Argentinian in the Outback & Cattle Rancher, Secret Son: Argentinian in the OutbackCattle Rancher, Secret Son Read online

  Kooraki was a place of extraordinary wild beauty, with every waterhole, creek, billabong and lagoon brimming with life-giving water that brought an influx of waterbirds in their tens of thousands. So the station was in prime condition—the perfect site for the marriage between her brother and her dear friend Amelia.

  Guests were coming from all over the country, and Juan-Varo de Montalvo was, in fact, the first overseas visitor to arrive. In his honour Dev had arranged a polo match and a post-polo party for the coming weekend. Invitations had gone out, generating huge interest. Most Outback communities, with their love of horses, were polo-mad. De Montalvo would captain one team, Dev the other. The two men had forged their friendship on the polo field. Dev had even visited the de Montalvo estancia—a huge ranch that ran Black Angus cattle, located not all that far from the town of Córdoba. So here were two polo-playing cattlemen who had every reason to relate to each other.

  How Juan-Varo de Montalvo would relate to her was an entirely different matter. As she moved, her heart picked up a beat a second. Sometimes the purely physical got the better of the mind. She consoled herself with that thought.

  * * *

  Both men looked up as Ava began her descent of the curving staircase, one slender hand trailing over the gleaming mahogany banister. Ava, herself, had the oddest sensation she was walking on air. Her blood was racing. She felt in no way comfortable, let alone possessed of her usual poise. How could feelings run so far ahead of the rational mind?

  “Ah, here’s Ava,” Dev announced with brotherly pride.

  Dev’s eyes were on his sister and not on Juan-Varo de Montalvo, whose dark regard was also fixed on the very fair young woman who was making her way so gracefully to them. He had known in advance she was beautiful. Dev had boasted many times that he had a beautiful sister. But the reality far exceeded his expectations. He was used to beautiful women. He was a man who loved women, having grown up surrounded by them—doting grandmothers, aunts, female cousins. He adored his mother. He had three beautiful sisters—one older, very happily married with a small son, his godchild, and two younger, with legions of admirers—but something about this young woman sent a jolt of electricity shafting through his body.

  He could see beneath the grace, the serene air and the poise that she was oddly vulnerable. The vulnerability seemed inexplicable in a woman who looked like an angel and had grown up as she had, with every material advantage. Dev had told him about her failed marriage. Maybe she saw it as a humiliation? A fall from grace? Maybe she was guilty of heedlessly breaking a heart—or worse, inflicting deliberate pain? He had been brought up to frown on divorce. He had lived with two people—his mother and father—who had made a wonderful life together and lived side by side in great harmony.

  She had to tilt her head to look up at him. There was a curiously sad look in her jewel-like eyes, the same dazzling aquamarine as her brother’s. She had flawless skin, with the luminescence of a pearl. Few women could claim a face so incandescent.

  It was in all probability a symptom of jet lag, but he felt a distinct low-pitched hum in his ears. Her smile, lovely and effortlessly alluring, seemed to conceal secrets. He had a certainty it was she who had ended her marriage. A cruel thing for an angel to do. One would expect such coldness only of a young and imperious goddess, who would only be loved for as long as it suited her.

  * * *

  Ava released a caught breath. “Welcome to Kooraki, Señor de Montalvo,” she said with a welcome return of her practised poise. Heat was coming off the Argentine’s aura. It was enveloping her. “It’s a pleasure to have you here.” It was necessary to go through the social graces even when she was en garde and taking great pains not to show it.

  “Varo, please,” he returned, taking her outstretched hand. His grip was gentle enough not to crush her slender fingers, but firm enough not to let her escape. “It’s a great pleasure to be here. I thought it impossible you could be as beautiful as Dev has often described, but now I find you are even more so.”

  She felt the wave of colour rise to her cheeks but quickly recovered, giving him a slightly ironic look, as though judging and rejecting the sincerity of his words. “Please—you mustn’t pander to my vanity,” she returned lightly. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had caused her to flush. She didn’t like the enigmatic half-smile playing around his handsome mouth either. The expression in his dark eyes with their fringe of coal-black lashes was fathoms deep. She was angry with herself for even noticing.

