# Argentinian Playboy, Unexpected Love-Child

Chantelle Shaw

Infamous Argentinian… Billionaire polo player Diego Ortega has seen the world and sampled many of its women. Sweet British beauty Rachel Summers has sated his appetite – so why does he find his body yearning for more?Pregnant stable-girl! Rachel knows she is not Diego’s type – less glamorous supermodel, more wholesome country girl. But that doesn’t mean she has to wear her heart on her sleeve.She kept her virginity a secret before he bedded her… But now she has to tell Diego she’s carrying his baby!

‘You are carrying the heir to the Ortega fortune. I want our child to be born legitimately. Can you really deny the baby his birthright?’

‘It’s not just a question of getting married,’ Rachel muttered. ‘I’d have to move to the other side of the world, to a strange country…’

‘Argentina is not a strange country,’ Diego assured her, his mouth curving into a sudden smile that made her heart turn over. ‘It is a beautiful, vibrant country, and I promise you will fall in love with it, querida.’

‘When were you thinking of getting married?’ she asked, her hand straying to her stomach.

Diego placed his hand next to hers. ‘I’ll make the necessary arrangements immediately,’ he said. ‘We don’t have much time.’

Chantelle Shaw lives on the Kent coast, five minutes from the sea, and does much of her thinking about the characters in her books while walking on the beach. She’s been an avid reader from an early age. Her schoolfriends used to hide their books when she visited—but Chantelle would retreat into her own world, and still writes stories in her head all the time. Chantelle has been blissfully married to her own tall, dark and very patient hero for over twenty years, and has six children. She began to read Mills & Boon® as a teenager, and throughout the years of being a stay-at-home mum to her brood found romantic fiction helped her to stay sane! She enjoys reading and writing about strong-willed, feisty women, and even stronger-willed sexy heroes. Chantelle is at her happiest when writing. She is particularly inspired while cooking dinner, which unfortunately results in a lot of culinary disasters! She also loves gardening, walking, and eating chocolate (followed by more walking!). Catch up with Chantelle’s latest news on her website: www.chantelleshaw.com.

Don’t miss Chantelle Shaw’s book THE GREEK BILLIONAIRE’S INNOCENT PRINCESS out in September 2009 part of THE ROYAL HOUSE OF KAREDES

## ARGENTINIAN PLAYBOY, UNEXPECTED LOVE-CHILD

BY

CHANTELLE SHAW


www.millsandboon.co.uk

ARGENTINIAN PLAYBOY, UNEXPECTED LOVE-CHILD

CHAPTER ONE

DIEGO leaned against the paddock fence, his dark eyes narrowed against the glare of the early evening sun as he watched the horse and rider soar over the triple jump with impressive ease. The six foot wall was next. The horse was gathering pace and the rider stretched forwards along its neck in preparation for the jump.

The display of riding skill was fascinating to watch. Unwittingly, Diego held his breath, waiting for the horse’s hooves to leave the ground. But at that moment a motorbike emerged from the woods, the high-pitched scream of its engine shattering the quiet air. The bike braked on the track which ran alongside the paddock with a squeal of tyres. The horse was clearly scared by the noise, and Diego knew instantly that it would refuse the jump. But there was nothing he could do, and he watched helplessly as the rider was thrown out of the saddle, sailed over the horse’s head, and landed with a sickening thud on the sun-baked earth.

Rachel was winded by the force of the impact with the ground and she struggled to draw oxygen into her lungs. Her head was spinning and sensation was returning to her body, bringing with it various points of pain on her arms, shoulders, hips… She was going to have some spectacular bruises, she thought ruefully. It seemed easier to keep her eyes closed and sink into the welcome blackness where pain was obliterated, but she could hear a voice and she forced her lashes up and stared dazedly at the man looming over her.

‘Don’t try to move. Lie still while I check to see if you’ve broken any bones. Dios—You are lucky you are still alive,’ the voice said roughly. ‘You flew through the air like a rag doll.’

Rachel was vaguely aware of hands running over her body, working up from her legs to her hips and then skimming her ribcage and, despite the lightness of the man’s touch, she winced when he found the tender area on her lower rib. Still stunned by the fall, her lashes drifted down again.

‘Hey, don’t pass out. I’m going to call an ambulance.’

‘I don’t need an ambulance,’ she muttered fiercely, forcing her eyes open again. The blackness was disappearing and above her she could see the blue sky dotted with wisps of cotton wool clouds. But then the stranger leaned over her, his face so close to hers that she could feel his warm breath graze her cheek, and for a moment she wondered if she was concussed—or hallucinating.

She recognised him instantly. Diego Ortega—international polo champion, multimillionaire and playboy who, according to the press, was as successful in his pursuit of beautiful women as he was of polo titles. Rachel had no interest in gossip columns, but since she was twelve years old she had devoured every riding magazine she could lay her hands on and there was no doubt that the Argentinian was a legend in his chosen sport.

She supposed she should not be surprised by his sudden appearance when, for the past few weeks, the main topic of conversation among the other stable-hands had been his impending visit to Hardwick Hall. But seeing him in the flesh was still a shock, and the realisation that he had been watching her take Piran over the jumps was disconcerting.

He had already extracted his mobile phone from his jeans. Rachel forced herself to sit up, biting down on her lip to stop herself from crying out as her battered body protested.

‘I told you to lie still.’ Diego Ortega’s heavily accented voice was terse with a mixture of concern and impatience.

She instinctively rebelled against his authoritative tone. ‘And I told you I don’t need an ambulance,’ she replied firmly as she curled her legs and managed by sheer determination to get onto her knees.

‘Are you always so disobedient?’ Diego made no effort to disguise his irritation and muttered something in his native tongue, in a tone that made Rachel glad that she could not understand Spanish. Once she was on her feet she would feel better, she told herself. She certainly didn’t have a couple of hours to waste sitting in the waiting room at the local hospital. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to move, and then gave a yelp of surprise when strong, tanned hands settled around her waist and she was lifted into the air.

She could not have been held against Diego Ortega’s muscular chest for more than a second, but the feel of his powerful arms around her and the tantalising waft of his cologne that assailed her senses made her head swim. Her heart was beating too fast, and it was no good trying to kid herself that its accelerated speed was a result of the fall. Up close, he was awesome. Her eyes strayed to his broad chest where his casual cream shirt was open at the throat, revealing dark hairs that she noticed also covered his forearms. Slowly she lifted her head and studied his square jaw, the sharply chiselled cheekbones and wide mouth with its perfectly curved upper lip.

What would it be like to be kissed by that mouth? The thought hurtled uninvited into her mind and the blood that had drained from her cheeks due to the shock of the fall now flooded back, scalding her skin. Her gaze skittered over his face and clashed with amber eyes that at this moment were glinting warningly beneath heavy black brows.

His eyes had the golden hue of sherry, Rachel noted distractedly, desperately trying to hide the fact that her legs were wobbling when he set her on her feet. She was bound to feel peculiar after hurtling over Piran’s head and meeting the ground at speed. The shaky feeling had nothing to do with the man who was looming over her, she told herself as her eyes strayed to his gleaming mahogany-coloured hair which fell to his shoulders.

His rugged good-looks were entirely masculine, and with his olive-gold skin he reminded her of a picture she’d once seen of a Sioux chief—dark, dangerous and undeniably the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on.

He was still gripping her arms, as if he feared she would topple over if he let her go. He was too close, too big and way too overwhelming, and she needed to put some space between them.

‘Thanks,’ she murmured as she stepped back from him.

For a moment it seemed as though he would not release her, but then he took his hands from her arms, his eyes narrowing when she swayed unsteadily.

‘You need to see a medic,’ he said tersely. ‘Even though you’re wearing a hard hat, you could be suffering from concussion.’

‘I’m fine, honestly,’ Rachel assured him quickly, forcing a smile and trying to ignore the feeling that she’d been run over by a steamroller. ‘I’ve had far worse falls than that.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ Diego growled. ‘The horse is too big for you.’ His mouth compressed as he relived those gut-churning seconds when the horse had refused the jump and its rider had been flung through the air, to land in a crumpled heap on the hard ground.

