Argentinian Billionaire (Blood and Thunder 2) Read online

  ARGENTINIAN BILLIONAIRE

  Blood and Thunder 2

  Argentinian Billionaire

  by

  Susan Stephens

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright 2017 Susan Stephens

  Cover Design Copyright Glass Slipper Designs

  Editor: Linda Ingmanson

  Formatter: Josephine Piraneo

  ISBN: 978-1-910604-26-7 ePub

  ISBN: 978-1-910604-27-4 mobi

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Dedication

  For Jo, Linda, Kim, Josh, and Carole, who between them make all things possible.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  COPYRIGHT

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Susan’s Newsletter

  About The Author

  Other Books by Susan Stephens

  Prologue

  Rose had a sixth sense. She knew all about instinct and intuition and why it was vital to pay attention to silent warnings. So why, when instinct screamed keep away from Dante Formosa, was he the one man on the Blood and Thunder polo team she wanted to get really close to? He’d done nothing to encourage her. Apart from him being the coldest man on earth, Dante was hardly going to notice a pale Celt in a sea of sloe-eyed beauties.

  Rose’s body didn’t care. It craved the touch of the man they called the Romani chieftain. Not knowing his touch, was…safe, Rose concluded as she watched the most brutally physical man she’d ever known cast a net of menace over the wedding guests. She worked with his horses every day, so she knew he wasn’t a bad man. It was just that Dante was a force of nature, like a threatening storm.

  She was in no danger from the storm. Supermodels were more Dante’s type than women with the tang of the stable about them. It didn’t help that, according to her brothers, she was a spiky, awkward tomboy.

  Rose was blessed with six brothers, all of them fierce and all of them polo players, and all thankfully too far away on a mission with Blackheart Security to be in a position to judge her today. If they’d seen her in this lacey girly bridesmaid’s dress, with her black hair floating free as per the bride’s instructions, they’d laugh their heads off.

  Truth be told, she didn’t go to many parties, and she felt awkward at this high-tone occasion, even though it was being held on the beach. The marriage between Rose’s friend Amber Smith and Alexei Riga, the Russian billionaire who had founded the Blood and Thunder polo team, had attracted the great and good from across the world.

  And then there was Rose.

  Lately come from a remote farm in Ireland, where the most prized fashion item was a new thermal vest, Rose was still getting used to life on the glamorous subtropical island of Isla Celeste, where fashion was something to titillate the jaded palate when it had tired of caviar and champagne. The tanned and slender one percent of the world’s elite were currently flashing their impeccably curated bodies on the dance floor, while Rose was barricaded behind the cake table, where she could avoid small talk—of which she had precisely none—or worse, the inevitable offer of a pity dance with the wallflower at the party from the most unappealing man. Not that there were many of those here. Most were polo players, and all were spectacularly gorgeous…especially the one she was keeping track of from the shadows. Dante stood out, Rose had decided, because of his grim, unsmiling face and his sheer, mind-blowing physicality.

  Sexuality, don’t you mean?

  Yes. Well, refocus Rose. She was here to support the bride, not to weigh up the field of runners and riders. And now Dante had caught her staring at him. She quickly looked away and poured herself a glass of lemonade to bury her face in. Why was he staring at her when every eligible woman at the party would kill to attract his attention? She worked for him. He’d never shown any interest before. He arrived at dawn when she started training his horses. Cantering into the indoor arena on his handsome black stallion, he’d rein in, issue instructions, and then go. She doubted he’d even recognize her in a different setting.

  But he was heading straight for her and holding her frowning stare as he wove his way through the dancing couples. Her body responded eagerly. Her body was wasting its time. This would be horse talk, nothing more. The only action Rose had seen so far on Isla Celeste was a fumble in the tack room with one of the stable lads. “It’s the tradition,” he said when she’d pushed him away. “Fresh meat has to be sampled.”

  She’d thanked him with a grin for his kind attention and then warned that she’d geld him next time, to cheers from his friends. Comparing that encounter to an approach from Dante was like comparing a leaky rowboat to Alexei Riga’s superyacht. It was rumored Dante could deliver more pleasure with a look than most women could handle, but where sex was concerned, he drank his fill and then moved on. Why would she risk her reputation for that? She loved her job working with some of the best horses in the world. She’d be a fool. For one night of pleasure?

  But the sexual heat coming off Dante made solar flares seem puny by comparison. She tried to steady her breathing as he came closer, but her heart refused to cooperate. Dressed to kill in a formal suit for the wedding, if Dante looked hot in breeches, he was scorching now, and there was a hunting light in his eyes she’d never seen before. Hunting Rose? She made a sound of disbelief. That didn’t make sense—not with so many beauties on the beach. Rose, with a potty mouth second to none? Rose, who could rope a horse and fire a gun with as much accuracy as a man and who had all the grace and charm of a mule? Not a chance she was the Romani chieftain’s quarry tonight. He was probably coming over to tell her he had a new horse for her to train. Lifting her chin, she smoothed the soft lace over her curves. She always had a ready answer for her brothers when they overstepped the mark, so why was she afraid of Dante?