  “I had no such thought,” he responded suavely, somehow establishing his male authority.

  “Then, thank you.”

  There was strength behind his light grip on her. As a conductor for transmitting energy, his touch put her into such a charged state it caused an unprecedented flare of sexual hostility. It was as though he was taking something from her that she didn’t want to give.

  The warning voice in her head struck up again. You have to protect yourself from this man, Ava. He could burn down all your defences.

  That she already knew.

  “I find myself fascinated with Kooraki,” de Montalvo was saying, including Dev in his flashing white smile. “It is much like one’s own private kingdom. The Outback setting is quite extraordinary.”

  “From colonial times every man of ambition and means came to regard his homestead as the equivalent of the Englishman’s country manor,” Dev told him. “Most of the historic homesteads were built on memories of home—which was in the main the British Isles.”

  “Whereas our style of architecture was naturally influenced by Spain.”

  Dev turned his head to his sister. “As I told you, Estancia de Villaflores, Varo’s home, is a superb example.”

  “We have much to be proud of, don’t we?” de Montalvo said, with some gravitas.

  “Much to be grateful for.”

  “Indeed we do.” Brother and sister spoke as one.

  Ava was finding de Montalvo’s sonorous voice, with its deep dark register, making her feel weak at the knees. She was susceptible to voices. Voice and physical aura were undeniably sensual. Here was a man’s man, who at the same time was very much a woman’s man.

  He was dangerous, all right.

  Get ensnared at your peril.

  They exchanged a few more pleasant remarks before Dev said, “I’m sure you’d like to be shown your room, Varo. That was a very long trip, getting here. Ava will show you upstairs. I hope you like what we’ve prepared for you. After lunch we’ll take the Jeep for a quick tour of the outbuildings and a look at some of the herd. An overview, if you like. We have roughly half a million acres, so we’ll be staying fairly close in for today.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” de Montalvo returned, with a sincere enthusiasm that made brother and sister feel flattered.

  “Your luggage is already in your room, Varo,” Ava told him, aware she was struggling with the man’s magnetism. “One of the staff will have brought it up by now, taking the back entrance.” Although de Montalvo had travelled a very long way indeed, he showed no signs whatever of fatigue or the usual jet lag. In fact he exuded a blazing energy.

  “So no one is wasting time?” De Montalvo took a small step nearer Ava. An inch or two above average height, Ava felt strangely doll-like. “Please lead on, Ava,” he invited. “I am all attention.”

  That made Dev laugh. “I have a few things to attend to, Varo,” he called as his sister and his guest moved towards the grand staircase. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

  “Hasta luego!” De Montalvo waved an elegant hand.

  Ava had imagined that as she ascended the staircase she would marshal her defences. Now, only moments later, those defences were imploding around her. She had the sense that her life had speeded up, entered the fast lane. She had met many high-powered people in her life—none m
ore so than her grandfather, who hadn’t possessed a shining aura. Neither did Montalvo. It was dark-sided, too complex. It wasn’t any comfort to realise she had been shocked out of her safe haven. Worse yet to think she might be shorn of protection.

  How could any man do that in a split second? The impact had been as swift and precise as a bolt of lightning. Maybe it was because she wasn’t used to exotic men? Nor the way he looked at her—as if he issued an outright challenge to her womanhood. Man, that great force of nature, totally irresistible if he so chose.

  The thought angered her. Perhaps it was borne of her sexual timidity? Luke had early on in their marriage formed the habit of calling her frigid. She now had an acute fear that if she weren’t very careful she might rise to de Montalvo’s lure. He was no Luke. He was an entirely different species. Yet in some bizarre way he seemed familiar to her. Only he was a stranger—a stranger well aware of his own power.