He turned his head and cast an expert eye over the black stallion which had first captured his attention when he had strolled down to the practice paddock. His interest in the rider had come afterwards, when the braid of golden hair hanging beneath the riding hat had told him that the boyishly slim figure astride the horse was in fact most definitely female.

The horse was easily seventeen hands, Diego estimated. It seemed calm now that the noise of the motorbike had faded but it was clearly a nervy creature and its highly strung nature, teamed with its physical size and strength, would make it a difficult animal for a man to control, let alone the slender woman standing before him.

She was startlingly beautiful, he acknowledged, feeling a tug of interest as he studied her small heart-shaped face. Her skin was bare of make-up and porcelain smooth, her cheeks flushed like rosy apples from her exertions over the jumps. She was a true English rose, and he was captivated by her cornflower-blue eyes, which were regarding him steadily from beneath the brim of her riding hat.

Diego frowned, astonished by the sudden realisation that he was staring at her. He was used to women staring at him—with varying degrees of subtlety and frequently a blatant invitation in their glances, which he responded to when he felt like it. Never had he been so fixated by a woman that he could not take his eyes off her. But this woman was simply exquisite—and so fragile looking that he was amazed she had not broken every bone in her body in the fall.

Riding the big stallion was plain folly, he brooded. ‘I’m amazed your father allows you to ride such a powerful animal.’

‘My father?’ Nonplussed, Rachel stared at him. Neither her real father nor her mother’s two subsequent husbands, who she had insisted that Rachel call ‘Dad’, had ever been sufficiently interested in her to care what sort of animal she rode. But Diego Ortega knew nothing of her complicated family, or the fact that her mother was a serial bride, and she frowned as she focused on the word ‘allow’.

‘Neither my father nor anyone else “allows” me to do anything,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m an adult, and I make my own decisions. And I am more than capable of handling Piran.’

‘He’s too strong for you, and you’re a fool to think you could control him if he decided to bolt,’ Diego replied coolly. ‘You plainly couldn’t control him when he refused the jump—although, to be fair, that was not entirely your fault. Who the hell was that on the motorbike? I can’t believe Earl Hardwick is happy for a yob to tear around the estate like a lunatic.’

‘Unfortunately, the Earl allows his son to do whatever he likes,’ Rachel said tersely, still incensed by Diego’s remarks that she could not control Piran. ‘The yob you’re referring to was Jasper Hardwick, and I couldn’t agree more with your description of him. He spends much of his time carving up the fields on his wretched bike. He shot out of the woods without warning, and it was no wonder Piran was startled. I’d challenge any rider to have been able to handle him in that situation.’

‘Perhaps so,’ Diego admitted with a shrug. ‘You ride well,’ he acknowledged grudgingly. When he had first arrived at the paddock he’d witnessed the empathy between the girl and the horse—that instinctive understanding that could not be taught or bought but was so vital in whichever competitive arena you were in. The girl was fearless in the saddle. There had been absolutely no hesitation when she had approached the six-foot jump and, although Diego had given up showjumping in favour of polo in his late teens, he knew enough about the sport to recognise her undoubted talent.

He walked over to the stallion, now standing patiently by the fence, and took hold of his reins. ‘How old is he?’ he queried, running his hand over the animal’s flank.

‘Six—I’ve been jumping him for two years.’

‘He’s a fine animal. What did you say you call him?’

‘Piran. He comes from a stud in Cornwall, and his name means “dark”—rather appropriate for his colouring,’ Rachel said softly, running her fingers through Piran’s jet-black mane at the same time as Diego reached out to stroke the horse. His hand brushed against hers and she caught her breath at the brief touch of his warm skin, and then blushed furiously at the sudden gleam in his eyes that told her he had noticed her reaction to him.

His voice was so gravelly that it seemed to rumble from deep in his massive chest as he spoke again. ‘So…the horse is Piran…and his rider is…?’

‘Rachel Summers,’ she answered briskly. She was head groom at Hardwick Polo Club, and it was likely that she would be in charge of Diego’s horses at the upcoming polo match, where he would be the star guest. She wanted him to think she was a professional and experienced stable-hand, not a simpering idiot. She unfastened the strap under her chin and removed her riding hat. ‘And you are Diego Ortega,’ she said politely. ‘Everyone here at Hardwick is excited about your visit, Mr Ortega.’

Dark eyebrows winged upwards and Rachel cringed. Why hadn’t she said everyone has been looking forward to your visit or talking about your visit—instead of using the word ‘excited’? She sounded like a naïve teenager and Diego must have thought so too because he gave her an amused smile.

‘In the same way that the meaning of Piran suits your horse’s colouring, I see that your name matches the shade of your hair. It is the colour of ripened wheat in mid-summer, Miss Summers,’ he murmured, his eyes drawn to the wisps of gold curls that framed her face and the long braid that had slipped forwards over one shoulder. She was tiny—probably not more than a couple of inches over five feet tall—and when he had lifted her in his arms she had weighed next to nothing. Remarkably, she seemed relatively unscathed by her fall, although he could tell she was in pain around her ribs. But, despite her delicate appearance, she was as feisty and spirited as one of the prize colts from his stud at the Estancia Elvira, back home in Argentina.

‘You look as though you are barely out of high school,’ he drawled, his mouth twitching when she glared at him. ‘How old are you?’ he asked her.

‘Twenty-two,’ Rachel snapped, drawing herself up and wishing heartily that she was six inches taller. She knew she looked younger than her age and, as she rarely bothered to spend more time on her appearance than it took to wash her face and braid her hair, she accepted that it was her own fault Diego Ortega had probably mistaken her for a teenager. She did not care about his opinion of her looks, she told herself irritably, but she was proud of her riding skills and she was incensed that he had questioned her ability to control Piran.

She was breathing hard, her chest lifting and falling erratically, and she felt a jolt of shock when Diego’s dark eyes trailed slowly over her body and focused deliberately on her breasts. Rachel swallowed and reminded herself that there was nothing much beneath her shirt to excite him. Riding was more than just her passion—since she was a teenager it had been an obsession that exceeded any vague interest in her appearance, and it had never bothered her that she had failed to develop a big bust. Now, for the first time in her life, she wished she looked more feminine and possessed curves rather than boyishly slender hips and a couple of minuscule bumps that did not require the support of a bra.

Diego’s gaze caused the tiny hairs on Rachel’s body to stand on end. Her legs suddenly felt weak and her breath seemed to be trapped in her chest—the same feeling she’d experienced a few moments ago when Piran had thrown her and she had struggled to her feet—winded and wobbly and strangely light-headed.

During her adolescence she had been so busy with her riding that she’d had no time for boys, and although she’d had a couple of relationships since she had left school they had quickly petered out through a lack of interest on her part. Diego Ortega was nothing like the men she had dated—and he was looking at her in a way that no man had ever done before. Her experience of the opposite sex might be limited, but she sensed Diego’s interest. Some primal instinct inside her recognised the chemistry between them, and she could not restrain the little shiver of awareness that ran down her spine.

Diego’s eyes narrowed. Rachel wasn’t wearing a bra—he could clearly make out the darker flesh of her nipples—and as he watched they hardened into tight little peaks that jutted provocatively towards him. Heat surged through him, shocking him with its intensity. He hadn’t felt this aroused for years. He did not understand why he was so acutely aware of her but, to his intense irritation, his heart was pounding and his jeans suddenly felt uncomfortably tight.

It was time for him to move, to break out of the sensual web that entrapped them both. A glance at his watch warned him that he should return to the Hall and change in time for dinner with the Earl and Lady Hardwick and their attractive but tediously overeager daughter, Felicity. He wondered if the idiot son who had nearly caused a serious accident would be present. He certainly intended to inform the Earl that he would not permit noisy motorbikes to be ridden near to the thoroughbred polo ponies he had been invited to Hardwick Polo Club to train.

His eyes strayed back to Rachel Summers’s face and focused on her soft mouth, his stomach clenching when he imagined crushing those moist lips beneath his and exploring her with his tongue. She would taste as sweet as a light summer wine, and she would respond to him willingly—he noted how her eyes were now the colour of wood-smoke, her pupils dilated with sensual promise.

