of your hair. Leave you to work all the knots out. God knows you’ve been coiled up with it for years. A whole weekend, though? Impressive.’

‘You’re reading too much into this.’

‘What about Turlington?’

‘What about it?’

Dante pulled out his phone, started to browse through it as if he had all the time in the world. That was the thing about Dante—he made easy an art form.

‘Oh, nothing. Except you’ve never missed it yet. And there will be a lot of disappointed people there if you don’t show up.’ He grinned at his phone. ‘In fact there will be a lot of disappointed people if you
do
show up with
la chica.
What’s her name again? Frankie?’

‘Yeah, that’s me.’

They both turned round. And there she was. Framed in falling sunbeams from the hallway, golden all around. She walked towards them into the kitchen. And if he’d thought she’d looked sexy in her little blue dress, it was nothing to seeing her decked out in one of his favourite blue shirts. Scrubbed clean, hair sleek, bare limbs.

Had she done the buttons up wrong just to add to the whole ‘tumbled out of bed’ look? His eyes zoned straight in on the asymmetric slices of fabric that skimmed her toned, succulent thighs.

She strolled right up and took the bottle of water that was dangling limply from his hand. Then she unscrewed the top, tipped the bottle head against his, winked, said, ‘Cheers!’ and took a long, slow sip.

His eyes zoned in on her throat. Swallowing the water. It killed him.

He’d really thought that some of her allure would have rubbed off by now. Didn’t feel like it. Not the way he was warming up. He turned away.

Dante beamed at her as if she was some kind of clever child who had taken its first steps or said its first words. Then he did exactly what he always did: he stood up and sauntered over as if he was being called to the stage to collect a prize—all easy charm and sunshine smiles.

‘I’m Dante.
Absolute
pleasure to meet you, Frankie. Again.’

He kissed her right cheek, kissed her left cheek. Held her by the shoulders and gave her a long once-over. Nodded.

Rocco sank the rest of his water and watched from the corner of his eye.

She was smiling that smile. She could be so intense, but when she smiled her face lit up like
carnival.

‘Pleased to meet you, too, Dante.
Again.
’

‘Dante’s just leaving.’ He took his empty bottle and fired it into the recycling bin. It clattered noisily.

Dante didn’t miss a beat.

‘Yeah, I’m heading to Punta, Frankie. We always head there after the Molina party. It’s the Turlington Club party tomorrow night. I’d be happy to take you.’

It was the usual chat, but seeing the flash of dipped eyes and the curve of a smile made him bristle. Was she flirting? Was Dante flirting right back? Whatever—it was pushing his damn buttons. That was all it was. He should know that. What was
wrong
with him? He should calm the hell down.

She opened her mouth to reply but he cut in. ‘As I said,
I have to call in at La Colorada. So I’ll let you know later if I’m going to make it up to Punta.’

‘How about you, Frankie? What would you rather do? Go and muck out horses with the Lone Ranger here, or drink cocktails at Bikini Beach with me?’

Rocco felt his fingers grip Frankie’s shoulders. ‘Frankie came all the way here to
see
the horses, so I reckon that answers your question.’

‘And I thought she was here to see you …’

The swine threw his head back and laughed. Round One to him.

Rocco palmed her back as he steered her down the hallway, with Dante’s chuckling words ringing in the space. ‘I’ll see myself out, then. See you at the Turlington Club, Frankie—save me a dance.’

How many times had Dante tried that routine on one of his girls? And how many times had Rocco found it entertaining? Countless. Watching their eyes widen, wondering who to look at—wondering if Dante really
was
flirting.

‘You never said anything about going to your ranch.’

She had stopped dead, in that way that she did. Like a mule.

‘No, I didn’t, but I have to go there now.’

He paused. This could be the moment. At any other time, with any other woman, this
would
be the moment. As soon as they got possessive, bitchy or mean:
It’s been great, but change of plans. Thanks for a wonderful time.
It would be that clean. The words would maybe sound harsh, but it would be short, sweet, simple.

He considered, but he just didn’t want to. Not yet anyway. Another day should see all the knots worked out …

‘But I’ve already told you I was only here with you for the day. I’ve come halfway across the world to see Esme.’

She was still with
that
? She couldn’t see herself that the minute she’d landed it was
him
she’d tracked down? He was still coming to terms with everything she’d told him, but he was slowly getting there—she couldn’t really be blind to the fact that it was
his
house she was standing in, in
his
shirt, after having
his
body all over her for the past ten hours.

