The Playboy of Argentina(11)

Then finding out that her beautiful Ipanema had been sold  …

Mark had come to tell her. She'd been sitting there in her hideous grey  pinafore and scratchy-collared blouse in the deathly silent drawing room  that was saved for visitors. The smell of outdoors had clung to Mark's  clothes-she'd buried her face in his shoulder, scenting what she could,  storing it up like treasure.                       
       
           



       

He thought she'd be happy that the handsome Argentinian she'd been so  sweet on-the one who was now scooping polo prize after prize-was  Ipanema's new owner. He'd known it would be upsetting, but she had  always been going to be sold-surely she'd known that? She was their  best, and they needed the money now that Danny had walked out on them  and Frankie's school fees were so high. It wasn't as if she was home  anymore, riding her every day after school. And Rocco Hermida was easily  the best buyer they could hope to find-notoriously good with animals,  and miles ahead in equine genetics. Soon there would be more Ipanemas.  Wasn't that great?

She'd painted on her smile until he left, knowing that she had nothing now. Not even the smell of fresh air on her clothes.

Dark days had followed. She'd moved listlessly through them. She'd lost  her appetite, become even thinner, lost her sparkle, lost her motivation  for everything. No one had been able to believe the change in her.  Herself least of all. One minute naive, innocent, unworldly. Next moment  as if she had been handed the book of life and it had fallen open at  the page of unrequited love.

Because it had been love. She, in her sixteen-year-old heart, had known  it was love. And he didn't love her back. She had laid herself bare,  body and soul, and he had played with her a little, then tossed her  away.

The only ray of sunshine had been Esme. Relentlessly digging her out of  her dark corners-relentless but never interfering. Just like now.

Frankie pulled out a bath towel, shuddered at her own selfishness.

What must Esme be thinking? Her best friend, whom she hadn't seen for  years, had been so excited to hear that she was coming all the way from  Madrid-had sent a car to collect her, planned to show her such a good  time at the Molina Lario, over the weekend in Punta  …

She had managed one brief reply to Esme's text to say she was 'Fine!  Xxx', and then her phone had been powered off. She cringed, wondering  what she must have made of Rocco's dismissive statement that they had  'unfinished business'. It would be news to Esme that they had any  business at all!

Frankie Ryan was not a party girl-never mind a one-night stand girl. She  was a no-nonsense career girl. A  don't-ever-give-them-anything-to-criticise girl. She hated anyone  knowing her business, judging her or in any way getting past the wrought  iron defences she had spent the past ten years erecting all around her.

Well done, she thought as she stared at her own mess. Well done for  walking straight into the lion's den. She looked at it-his den. The  extravagant opulence. Everything in prime fin-de-siècle glory. Silvery  marble and gilded taps, Persian rugs and domed cupolas. And Rocco  Hermida  …  prowling.

She'd walked right in, lain right down and made sure that the whole  world knew. So much for wrought iron. Everyone could see right through  it.

She'd told him far too much last night. Given too much of herself away.  She didn't want this to be a pity party. She wasn't here for his  sympathy. She'd never breathed a word about that night to another living  soul. Denials to her father, and her mother too shocked even to ask.  Mark and Danny both oblivious. Rocco needn't have known.

But it was done now. She couldn't take it back. As long as he didn't  think he owed her or anything. That would be too much to bear.

She padded to the shower, turned on the jets and jumped back as water  blasted from all angles. Then she adjusted the taps, stood determinedly  under the slightly too cold spray and scoured herself. You could take  the girl out of the convent  …

She patted herself dry and swaddled herself in a robe. Used a brand-new  toothbrush that made her think of all the other brand-new toothbrushes  that would come after she'd gone.

One-night stand.

Whore?

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

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

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



       

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

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

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

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

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

'Hey, guapo!'

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

'What are you doing here?'

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

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

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

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

'There's more in the fridge. These are for us.'

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

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

'Ah. So we're still working through the obsession?'

He nodded his head. 'We're getting there.'

Dante was smirking, prowling about, checking things out.

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

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

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

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

'You're reading too much into this.'

'What about Turlington?'

'What about it?'

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

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

'Yeah, that's me.'

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