She could prove an interesting diversion over the next couple of months, he mused idly. He wondered who she was. He knew that the aristocratic Hardwick family had many offshoots, and he assumed that Rachel must be a relative.

‘Are you staying up at the Hall?’ he demanded abruptly, forcing himself to step away from her.

‘Earl Hardwick isn’t in the habit of inviting his stable-hands to live in,’ Rachel replied dryly. ‘Not even his head groom.’

‘So you work here.’ Diego frowned. ‘Do you own Piran?’ He knew that most yards paid low wages, but the stallion was a thoroughbred and must have cost several thousand pounds.

‘No, I have him on loan. His owner is Peter Irving, from the farm adjoining the Hardwick estate. Peter used to be a world-class showjumper, and he’s my sponsor.’

‘Irving—the name is familiar.’

‘Three times Olympic gold medallist and top rider with the British Equestrian team for many years. Peter is my inspiration,’ Rachel explained.

Diego caught the note of fierce determination in her voice and glanced at her curiously. ‘You hope to be selected for the British team?’

‘The next Olympics are my dream,’ Rachel admitted, blushing and wondering why on earth she had revealed her life’s ambition to a man she had never met before. She had never told anyone, apart from Peter Irving, of her hopes of competing at the highest level—not her friends, and certainly not her family. Since her parents had divorced when she was nine, they had both been too wrapped up in their lives with their new partners and children to take much interest in her, and the few times she had mentioned her riding to her mother it had led to the old argument about getting a proper job, somewhere decent to live rather than an old caravan, and a boyfriend.

‘The Olympics are a long way off,’ she murmured. ‘For now I’m working hard in the hope of being picked for the team for the European championships next year. Peter and Earl Hardwick both think I have a good chance. The Earl has been very supportive of my career,’ she added. He allows me to stable Piran here, and he always gives me time off to go to competitions. The facilities at Hardwick are excellent, and working here is a fantastic experience.’

‘But not quite so fantastic when your horse refuses a jump,’ Diego said dryly, his sharp gaze noting how she had crossed her arms over her chest and was surreptitiously rubbing her ribs. ‘I’ll ride Piran back to the stables for you.’

Without giving Rachel time to argue, he deftly adjusted the stirrups and swung into the saddle with a lithe grace and expertise. Piran did not usually take to strangers but, to Rachel’s annoyance, he stood as docile as a lamb while Diego spoke to him in Spanish. The deep-timbred voice was strangely hypnotic; Piran’s ears pricked up and he whinnied—almost as if he were talking back, although that was just fanciful imagination, Rachel told herself irritably. It was a pity that the Argentinian horseman did not have such a soothing effect on her. She felt decidedly rattled, and she knew it was not only because of the fall.

She opened the paddock gate and Diego took Piran through, but then halted and waited for her. ‘I still think I should call a doctor,’ he said, his mouth thinning when he noted how she winced with every step she took. ‘You’re as pale as a ghost and clearly in agony.’

‘I’m just bruised, that’s all,’ Rachel argued stubbornly.

Diego gave her a hard stare. ‘You’re going to be black and blue and you’ll ache tomorrow. To be on the safe side, you shouldn’t ride for the next week.’

‘Are you kidding?’ Rachel looked scandalised. ‘I’ve got a competition coming up and I’m going to take Piran round the course again tomorrow. He’d have managed that last fence fine if he hadn’t been startled by the bike.’

Diego let out a curse, torn between impatience and admiration at her mulish determination. ‘You are the most argumentative woman I have ever met, Miss Summers.’ He moved before Rachel could guess his intention, and she gave a startled cry when he reached down and lifted her effortlessly onto Piran’s back, placing her at the front of the saddle and clicking his tongue so that the horse immediately began to walk. One arm remained around her, holding her against his chest, while he held the reins in his other hand and controlled the stallion with impressive ease.

Attempting to scramble down would be futile, Rachel acknowledged as she stared at Diego’s muscular forearms. She would just have to sit still until they reached the stable block, but she absolutely would not give in to the temptation to relax and lean her head against his chest. He was too close as it was, and the feel of his hard thighs pressing against her bottom seemed shockingly intimate. She was agonisingly aware of him—of the heat that emanated from him and the sensual musk of his cologne mixed with another subtle scent that was excitingly male and utterly intoxicating.

She was thankful when they reached the yard. Diego dismounted first and then carefully lifted her down. He seemed to think she was the rag doll he had described when he had witnessed her flying out of the saddle, she thought irritably as he strode into the barn, still holding her in his arms. His heart was beating steadily beneath her ear, but hers was thudding erratically and she was supremely conscious of his hands holding her beneath her knees and around the upper part of her body so that his fingers brushed lightly against the side of her breast.

She was pink-cheeked when he sat her down on a hay bale, and she glared at him when he leaned over her to prevent her from jumping to her feet. ‘I need to see to Piran,’ she said angrily.

‘I’ll ask one of the other grooms to rub him down. Every breath you take is agony—I can see it in your eyes, even if you are too stubborn to admit it,’ Diego said grimly.

Rachel stared at his hard-boned face and it slowly dawned on her that she had finally met someone whose determination to have his own way matched her own. ‘I’ve told you I’m fine,’ she muttered. ‘And Piran doesn’t like anyone else to groom him.’

‘Well, he’s going to have to get used to it because I don’t want to see you around these stables until you’ve had your ribs X-rayed and been thoroughly checked over by a doctor. My chauffeur, Arturo, will drive you to the hospital,’ Diego informed her coolly. ‘I would take you myself, but Lady Hardwick is giving a dinner party this evening—and I believe I’m the star guest,’ he added dryly.

‘Don’t waste your breath arguing with me, Miss Summers,’ he warned, placing his finger beneath her chin and exerting gentle pressure so that she had no option but to shut her mouth and swallow the angry words that were bursting to escape. ‘I will be in charge of the stables for the duration of my stay at Hardwick Hall, and I refuse to have anyone working here who can’t pull their weight. If you’ve broken your ribs, or sustained other injuries today, you’ll be a liability I can do without.’

Unfazed by her furious expression, he smiled, revealing his gleaming white teeth that contrasted with his bronzed skin. ‘I can’t keep on calling you Miss Summers all summer—can I, Rachel?’

His voice had altered, and was now as thick and sensuous as molten honey, but Rachel was determined not to be impressed. Clearly he was an outrageous flirt, as well as the most arrogant man she had ever met, and she was furious with her treacherous body for responding to him. She was aware of a tingling sensation in her breasts and a shocking yearning for him to push her down into the hay, lower himself onto her and kiss her like she had never been kissed before.

‘What do you mean by “all summer”?’ she croaked. ‘I know you’re here for the polo tournament, but surely you’ll be going back to Argentina straight afterwards.’

Diego shook his head, his smile widening at Rachel’s look of dismay. ‘As a matter of fact, I usually spend a couple of months—when it is winter in Argentina—at my polo school just outside New York. But this year the Earl has invited me to Hardwick to train the polo ponies.

‘So you see, Rachel,’ he drawled softly, moving his finger from under her chin and gently tracing the shape of her lips with his thumb pad, ‘for the next month or so I will be your boss, and you will have to abide by my rules. Go to the hospital with Arturo, get yourself checked over, and when you can come back to me with a clean bill of health you will be welcome here. Until then, if I catch so much as a strand of your pretty blonde hair near Piran’s loose box, there will be trouble. Entiendes?’

There was a hint of steel behind his mocking tone that warned Rachel he would be a dangerous man to cross. Incensed by his high-handedness, she jerked her head away, disgusted to find that she was trembling. The feather-light caress of his thumb over her lips had been shockingly intimate, and the idea that she would be working for him over the summer was downright disturbing.

‘Earl Hardwick personally appointed me as head groom, and I’m sure he’ll have something to say when I tell him you’ve banned me from doing my job,’ she said furiously.