  Because you shouldn’t tempt the devil unless you’re prepared to take him on.

  “Rose…”

  Just hearing him speak her name in that husky, slightly accented baritone, had more effect than a sex toy

  “Dante?” Angling her head in polite question, she gave him her best businesslike smile, and then froze when he delivered his message. Everything froze. Her body, her synapses, her ready repartee. Dante Formosa had just suggested they go bang their brains out, for want of something better to do. And all she could come up with, bearing in mind he was her boss, was a lame “I beg your pardon? I don’t think I heard you correctly. Could you repeat that, please?”

  He did.

  “Is that your usual chat-up line?” She was beginning to recover and, boss or not, he wasn’t getting away with that.

  “I believe in being direct,” Dante confirmed in the same husky tone.

  “You certainly do,” she agreed.

  “Well?” he pressed, frowning impatiently. “What’s your answer?”

  Rose heard plenty of gutter talk in the course of her work, and had grown up alongside her pa and six brothers without any softening female influences in the home, so she could give as good a
s she got, but Dante’s offer to do something other than stand on the fringes of the party eating cake had been crude and to the point.

  She responded in kind, and, yes, okay, with a few extra flourishes. She was used to banter with her brothers and once she got into her stride, it was hard to call a halt.

  To be fair, Dante took it well. When he’d finished laughing, she suggested he ask her again in six months’ time when her contract with the team was up.

  Don’t judge me. I’m a professional woman with needs and desires like anyone else. If Dante still wants this six months down the line, I might feel compelled to try him out. After all, rumors should be investigated, and I’ve never flinched from duty in my life.

  Chapter One

  Six months later…

  Shrugging off the gusting breeze, Dante strode toward the stable block. It wasn’t the weather conditions concerning him, but some inner warning system that alerted him to a slightest change in his ponies’ routine. He had inherited this sixth sense from his mother. Said to be a Romani princess, she had died giving birth to him. His late father, Vicente Formosa, a descendant of one of the foremost families in Argentina, had explained that Dante sometimes felt these things because Romani were closely linked to nature. Dante had seen no reason to disbelieve this and was as proud of his Romani heritage as he was of being part of a long line of land-owning aristocracy.

  As lightning briefly illuminated the low-lying buildings housing the most valuable polo ponies in the world, he scanned the stable yard, searching for the slightest thing out of place. There were rumors doing the rounds of the polo world of a ruthless gang with global tentacles that was targeting top stables. Stealing priceless livestock, the gang would hold the animals for ransom, and if their terms weren’t met, they’d kill them in the most vicious way.

  He could see nothing, but sensed an intruder. The block lay on the far side of the wide, cobbled yard. Beyond the perimeter, a restless ocean tossed beneath a smoky moon. Remaining motionless, he absorbed everything around him. The scent of rain rolling off the ocean was strong, but he detected a human presence in the stables with his horses when everyone was supposed to be at the party. The only sound, apart from the rising wind and the crash of surf, was music coming from the Big House, where the festivities were to mark Blood and Thunder’s elevation to the top-ranking polo team in the world. In Dante’s experience, there was nothing like the distraction of sex, drink, and celebration to lower the guard of even the most security-conscious organization, which was why he was out here tonight.

  The team owned the world-class polo facility. It was where they trained and bred their polo ponies and stored the armaments required for their other activities. Team members Dante, Alexei, Diego, and Cesar lived double lives. As well as playing polo, they were vigilantes, heading up global forces that dealt with problems more conventional powers had failed to clean up. Their private army was so successful that governments across the free world jockeyed for their services.

  A trill of female laughter rising above the hum of the party prompted him to increase his speed. He was glad to have something to do outside the party. He chose his pleasure. He did not have it thrust upon him. There was nothing to interest him at the Big House tonight. His colleagues had their own female interests, but there was no one he hadn’t tested and found wanting. He liked a challenge too much, and he hadn’t experienced anything close to a challenge since Rose Delaney had told him at Alexei’s wedding precisely what he could do with the bulge in his breeches. She had behaved with the utmost professionalism since that night, and his respect for her had grown, together with his determination to know every inch of that soft, warm body. And her six months were up. Opening the door to the stable block, he walked inside. “What the—”

  Beneath the stark glare of a work light, a tableau was illuminated for him.

  “Don’t be angry with me, Dante,” the leggy blonde pleaded. “One of the girls told me you’d left the party and were patrolling, so I thought you might call by here.”

  Currently reclining naked on a hay bale, she looked ridiculous. “The only time I see you is in the stable,” she added, lowering her crossed arms to give him a better view of her breasts.