  As he walked beside her, with his tantalising lithe grace, glowing sparks might have been shooting off his powerful lean body. Certainly something was making her feel hot beneath her light clothing. She who had been told countless times she always appeared as cool as a lily. That wasn’t the case now. She felt almost wild, when she’d had no intention let alone any experience of being any such thing. To her extreme consternation her entire body had become a mass of leaping responses. If those responses broke the surface it would be the ultimate humiliation.

  His guest suite was in the right wing. It had been made ready by the household staff. Up until their grandfather’s death the post of housekeeper had been held by Sarina Norton, Amelia’s mother. Sarina had been most handsomely rewarded by Gregory Langdon for “services rendered”. No one wanted to go there…

  The door lay open. Varo waved a gallant arm, indicating she should enter first. Ava had the unsettling feeling she had to hold on to something. Maybe the back of a chair? The magnetic pull he had on her was so strong. How on earth was she going to cope when Dev flew off to Sydney? She was astonished at how challenging she found the prospect. What woman reared to a life of privilege couldn’t handle entertaining a guest? She was a woman who had not only been married but was in the process of divorce—she being the one who had initiated the action. Didn’t that qualify her as a woman of the world?

  Or perhaps one could interpret it as the action of a woman who didn’t hesitate to inflict pain and injury? Perhaps de Montalvo had already decided against her? His family of Spanish origin was probably Roman Catholic, but divorce couldn’t be as big a no-no now as it had been in the time of Katherine of Aragon, Henry VIII’s deposed, albeit lawfully wedded, wife. Not that taking Katherine’s place had done Anne Boleyn much good.

  Ava put the tension that was coiling tighter and tighter inside her down to an attack of nerves. It was all so unreal.

  The guest room that had been chosen for de Montalvo was a grand room—and not only in terms of space and the high scrolled ceilings that were a feature of Kooraki’s homestead. The headboard of the king-sized bed, the bed skirt and the big cushions were in a metallic grey silk, with pristine white bed-coverings and pillows. Above the bed hung a large gold-framed landscape by a renowned English-Australian colonial artist. Mahogany chests to each side of the bed held lamps covered in a parchment silk the same colour as the walls. A nineteenth century English secretary, cabinet and comfortable chair held pride of place in one corner of the room. The rest of the space was taken up by a gilded Louis XVI-style sofa covered in black velvet with a matching ottoman. All in all, a great place to stay, with the added plus of a deep walk-in wardrobe and an en suite bathroom.

  He said something in Spanish that seemed to make sense to her even though she didn’t know the language. Quite obviously he was pleased. She did have passable French. She was better with Italian, and she even had some Japanese—although, she acknowledged ruefully, keeping up with languages made it necessary to speak them every day. She even knew a little Greek from a fairly long stint in Athens the year after leaving university.

  De Montalvo turned back from surveying the landscaped garden. “I’ll be most happy and comfortable here, Ava,” he assured her. “I’m sure this will be a trip never to be forgotten.”

  She almost burst out that she felt the same. Of course she did not. She meant to keep her feelings to herself. “I’ll leave you in peace, then, Varo,” she said. “Come downstairs whenever you like. Lunch will be served at one. Dev will be back by then.”

  “Gracias,” he said.

  Those brilliant dark eyes were looking at her again. Looking at her. Through her. She turned slowly for the door, saying over a graceful shoulder, “Nuestra casa es su casa.”

  His laugh was low in his throat. “You make a fine attempt. Your accent is good. I hope to teach you many more Spanish phrases before I leave.”

  Ava dared to face him. “Excellent,” she said, her tone a cool parry.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THEY set out after breakfast the next day, the horses picking their way through knee-high grasses with little indigo-blue wildflowers swimming across the waving green expanses. Dev had flown to Sydney at first light, leaving them alone except for the household staff. She would have de Montalvo’s company for a full day and a night and several hours of the following day before Dev, Amelia and co were due to fly back. So, all in all, around thirty hours for her to struggle against de Montalvo’s powerful sexual aura.