‘The Earl had a hard job persuading me to come to Gloucestershire rather than New York, and I think you’ll find that he’ll go along with anything I say,’ Diego replied with a breathtaking arrogance that made Rachel itch to slap him. ‘Besides, you are not banned, Rachel. I am very much looking forward to working with you once I am assured that you suffered no serious injuries today. I have great plans for Hardwick Polo Club, and I have a feeling that you and I will be spending a lot of time together.’

The sensuous gleam in his eyes was unmistakable, and a quiver ran down Rachel’s spine. She wanted to jump up and tell him to get lost—tell him that she’d rather work for the devil than him. But she couldn’t move. For one thing, her ribs were seriously painful—but the real reason, she acknowledged dismally, was that she was trapped by his magnetism and utterly captivated by his raw masculinity. He was the most potently virile man she had ever met; she could not tear her eyes from his sensual mouth and when he lowered his head slowly towards her, she ceased thinking, almost ceased breathing, her heart hammering with frantic excitement when it seemed that he was going to kiss her.

To her intense disappointment, he did not. Instead, he straightened up abruptly and moved away from her, giving her a mocking smile that added to her humiliation.

‘Wait here for Arturo,’ he ordered. He strode across the barn and halted in the doorway to glance back at her. ‘It promises to be an interesting summer, don’t you think, Rachel?’ he taunted softly.

CHAPTER TWO

TO RACHEL’S relief an X-ray showed that she had not broken any bones when Piran had thrown her, but her ribs and shoulder were badly bruised and the doctor was adamant that she should not ride for a few days.

‘I doubt you’ll be able to move tomorrow,’ he told her as he handed her a prescription for strong painkillers. ‘Take two of these twice a day, and if I were you I’d go to bed and stay there.’

It was the most ridiculous suggestion Rachel had ever heard. She had never spent a day in bed in her life, and as far as she was concerned the fact that she hadn’t suffered any fractures meant that she would be fit to work at the stables tomorrow.

But the following morning she woke in agony and the sight of her purple bruises forced her to accept that she was in no fit state to ride her bicycle up to the stables, muck out loose boxes and then spend the morning exercising the horses.

Besides, even if she managed to get to the stables, Diego Ortega was likely to send her straight home again. The Argentinian was the most arrogant individual she had ever met. Infuriatingly, he was also the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on, she acknowledged grimly. She cringed when she remembered how she had been so mesmerised by him that she had stared at him, hoping he would kiss her, and his amused smile had told her that he had known exactly what she was thinking.

The day dragged endlessly, but fortunately the painkillers worked well and by early evening Rachel was feeling less like she had been trampled on by a herd of bulls and was bored of her enforced isolation. One of the other stable-hands sent her a text saying that Diego had returned to the Hall, where he was staying as a guest of Earl Hardwick. He was unlikely to visit the stables again tonight, Rachel decided as she cycled through the woods to the Hardwick estate, wincing every time she hit a pothole on the path.

Piran was gratifyingly pleased to see her. From his gleaming coat she guessed that someone must have groomed him, but she gave him another brush and fed him a couple of peppermints, and did not notice she had company until a figure came up silently behind her.

‘Jasper, you’ll give me a heart attack if you creep up on me like that,’ she snapped when a faint sound made her swing round and she almost collided with Earl Hardwick’s son and heir. ‘It’s a pity you weren’t so quiet on your bike yesterday,’ she muttered, feeling the same uneasy tension that always gripped her when she was alone with Jasper. The young Englishman was reputedly one of the most eligible bachelors among the landed gentry and, with his blonde hair flopping onto his brow, Rachel could see why women might be attracted to him. But he did nothing for her, and she hated the way he looked at her as though he were mentally undressing her.

‘Yeah, I heard Piran threw you when you were jumping him yesterday.’ Jasper lounged in the stable doorway, blocking Rachel’s path so that she instinctively stepped backwards away from him.

‘It was your fault, not his. The noise of your bike scared him. I wish you wouldn’t ride it near the paddock.’

Jasper gave a careless shrug. ‘It’s my land—or it will be one day. You know, it would pay you to be nice to me, Rachel,’ he said with a sly smile, reaching out and running his finger down her cheek. ‘One day I’m going to be very rich—as long as my dear papa doesn’t blow the family fortune on the polo club. God knows how much he’s had to fork out to persuade Diego Ortega to come here and share his “expertise”,’ he added petulantly. ‘Ortega is already a multimillionaire, and the money the old man’s paying him could have gone on increasing my paltry allowance.’

‘Mr Ortega is reputed to be one of the best trainers in the world,’ Rachel murmured. ‘And his appearance at the Hardwick Polo Tournament has trebled ticket sales, which must be good for the club.’

‘Ortega is a notorious playboy,’ Jasper said sulkily, clearly resenting Rachel’s defence of him. And why had she spoken up for Diego when the first thing he had done since his arrival had been to ban her from the stables? she wondered irritably. ‘My sister was all over him like a rash at dinner last night,’ Jasper added sneeringly. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for his smarmy charm too?’

‘Of course not,’ she replied quickly; perhaps too quickly because Jasper stared at her intently and she felt herself blush. She could not bear for Jasper of all people to guess the effect that Diego had on her and so she added, ‘From my brief meeting with Diego Ortega, I found him to be the most objectionable man I’ve ever met and, like you, I’ll be glad to see the back of him.’

‘Is that so, Rachel? How disappointing. I had such high hopes for our relationship,’ a familiar, heavily accented voice drawled mockingly behind her. Rachel gasped and jerked her head round to see Diego strolling in through the doors of the stable block. ‘Our working relationship, of course,’ he added, giving Jasper Hardwick a bland smile when the young Englishman glowered at him.

Diego turned his attention back to Rachel, and she felt a fluttering sensation in her stomach as her eyes clashed with his gleaming amber gaze. He had obviously changed for dinner and looked stunningly handsome in tailored black trousers and a white silk shirt. Presumably he would don a tuxedo and bow tie before dinner with the Hardwicks, but for now his shirt was open at the throat, revealing his golden skin.

‘I’m afraid you’ll be seeing a lot of me over the next few weeks—back and front,’ he said sarcastically, while she stared at the floor and wished a trapdoor would miraculously open beneath her feet. ‘Earl Hardwick has challenged me to turn Hardwick Polo Club into a top sporting venue—and I can never resist a challenge,’ he murmured silkily, his eyes focused on Rachel’s flushed face.

He glanced dismissively at Jasper. ‘I’m afraid you will no longer be able to ride your motorbike around the estate. I’ll be doing some intensive training with the polo ponies and I don’t want to waste my time calming them down after you’ve terrified them. Your thoughtless actions yesterday caused Rachel’s accident, and it was sheer luck the outcome wasn’t more serious.’

An angry flush stained Jasper’s face. ‘It’s not my fault Rachel can’t control her horse,’ he said sullenly. ‘Everyone knows Piran is too strong for her.’ He gave Diego a look of active dislike. ‘You can’t tell me what to do. My father…’

‘Your father agrees with me that the bike should be banned from anywhere near the stables and practice paddocks,’ Diego interrupted with a quiet authority in his tone that brought another wave of colour to Jasper’s face. ‘Miss Summers’s riding skills are not in question. I was watching her yesterday, and in my opinion she is an excellent horsewoman.’

Rachel blushed at the unexpected praise. Jasper glanced furiously from her to Diego and swore viciously before he swung round and stormed out of the stables. In the silence that fell after his departure Rachel felt her tension rise and she busied herself with putting Piran’s grooming brushes away.

‘He may be a member of the British aristocracy but he’s a charmless individual, isn’t he?’ Diego drawled. ‘But perhaps you don’t think so, Rachel? Did you arrange to meet Hardwick here, when you knew the other grooms would have finished work and the two of you would be alone?’

Stunned by the accusation, she spun round and saw that his amber eyes were coldly assessing her. ‘Of course not,’ she denied sharply. ‘Why would I? I’m not the slightest bit interested in Jasper.’

Diego stepped into the loose box and patted Piran. ‘Well, he’s interested in you,’ he said harshly. ‘A word of advice, querida—don’t flirt with Hardwick unless you intend to follow it through. He wants you badly, and it’s not a good idea to lead him on.’