  “And why do you suppose that is, Lucinda?”

  “I don’t know,” she mewled in a tone that was in stark contrast to Rose Delaney’s forthright manner.

  Had it really been six months? Rose was still holding out. Would she ever give in? He’d never known anything like it.

  “But now I’m here…”

  Lucinda’s squeaky tone distracted him. He switched his attention to what he supposed was meant to be an appealing face. Lucinda’s pout only tempted him to lob a pony nut between her improbably inflated lips. She was good with horses, which was the only reason she’d kept her job as a groom, though he’d heard rumors that Lucinda boasted certain other skills.

  “Please, Dante…”

  He shrugged. Between a rock and a hard place, there was a hot, wet place, and he had just enough time before supper.

  ~~o0o~~

  Rose moved with purpose across the cobbled yard. She was thrilled to have her contract with the team extended, and put in twice the hours expected of her—not that it was any hardship. She adored her job.

  Making no sound, she opened the door to the stable block. Being soft-footed was all part of becoming a horse whisperer, an old Romani lady had told Rose when she was just a little girl, adding that working with horses was the career that Rose was destined to follow, and that she would practice her skills in a vast, wild land. Well, that must be her father’s farm, Rose had thought at the time. Taking the wise woman’s advice seriously, she had tiptoed around the farmhouse from then on, driving her father mad. “Why aren’t you a boy?” he’d complain. “What do I want with a fairy in mud boots?” When he saw Rose practicing her fledgling skills, he’d yell, “You rule a horse with your voice, Rose. How are they supposed to know what you want if they can’t hear you?”

  “They love me more when I whisper, Pa,” Rose had tried to explain.

  Her father would reply, “You’re turning into a headstrong woman, Rose, just like your mother.” And it always gave Rose a thrill to be compared to the mother she had never really known.

  Going into the tack room, she picked up some pony nuts. Glancing in the mirror, she tried to see something of her mother in her. And failed. Kathleen Delaney had been a redheaded Irish beauty with freckles, while Rose was more like her father: dark haired and pale skinned—except for the bloody freckles! “Thanks, Mum,” she murmured, remembering how her father had referred to her mother’s famed freckles as fairy dust. On Rose’s milk skin, they were just freckles.

  Rose’s mother had been killed in a car crash on her way to the doctor’s for Rose’s six-month checkup. By some trick of fate, when the truck hit the car, Rose was flung free. She’d been discovered in a gorse bush, unharmed except for terrible scratches. When her father had a drink, he’d tell anyone who’d listen, “Rose was my mistake. Not only is she a girl, but she’s the baby who killed my Kathleen. There’s no excitement in my life now my Kathleen’s gone—no reason to live at all.”

  And then he’d cry, and Rose’s brothers would leap to her defense. “Don’t you be saying that, Pa. You’ll be giving our Rose a complex.”

  A complex? Rose had thought as a child. Was that the same thing as a complexion? Picturing the women on the front covers of the magazines in the corner shop with their smooth, freckle-free skin, she had prayed fervently each night that her freckles would fade and her complex would improve. When that happened, she could easily imagine herself in the role of disadvantaged but plucky princess who would earn the love of the handsome prince. But her freckles hadn’t faded. If anything, they’d gotten worse. Not that she cared these days so long as the ponies loved her. That was why she was making this last inspection tonight. The wind was blowing up, and she wanted to reassure them. She was particularly concerned for a big chestnut called Lucif
er. She’d been working with him on a regular basis, and he’d calmed down a lot. She didn’t want him going backward now.

  Lucifer was the favorite mount of Dante Formosa—or the devil, as Rose had thought of him since Amber’s wedding. The Romani chieftain was what everyone else called Dante, and always with the deepest respect, but Rose guessed this was only because they hadn’t had the same type of run-in with Dante that she had. She had more sense than to fall for Dante’s deadly charm. She’d seen the stream of rejects crying into their soup in the cookhouse and had no intention of becoming one of them. He might be the best-looking man this side of a cinema screen, but his heart was made of stone. Dante was the mystery man of the Blood and Thunder team. There was some tragedy surrounding him, some talk of a really dangerous thug targeting someone close to him to get one over on Dante, but no one would talk about it. If he hadn’t asked her to work with his ponies on the international circuit, she would have avoided him altogether. As it was, they saw each other every day, and though what had happened at the wedding was never spoken about, she could see the clock ticking in Dante’s eyes. Six months, she’d told him that night, and six months was up.

  Only a fool walked into danger with their eyes wide open, Rose concluded as she padded silently around the huge stable block. So maybe she was a fool, because all the negatives surrounding Dante only made him seem more attractive. She smiled as she slipped into Lucifer’s stall to reassure him. Weren’t dreams meant to be big and bold? Hers included Dante holding her in his arms. And doing a lot more than that.