‘Punta is a two-hour trip. If you want to leave now I’ll make the arrangements …’

She opened her mouth.

‘I have to go to the estancia. Juanchi, my head gaucho, wants to talk. He’s got a concern about one of the ponies on the genetics programme. It’s up to you. Easy to get you to your friends, if that’s what you want.’

She twirled a strand of hair, made a little face, shrugged. ‘Okay. Sounds like a plan. As long as there are no more surprises.’

Sounds like a plan? No more surprises?
He almost did a double-take. God, she riled him like no other woman ever could.

But even as she stood there he wanted to wipe the coy little look off her face with his mouth.

‘That’s the thing about surprises—you can’t always see them coming.’

She slipped him a little smile. ‘I suppose …’

‘Take us—right now.’

He took the water from her hand, put it on the console table beside them.

‘Bolt from the blue.’

He slid his hands round her waist, felt the faint outline of her ribs, pulled her towards him. She was still holding back. Still playing her game. He could feel it. No arms round his neck … no legs round his waist.

‘This has been a very lovely surprise. Gorgeous.’

He stepped into her space, eased his thumbs to the underside of her breasts. Slowly, slowly rubbed the soft flesh, gently massaged.

‘So what if it’s only going to last a few more hours? A day? You go your way—I go mine.’

He kept up his sensuous caressing. She blinked her eyes, slowly, softened like butter in the sunshine.

‘But there’s no point denying that right now we’re very …’

His hands slid to the sides of her breasts and his thumbs found her nipples. Little light touches to begin with, just how she liked it.

‘Very …’

She closed her eyes.

‘Hot for one another …’

Her head fell back and she ground out a long, satisfied sigh. ‘Mmm …’

He nodded. Slid one hand to the hem of the shirt, gripped her hips, kept up the pressure on her nipples. Then he bent his mouth to the fabric, drew long and deep on each nipple, soaked his own shirt with his mouth, tugging those buds to hard points.

She was so easy to turn up and down, on and off. Like a geyser.

He stood back, admired his work.

‘Lose the shirt,’ he said.

For a moment she stood, dreamy and drugged. Then she fixed him with a look. Dipped her chin. Smiled like sin.

‘Make me.’

He grinned. He couldn’t help it. There she went again—matching him. Firing him up. Making him feel that here was a woman who could stand toe to toe with him.

Dammit, but he couldn’t afford to let crazy thoughts like those into his head.

He grabbed for her. ‘
Make
you, Angel? In ways you’ve never even dreamed of …’

She tried to duck away but he caught her. She screamed with laughter as he hauled her close to him and silenced her with kisses like a crazy man. She caved. Totally caved. Couldn’t get enough. She suckled his lip, his tongue, showered him with kisses.

She thought
she
was calling the shots?

He needed to be in complete control of this. Couldn’t afford any slip-ups.

He tossed her over his shoulder. Her shirt
—his
shirt—rode up, and he held his hand over her bare backside, bringing it down just a little hard. Just a little warning—
he
was in control. And that was how it would stay.

CHAPTER SIX

F
RANKIE WAS PREPARED
for the long jacaranda-lined driveway. She was prepared for the still green lakes overhung with sleepy willows. The curved pillared entrance, the endless array of white-framed windows, the pops of colour from plants, pots and baskets—all of them were totally as she’d envisaged. She was even prepared for the unending horizons she could see on either side of the mansion-style ranch house, rolling into the distance, underlining the vastness of the lands, the importance of the estancia, the power of the man.

But she was not prepared for the huge lump that welled in her throat or the hot tears that sprang to her eyes when she saw the horses that galloped over to the fence to welcome their master home, racing alongside the car as he drove, happily displaying their unconditional love. Nor was she prepared for the uninhibited smile that lit up Rocco’s face as he watched them.

The freedom they enjoyed shone out as they played in the fields surrounding La Colorada. It had been so long … so,
so
long since she had enjoyed that self-same freedom. After Ipanema had gone she’d never felt the same. She’d barely even sat on a horse—she’d thought she’d grown up, moved on from her teenage fixation with horses, moved on to her adult fixation with escape.

But here, now, it all came flooding back. Maybe it was just because she was so tired, or maybe it was a reflection of all that had come at her these past several hours, but she struggled to hold back a sob as memories of her happy childhood slammed into her one after another after another. A childhood that had been so completely shattered with the arrival of Rocco Hermida.