‘I wasn’t flirting with him!’ Rachel’s eyes flashed with temper. ‘He must have seen me arrive here and followed me into the stables.’ She trailed to a halt, remembering how Diego had expressly banned her from visiting the stables. ‘I came to see Piran, not to ride him,’ she muttered and then, as her temper sparked again, added, ‘although the X-rays were clear. I didn’t break any bones yesterday, and there’s no reason why I can’t ride.’

‘Apart from the doctor’s recommendation that you take a break from riding for a few days—Arturo overheard your conversation at the hospital,’ Diego murmured dryly, feeling a mixture of amusement and impatience when she glared at him. She was infuriatingly stubborn—a trait they shared, he acknowledged. He understood her obsession for riding and her addiction to the adrenalin boost when she took her horse over the jumps. She clearly pushed herself to the limits, just as he did on the polo field, but he wondered what demons drove her and made her careless of her safety—as his demons drove him to take risks which had taken him to the top of his sport, and on several occasions within a whisker of the grave.

He was torn between wanting to shake some sense into her and kiss the mutinous line of her mouth until she parted her lips and allowed him to push his tongue between them. He was irritated by the effect she had on him. Yesterday he had thought she would be an interesting diversion while he was staying at Hardwick, but after spending a restless night when he’d been unable to dismiss her from his mind he had decided that she was a complication he could do without. He had confidently assumed that when he saw her again he would have his inconvenient attraction to her under control, but as soon as he’d walked into the stables and felt his heart jolt at the sight of her he had been forced to admit that his awareness of her had not lessened.

Her hair was the colour of spun gold, falling to halfway down her back. He wanted to run his fingers through the thick, silky mass and then pull her into his arms so that her hips cradled the hard evidence of his arousal. His body was as taut as an over-strung bow and he felt an overwhelming urge to tumble her down in the hay, but instead he called on all his willpower and stepped out of Piran’s loose box.

‘As you can see, Piran is fine, and he gave me no trouble when I groomed him earlier.’ He followed Rachel out of the loose box. ‘I’ll drive you home. I understand you live at Irving’s farm.’

‘Yes, but there’s no need for you to give me a lift—I cycled here.’ Rachel nodded towards her bike, propped up against the barn wall. ‘It’s quicker for me to ride through the woods.’

‘I want to discuss the horses I’ve brought over from Argentina for the polo tournament. If you are going to oppose everything I say, I will have to seriously question whether I can have you working here,’ Diego snapped.

Was he threatening to sack her? Rachel chewed on her lip as panic surged through her. How could she admit that her reluctance to sit next to him in the close confines of the sleek silver sports car she could see parked in the yard was due to her acute awareness of him? But he gave her no further opportunity to speak and was already striding out of the barn. She hurried after him and when he held open the car door she slid into the passenger seat and stared determinedly ahead, her senses flaring when he sat behind the wheel and she inhaled the exotic scent of his aftershave.

‘You were going to tell me about your horses,’ she murmured tentatively when he had driven almost to the boundary of the Hardwick estate in a taut silence that played havoc with her nerves. Diego exhaled deeply, as if he too was aware of the prickling tension between them, but then proceeded to give her detailed information about his polo ponies. Rachel listened intently so that it was a surprise when the car came to a halt and she realised that they had turned into the farm.

‘I’ve left notes about feeds and medical histories, et cetera in the tack room. You can read through them when you come back to work after the weekend,’ he said in a tone that brooked no argument about when he would allow her back to the stables.

‘Fine. Well, I’ll see you next week then,’ Rachel replied flatly, wondering how she was going to survive for three long days without riding. The prospect of not seeing Diego for days had nothing to do with the deflated feeling that had settled over her, she told herself firmly.

‘Before you go…these are for you.’ He reached behind his seat and handed her a huge bouquet of yellow roses, his mouth curving into a smile at her expression of stunned surprise. ‘To wish you a speedy recovery,’ he explained. ‘When I visited the florist’s the colour reminded me of your bright hair—and the sharp thorns were a painful reminder of your prickly nature,’ he added dryly, showing her several deep scratches on his hand. ‘I almost bled to death removing them.’

‘I don’t mean to be prickly; I’m just used to doing things for myself and making my own decisions, that’s all,’ Rachel mumbled, burying her face in the scented blooms because she could not bring herself to meet Diego’s gaze. Unaccountably, her eyes filled with tears and she blinked fiercely to dispel them. She wondered what he would say if she revealed that she had never been given flowers in her life—and then wondered where on earth she was going to put them when she did not possess a vase.

She sensed he was waiting for her to say something, and forced herself to speak. ‘They’re beautiful. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Diego paused, and wondered impatiently why he felt as edgy as a teenager on a first date. Rachel was a stable-hand, with an attitude problem and a sharp tongue—not the sort of woman he would usually be interested in. But he was intrigued by her and as he watched her tongue dart out to moisten her lips the tug of desire that had kept him awake for half the night intensified. ‘I was hoping they would persuade you to invite me in and offer me a cup of coffee.’

Rachel glanced at him, caught the unmistakable sensual gleam in his amber eyes and stared back at the golden bouquet, her heart beating very fast. It was only coffee, she reminded herself, and it seemed churlish to refuse when he had presented her with two dozen roses. ‘You’re welcome to come in for coffee. But I don’t live at the farmhouse. I live up there.’

Following her gaze, Diego restarted the engine and drove up the track that wound out of the farmyard and through a small copse of trees, his brows lowering in a frown when the track ended at a small shabby caravan nestled in the shade of a towering oak tree. ‘You don’t seriously expect me to believe you live in that?’

‘And the coffee is cheap instant,’ Rachel said sweetly. ‘Welcome to my home, Mr Ortega.’ While Diego stared out of the windscreen in patent disbelief, she jumped out of the car and unlocked the caravan, the heat that had built up inside hitting her as she pushed open the door. He had probably changed his mind about the coffee, she decided, trying to ignore her disappointment as she rummaged around in the cupboard under the sink, searching for a suitable vessel to hold the roses. She had unearthed a couple of jam jars when he climbed up the steps, ducking his head as he stepped through the door and instantly seeming to dominate the cramped space.

He glanced around the interior of the caravan and Rachel gave a silent groan when his eyes fell on the bed, which she had left down this morning because her shoulder had hurt too much to pack it away.

‘It’s what an estate agent might call a compact residence,’ she said brightly. ‘When the bed is folded away there’s actually a surprising amount of room—for me, anyway,’ she added when she glanced up and saw that Diego’s head was brushing the ceiling.

‘This can’t be your permanent home.’ He could not disguise his shock at her living conditions. ‘You just camp out here during the summer—right?’

‘No, I moved in here when I was seventeen, after my mother married for the third time and my twin half-sisters were born.’

Diego’s brows rose. ‘Family life sounds complicated.’

‘Believe me, it is. I went to live with my father for a while, but he and his new wife had also just had a baby and it was easier for everyone when Peter Irving offered me the caravan.’

Rachel’s voice was carefully controlled, giving no hint of how she had resented feeling like a spare part in her parents’ lives—unwanted, apart from being an occasional babysitter to her various half brothers and sisters. She had spent most of her childhood being passed between her mother and father, but she often thought that the bitter custody battle they had fought over her had been more about them trying to score points off each other than because either of them had actually wanted her to live with them.

It had been a far from idyllic childhood, and by the age of twelve she had been fiercely independent—getting up early every morning to do a paper round to pay for her riding lessons. She preferred horses to people and, after witnessing her parents’ various failed marriages, she was adamant that she never wanted to get married or be reliant on another human being.

‘The caravan is sound and dry, although it does shake a bit in strong wind,’ Rachel admitted as she spooned coffee granules into the two least chipped mugs she could find. ‘But it’s got all the basic amenities—a shower, and Peter rigged up a generator to provide me with electricity. I can’t afford to rent a house,’ she explained when Diego gave her a look that said he seriously questioned her sanity. ‘Property is very expensive around here, and everything I earn goes on Piran’s upkeep and competition fees.’

Diego noted that the caravan might be small and old, but it was immaculately clean. The collection of china horses arranged on the shelf above the cooker were free from dust, and on the miniature kitchen worktop stood a jar filled with wild daisies. Rachel’s home was as unconventional and dainty as its occupant, and he felt like a giant who had somehow squeezed himself into a doll’s house.