  For someone of her age, marital status and background Ava was beginning to feel as though she had been wandering through life with her eyes closed. Now they were open and almost frighteningly perceptive. Everyone had the experience of meeting someone in life who raised the hackles or had an abrasive effect. Their Argentine visitor exerted a force of quite another order. He had roped her, in cattleman’s terms—or she had that illusion.

  Dinner the previous evening had gone off very well. In fact it had been a beautiful little welcoming party. They’d eaten in the informal dining room, which was far more suitable and intimate than the grand formal dining room only used for special occasions. She’d had the table set with fine china, sterling silver flatware, and exquisite Bohemian crystal glasses taken from one the of numerous cabinets holding such treasures. From the garden she had picked a spray of exquisite yellow orchids, their blooms no bigger than paper daisies, and arranged them to take central pride of place. Two tall Georgian silver candlesticks had thrown a flattering light, finding their reflection in the crystal glasses.

  The menu she’d chosen had been simple but delicious: white asparagus in hollandaise, a fish course, the superb barramundi instead of the usual beef, accompanied by the fine wines Dev had had brought up from the handsomely stocked cellar. Dessert had been a light and lovely passionfruit trifle. She hadn’t gone for overkill.

  Both Dev and his guest were great raconteurs, very well travelled, very well read, and shared similar interests. Even dreams. She hadn’t sat back like a wallflower either. Contrary to her fluttery feelings as she had been dressing—she had gone to a surprising amount of trouble—she had found it remarkably easy to keep her end up, becoming more fluent by the moment. Her own stories had flowed, with Dev’s encouragement.

  At best Luke had wanted her to sit quietly and look beautiful—his sole requirements of her outside the bedroom. He had never wanted her to shine. De Montalvo, stunning man that he was, with all his eloquent little foreign gestures, had sat back studying her with that sexy half-smile hovering around his handsome mouth. Admiring—or mocking in the manner of a man who was seeing exactly what he had expected to see? A blonde young woman in a long silk-jersey dress the exact colour of her eyes, aquamarine earrings swinging from her ears, glittering in the candlelight.

  She was already a little afraid of de Montalvo’s half-smile. Yet by the end of the evening she had felt they spoke the same language. It couldn’t have been a stranger sensation.

 
; Above them a flight of the budgerigar endemic to Outback Australia zoomed overhead, leaving an impressive trail of emerald and sulphur yellow like a V-shaped bolt of silk. De Montalvo studied the indigenous little birds with great interest. “Amazing how they make that formation,” he said, tipping his head back to follow the squadron’s approach into the trees on the far side of the chain of billabongs. “It’s like an aeronautical display. I know Australia has long been known as the Land of the Parrot. Already I see why. Those beautiful parrots in the gardens—the smaller ones—are lorikeets, flashing colour. And the noisy ones with the pearly-grey backs and the rose-pink heads and underparts—what are they?”

  “Galahs.” Ava smiled. “It’s the aboriginal name for the bird. It’s also a name for a silly, dim-witted person. You’ll hear it a lot around the stockyards, especially in relation to the jackeroos. Some, although they’re very keen, aren’t cut out for the life. They’re given a trial period, and then, if they can’t find a place in the cattle world, they go back home to find alternative work. Even so they regard the experience as the adventure of a lifetime.”

  “I understand that,” he said, straightening his head. “Who wouldn’t enjoy such freedom? Such vast open spaces virtually uninhabited by man? Our gauchos want only that life. It’s a hard life, but the compensations are immense. Kooraki is a world away from my home in Argentina,” he mused, studying Ava as though the sight of her gave him great pleasure. “There is that same flatness of the landscape. Quechua Indians named our flatness pampa—much like your vast plains. But at home we do not know such extreme isolation at this. There are roads fanning out everywhere from the estancia, and the grounds surrounding the house—designed many decades ago and established by one of our finest landscape designers—are more like a huge botanical garden. Here it is pure wilderness. Beautiful in the sense of not ever having been conquered by man. The colours are indescribable. Fiery red earth, all those desert ochres mixed in beneath dazzling blue skies. Tell me, is the silvery blue shimmer the mirage that is dancing before our eyes?”