He would drink the coffee and then leave, he decided, shaking his head when she offered milk and sugar, and grimacing when he took a sip of the foul black liquid she handed him. He didn’t know why he hadn’t simply dropped her off at the farm entrance.

His eyes strayed to her slender figure and her pert derrière, moulded by her jeans, and he felt a tightening sensation in his groin. He was used to dating sophisticated socialites who wouldn’t be seen dead in anything other than designer labels, but there was something wholesome and incredibly sexy about Rachel’s scrubbed face and simple clothes. He wondered if she was aware that the sunlight streaming in through the window made her shirt semi-transparent. He could clearly see the outline of her breasts, and liquid heat surged through his veins.

He took a gulp of the hot coffee and felt it scald the back of his throat. ‘Do you live here alone?’ he asked shortly.

Rachel glanced around the cramped living space, her brows lifting expressively. ‘There’s barely enough room for me, let alone anyone else,’ she murmured.

‘So, no boyfriend sharing your bunk?’

‘No! I told you, I’m training hard in the hope of being picked for the British Equestrian team. I don’t have time for boyfriends.’ Much less the desire for one, she thought, her mouth firming. But that did not mean she was completely oblivious to men, or at least this man. She could not tear her eyes from Diego. He looked faintly incongruous, standing in her tiny caravan in his formal black trousers and beautifully tailored shirt. He reminded her of one of those impossibly gorgeous male models from a glossy magazine—and he should be somewhere exotic like Monte Carlo or Rio, not a field in rural Gloucestershire. But he was here, with her, and he was looking at her in a way that was making her heart race and her face feel hot.

She should have suggested that they drink their coffee outside, she thought frantically. But her garden furniture consisted of two upended feed buckets, and she could not picture suave Diego Ortega sprawling on the grass. The atmosphere inside the caravan suddenly seemed to be charged with electricity and she was agonisingly aware of his hard, lean body standing inches from her. She held her breath when he closed the gap between them, and her eyes darted nervously from his chest up to his face and focused helplessly on his sensual mouth. Her heart seemed to stop beating when he slid his hand beneath her chin and lowered his face so close to hers that she could see the tiny lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes.

‘What…what do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded, dismayed that her voice sounded so weak and breathless when she wanted to give the impression that she was in complete control of the situation.

‘I think I am going to kiss you,’ Diego drawled, patently amused by the question. ‘In fact, I know it, querida—just as I know that you want me to.’

Rachel’s heart was jerking painfully beneath her ribs. ‘I don’t,’ she said desperately, her cheeks flaming as she recalled how she had silently urged him to kiss her in the stables yesterday.

‘Liar,’ he said with gentle mockery which disguised the tension that gripped him. Her skin was almost translucent, her peaches-and-cream complexion as exquisite as a work of art, and her mouth, pink and moist and slightly parted, was a temptation he could no longer resist. The sexual awareness between them was white-hot—and mutual. Rachel might try to deny it, but her eyes were huge with excitement, the invitation in their depths unmistakable. He hesitated for a second, wanting to savour the anticipation, but as he brushed his lips over hers in that first explorative caress and felt her tentative response, hunger coursed through his veins and with a muffled groan he crushed her mouth beneath his and kissed her with unrestrained passion. It did not cross Rachel’s mind to resist him—and, even if her brain clung to some last vestige of sanity, her body had a will of its own and demanded her complete and utter surrender. Diego’s lips were warm and firm, sliding over hers with such erotic skill that she simply melted against him and opened her mouth, her heart thudding in her chest at the first bold thrust of his tongue.

Nothing in her life had prepared her for the storm of sensations that swept through her. She had never experienced true desire before; not this desperate need for something she did not even understand but which raged inside her as wild and dangerous as a bush fire.

Perhaps her subconscious mind had deliberately subdued her normal sexual urges? she wondered vaguely, finding it hard to think straight when Diego slid his arms around her and drew her against the hard wall of his chest.

But now those urges had been awakened, and she could not control them. The pressure of his mouth on hers was as addictive as a drug, and she wanted more. She placed her hands on his chest and felt the heat of his body through his silk shirt. What would it be like to feel his bare skin pressed against hers?

But, before she could give in to her heated fantasy, Diego suddenly dropped down so that he was sitting on the edge of her makeshift bed and pulled her onto his lap.

‘That’s better, hmm…?’ he murmured against her mouth, before he kissed her again, moving his lips on hers with undisguised passion which sent a shiver of need down her spine. She was trembling, every nerve-ending tingling, and when he brushed his hand lightly over her breast she shivered in anticipation of a more intimate caress.

‘Do you like that, querida?’ His voice was a husky growl, but Rachel was beyond giving an answer, the feelings he was arousing in her were new and wondrous and she was swept away to a place where nothing mattered except that Diego should continue to kiss her and touch her. She heard him mutter something in his own language, and was vaguely aware of his fingers gently stroking her waist before inching up towards her ribs once more. The bright sunlight streaming through the window made her squint, and through her half closed eyes he seemed dark and forbidding—a stranger who had kissed her until she could not think straight.

As he gently increased the pressure of his caresses, Rachel suddenly drew in a sharp breath. Aware that her rapid intake of air had nothing to do with arousal, Diego quickly removed his hands before he gently pushed her shirt over her shoulder, revealing the fragile line of her collarbone—and the mass of purple bruises that contrasted starkly with her pale skin.

‘Your injuries are worse even than I imagined,’ he said harshly, the sound of his voice shattering the last of the sexual haze that had held Rachel a willing prisoner in his arms. The fire in her veins cooled as quickly as if he had thrust her beneath an ice-cold shower, leaving her feeling slightly sick. What had she been thinking, allowing a man she barely knew to kiss her, and touch her…?

Diego was staring at her bony shoulder with a look of undisguised horror, and she felt embarrassed that he was clearly repelled by her body. With a jerky movement that jolted her ribs and caused her to wince in pain, she snatched the edges of her shirt together to hide the offending bruises from his gaze. ‘I’d like you to leave,’ she said tightly. ‘You’ve had your fun.’

‘My fun?’ Diego stiffened, his eyes narrowing on her flushed face.

Rachel was aware that she sounded abrupt to the point of rudeness, but she was dying of mortification as she recalled her wanton response to him. What must he think of her? She had made no attempt to stop him kissing her. The moment he had taken her in his arms, she had melted against him and kissed him back; and her soft moans of pleasure when he had caressed her must have sent out a message that she was his for the taking.

Since she was old enough to understand adult relationships, she had proudly announced that she would never act like her mother, lurching blindly between marriages and affairs with no thought to the consequences. She would never allow any man that kind of power over her, she’d stated confidently. Yet here she was, practically making love with a stranger just because he was the most gorgeous male she’d ever met.

‘I don’t know what you were expecting,’ she snapped, taking her anger with herself out on him, ‘but I am not the kind of woman who jumps into bed with a man five minutes after meeting him.’

‘You could have fooled me,’ Diego drawled, the warmth that had blazed in his amber eyes turning rapidly to an expression of icy arrogance. ‘I was not expecting anything,’ he snapped, furious with himself that he had come on to her like some callow youth. It was not his style. He always played it cool with women, and he had meant to stop after one brief kiss. Rachel’s passionate response had blown him away, but he wasn’t prepared to take all the blame. ‘Do you seriously expect me to believe that if I hadn’t stopped just then, you would have called a halt?’ He gave a disbelieving laugh that sparked Rachel’s temper. ‘Don’t kid yourself, Rachel. Your need was as great as mine—and still is,’ he said coolly as he trailed his hand insolently down the front of her shirt and noted how her nipples jutted to attention.

He watched her cheeks flood with colour, and with an impatient movement he stood up and strode over to the door of the caravan, snatching oxygen into his lungs as he stared over the lush green English countryside. He was only going to be here for a few weeks, and he had a job to do that promised to be interesting. Rachel played an important role at Hardwick. He had learned from talking to the other grooms that she was highly regarded for her dedication to the horses and the polo club, and he needed to establish a good working relationship with her. The attraction between them was seriously inconvenient—but if Rachel could fight it then so could he.

‘This was a mistake,’ she said huskily. For some reason the discernible tremor in her voice tugged at Diego’s insides. He turned his head and saw that she had buttoned her shirt right up to the neck. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to kiss me…and I admit I got carried away. I can’t believe I fell for the “can I come in for coffee?” line,’ she choked. Her eyes fell on the glorious yellow roses and she felt sick. ‘Is that what the flowers were for—to soften me up for a quick sex session?’

‘Of course not,’ he grated, outraged at the accusation. She was making it sound as though she was some virginal innocent and he was an utter bastard who had cynically planned to seduce her, but neither was true. ‘It was just a kiss,’ he said coldly. ‘I assure you I had no intention of asking you to jump into bed with me.’

It might have been ‘just a kiss’ to him, but for Rachel it had been the most devastatingly sensual experience of her life. Still, she would rather die than let him see how much he affected her, and she preferred to carry out a post-mortem of her behaviour away from his mocking gaze. ‘Please go,’ she said shakily. ‘I think it would be best if we both forgot this…this…’

‘Fascinating interlude?’ Diego suggested sarcastically.

‘Get out!’ The glittering amusement in his eyes was the last straw and she clenched her fists and dared him—dared him—to say another word.

‘I’m going.’ He sauntered down the caravan steps and glanced back at her, his tone no longer mocking but quietly serious as he murmured, ‘I agree we should try to forget the sexual chemistry that exists between us, Rachel. But I wonder if we can.’

CHAPTER THREE

THE heatwave, which had been unusual for early May, broke and on Monday morning Rachel walked up to the stables in the rain, dreading facing Diego again. Over the weekend she had come to the dismal conclusion that she had seriously overreacted. Of course he hadn’t kissed her as a prelude to persuading her to sleep with him. He was a gorgeous playboy and a sporting hero who was frequently photographed in the tabloids in the company of beautiful models. He was hardly likely to have felt uncontrollable lust for a scruffy stable-girl.

His scathing dismissal of their kiss emphasised how unimportant he regarded the whole episode, but she had acted like a shocked virgin from a Victorian melodrama. No doubt that was because she was a shocked virgin, she acknowledged gloomily. Diego had made her feel things she had never felt before, and now she felt restless and unfulfilled.

She did not see him until later in the afternoon, when she and a few of the other grooms had been out exercising some of the polo ponies and gave them one last gallop back to the stables. Diego was wearing a knee-length black oilskin coat and matching wide-brimmed hat that shielded his face, but his height and the width of his shoulders made him instantly recognisable, and Rachel’s heart lurched when she reined in her horse and they trotted into the yard.

‘Are you sufficiently recovered from your accident to be riding?’ he greeted her as he strode over and caught hold of her pony’s bridle.

‘I’m fine,’ she replied automatically, ignoring the nagging pain in her ribs. Her eyes were drawn to his mouth, and she blushed as she recalled the tingling pleasure of his kiss. She saw something flicker in his eyes and hastily looked away from him. ‘I’d better go and rub Charlie Boy down. He’s covered in mud.’

‘You both are,’ Diego said dryly. He did not understand how he could possibly be turned on by Rachel when she was wearing a bulky waxed jacket and mud-spattered jodhpurs. He usually liked women to look feminine and alluring—as if they’d spent their days in the beauty parlour and came to him beautifully groomed and coiffed and dressed in exquisite couture gowns. Rachel looked as though she had rolled in every muddy puddle she’d come across but, to his self-disgust, he imagined undressing her slowly, layer by layer, until he exposed her slender, pale body.

‘How are the bruises?’ he asked roughly.

‘Fading,’ she mumbled, remembering how he had unfastened her shirt and discovered the ugly purple marks on her shoulder, and how the desire in his eyes had rapidly disappeared. What would he make of her now that the bruises were turning an unattractive greenish yellow? She would never know, she told herself firmly. She was never going to allow him to touch her again, let alone undress her—and, from the cool expression in his eyes, he obviously regretted the whole episode as much as she did.

‘You could have taken another day off,’ he murmured. ‘I can see that your shoulder is still stiff.’

‘It’s fine—and I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing. I’m not the world’s most patient patient,’ she owned honestly.

Amusement glinted in his eyes at her understatement. ‘No, I don’t suppose you are. When you’ve seen to your horse I’ll give you a lift home. I have to go into the village and the farm is on my way.’

‘Oh, no, it’s okay—I’m not going home just yet.’

He frowned. ‘There’s nothing more to do here today.’

‘I want to take Piran over the jumps,’ Rachel admitted reluctantly.

He shook his head. ‘That’s not a good idea. It’s your first day back and you must be tired.’ He had watched her on several occasions during the day, when she had been unaware of him, and he was astounded at how hard she worked. She was so petite, and the life of a stable-hand was physically demanding, but from the moment she had arrived at the stables early this morning she had taken on more than her fair share of the workload.

If Rachel was honest, she was worn out and ached all over, but her innate stubbornness rebelled at Diego’s dictatorial tone. ‘Olympic champions don’t get to the top of their sport by giving in every time they’re tired,’ she said briskly. ‘Piran and I both need all the practice we can get before our next competition.’

‘Santa Madre! You are the most headstrong, argumentative…’ Diego inhaled deeply, trying to control his temper. ‘I understand your desire to succeed as a showjumper, but it’s sheer folly to take unnecessary risks.’

‘Jumping is a dangerous sport—as is polo,’ Rachel said tightly. ‘How can you warn me about taking risks when your whole career has been built on the fact that you consistently risk your safety when you play? I’ve watched footage of you competing in tournaments, and you ride with a crazy disregard for your safety—almost as if you’ve got a death-wish,’ she added, her voice faltering when the hard gleam in Diego’s eyes warned her that she had gone too far.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he snapped coldly. ‘I’ve been at the top of my sport for the past ten years and I know what I’m doing.’

Rachel shrugged. ‘Fine—let’s agree that I won’t give you advice on your sport, and you won’t tell me how to do mine.’

Diego glared at the mutinous line of her mouth and was seriously tempted to kiss her into submission. She was as strong-willed and reckless as…as he had been at twenty-two, he owned grimly. She thought she was infallible, just as he had a decade ago, and he wanted to warn her that she wasn’t—no one was.

Once he had been headstrong and impetuous, but it had been those traits that had caused his brother’s death. Diego closed his eyes briefly, trying to stem the wave of pain that swept through him as he pictured Eduardo’s lifeless body. Even after all this time the memories were agonising and the pain still raw. The ache in Diego’s heart had never eased—nor had the belief that he had no right to experience happiness in his life when he had unwittingly caused Eduardo’s accident.

Rachel was wrong about one thing; he brooded grimly as he watched her dismount and lead her pony into the stable. He did not have a death-wish—it was simply that his survival or otherwise was something that did not interest him unduly. He had spent the last ten years pushing himself to the limits and daring death to take him as it had taken his brother, and it was ironic that his recklessness had made him a national sporting hero in Argentina and a world renowned polo champion.

Hardwick Polo Tournament was always a popular event, but this year more tickets had been sold than usual because Diego Ortega would be playing for the home team. For the past two weeks Rachel had arrived at the stables at dawn and worked until dusk, helping to prepare the estate for the influx of twenty thousand visitors. Somehow she managed to fit in riding Piran. She’d felt apprehensive the first time she had taken him over the jumps after he had thrown her, and Diego’s brooding presence at the edge of the paddock had only made things worse. But she forced herself to control her nerves—aware that Piran would pick up on her tension, and she was euphoric when he jumped the six foot fence with no problems.

She was less happy that Diego seemed to have appointed himself as her minder and turned up without fail every evening when she took Piran down to the practice paddock. His presence unsettled her. He unsettled her, she admitted when she watched him stride into the yard on the morning of the polo tournament. He looked breathtakingly handsome in the Hardwick team colours—a gold shirt, taupe jodhpurs and black leather boots. As usual the sight of him made her pulse-rate quicken and she blushed when he looked over at her, the slight smile on his lips telling her that he was aware that she had been staring at him.

She had developed a monumental crush on him, she acknowledged ruefully, feeling a shiver of excitement run the length of her spine when his gaze lingered on her. She worked with him closely every day and was finding it increasingly hard to hide her attraction to him. And it was not just her physical awareness of him. Watching him train the polo ponies, she had been impressed by his skill and patience, and his amazing affinity with horses. He was an outstanding horseman, and she knew she could learn a lot from him. She wished she could relax and chat to him as easily as the other stable-hands did, but she felt tongue-tied whenever he spoke to her, and was terrified he would guess how much she longed for him to kiss her again.

Diego had been chatting with the other members of the Hardwick team, but now he detached himself from the group and walked over to collect the first of the four horses he would ride during the match. ‘Do you have a partner to escort you to the after-tournament party, Rachel?’ he queried casually as he swung himself into the saddle.

He hadn’t yet donned his hard hat and in the sunlight his hair gleamed like raw silk on his shoulders, blown back from his face by the breeze. Rachel’s heart jolted beneath her ribs and her voice emerged as a strangled sound. ‘Alex asked me to go with him,’ she mumbled. Alex was another groom and one of her closest friends. She saw Diego glance across the yard to where the copper-haired young man was leading out a polo pony, and he gave a slight shrug.

‘What a pity. I was hoping I could persuade you to partner me tonight.’ He gave her a bland smile, but the expression in his eyes stole her breath. It was gone before she could define it—yet she was sure she had not mistaken the look of feral hunger in his gaze, and she felt a surge of gut-churning disappointment that she had missed her chance to attend the party with him.

But what chance did she realistically have with Diego? she brooded later as she watched him tear around the polo pitch, controlling his horse with awesome skill. He dominated the field, and she doubted there was a woman present among the spectators who was not bowled over by his stunning looks and blatant virility.

At the end of the tournament he was presented with the winner’s trophy by Felicity Hardwick, who looked pink cheeked and flustered as she gave him a congratulatory kiss. Afterwards he posed for photos with the promotional glamour models, and as Rachel stared at the bevy of beautiful blondes crowded around him, and then glanced down at her mud-stained jodhpurs, she wondered why she had thought he could ever be interested in her. He was going back to Hardwick Hall for a champagne reception, but she still had hours of work to do at the stables. They were worlds apart, she accepted with a heavy heart, and for her own good she had to stop mooning over him like a lovesick teenager.

Dusk was falling by the time she returned to her caravan, and she could summon little enthusiasm for the party which Earl Hardwick gave every year for guests and staff of the polo club. But she had promised Alex she would go, and so she stripped out of her filthy clothes and squeezed into the tiny shower cubicle.

‘You look fantastic,’ Alex greeted her when he arrived to drive her to the party. ‘You should dress up more often, Rache. I can’t remember the last time I saw you in something other than jodhpurs.’

‘I can hardly trip around the stables in a skirt and heels,’ she pointed out. She felt ridiculously girly in her pink floral skirt and a silky chemise with delicate shoestring straps that left her shoulders bare. She had swept her hair up into a loose knot on top of her head, but it was so fine and silky that stray tendrils had already worked loose and framed her face. On an impulse, which she assured herself had nothing to do with the knowledge that Diego would be at the party, she was even wearing make-up—just a touch of mascara to darken her lashes and a pale pink gloss on her lips.

A huge marquee had been erected in the grounds of the Hardwick estate and the party was already in full swing when they arrived. Rachel’s eyes were immediately drawn to Diego. Taller than everyone else in the room, his black tailored trousers and matching silk shirt emphasised his height and the breadth of his shoulders. With his dark hair falling onto his shoulders, and his gleaming olive skin, he was exotic and different, and other men paled into insignificance beside him.

She was not the only woman watching him, she noted moodily when she glanced around the marquee and saw that Felicity Hardwick and a gaggle of her aristocratic friends, all dressed in haute couture, were openly ogling him. Rachel instantly felt underdressed in her cheap skirt, which she’d bought from a market stall. Her arms ached from grooming fifteen polo ponies, and the evening suddenly seemed very flat. She was on her way over to the bar to tell Alex she was going home when Diego stepped into her path.

‘Do you think your red-haired friend will object if I ask you to dance?’ he murmured, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something else when Rachel’s face flooded with colour.

‘Alex and I are simply friends, and I’ll dance with whoever I like,’ she replied breathlessly, her heart racing as Diego caught her hand in his and slid his other arm around her waist.

‘Then dance with me, querida,’ he invited with a sultry smile that made her heart thud. ‘You value your independence, don’t you?’ he commented, trying to focus on their conversation rather than the fire coursing through his veins when he drew Rachel’s slender body against his thighs.

‘More than anything,’ she told him seriously. ‘The most important lesson I learned from my mother’s tangled love-life is that I don’t want to be beholden to any man.’

She sounded so fierce that Diego’s brows rose. ‘Perhaps you have not yet found a man who excites you sufficiently that you would want to be beholden to him?’

‘That’s not likely to happen.’ Rachel wondered what Diego would say if she admitted that he excited her unbearably. Since he had kissed her in her caravan they seemed to have been playing a waiting game where the sexual chemistry between them had simmered beneath the surface and they had both tried to ignore it. But the look in his eyes tonight told her that he was bored of the game. She could feel the tension in his body, and when he held her close so that her head rested on his chest she could hear the erratic beat of his heart and knew that it matched her own.

‘What about marriage and children?’ he queried curiously. ‘Don’t you want those?’ Every woman he’d ever met had seemed to regard him as suitable husband material, and their first demand for commitment was invariably the point at which he ended a relationship. Rachel was a novelty in more ways than one, he brooded as he glanced down at her simple skirt and top and acknowledged that she looked sexier than any of the women at the party who were wearing designer outfits.

Rachel shrugged. ‘I believe children deserve to have two parents who are committed to each other and, as I don’t want to get married, I guess I won’t have them. Perhaps I’ll feel different in the future, but right now I don’t have any maternal urges. I’d rather concentrate on my riding career.’

Diego’s mouth curved into a smile that stole her breath. ‘So, you are a free spirit and you can do whatever pleases you?’

‘Yes.’ The word escaped as a little gasp as he stroked his hand down to the base of her spine and exerted gentle pressure so that he brought her pelvis into direct contact with his. The hungry gleam in his eyes filled her with a feverish anticipation. Did he know how much he was pleasing her, holding her like this? How much she longed for him to lower his mouth to hers and kiss her as he had done two weeks ago?

He knew, she thought dreamily as their bodies swayed together in time with the music, one tune spilling into another so that she lost all sense of time and place and was conscious only of Diego—the hardness of his body and the subtle perfume of his aftershave, mingled with male pheromones that tantalised her senses. She didn’t want to ever stop dancing, and felt a lurch of disappointment when the band announced they would be taking a break while the firework display took place. But, instead of releasing her, Diego kept his arm firmly around her waist as he led her outside and drew her to the edge of the crowd.

Starbursts of gold and silver shot across the sky and were reflected in the inky blackness of the lake. Rachel tilted her head to watch, supremely aware of Diego standing behind her, and she gave a little shiver when she felt him brush his lips down her neck in a feather-light caress.

The pyrotechnic display ended with a cascade of sparkling colours falling down to earth. There was a round of applause and, as the guests returned to the marquee, silence fell around them, a prickling, shimmering silence so intense that Rachel was aware of the faint, uneven whisper of her breath.

‘It’s not working, is it?’ Diego murmured in her ear, his accent very pronounced and heart-stoppingly sexy.

Rachel turned to face him and shook her head, bemused by the question. ‘What isn’t?’

‘Trying to ignore the hunger that is eating away at both of us,’ he said softly.

She understood immediately, but understanding did not lessen her confusion. ‘But you never gave any indication during the past two weeks that you wanted…’ She broke off, her face flaming, and his smile widened into a predatory grin.

‘You?’ He finished her sentence for her. ‘I promised myself that I would behave in a professional manner in the workplace. But that doesn’t mean I have not secretly fantasised about barricading us in the hay barn and making love to you until we were both utterly sated.’