worry. When the grape-treading starts we’ll have front row seats.’
‘Do you mean we won’t be taking part? No,’ she said emphatically. ‘I have to do it. How can I possibly report on the grape-treading if I don’t?’
‘It will be too rough for you, Grace.’
‘Nothing’s too rough for me,’ she insisted. ‘And I don’t know how you can even say that when you’re here.’
‘You’ll be able to hear everything that’s going on. I promise you.’
‘That sounds like fun,’ she said in a flat tone.
‘What do you want me to do?’ he said. ‘Risk you getting trampled?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you take me back and lock me away in the cottage, where I’ll be safe.’
‘Grace—you can’t.’
‘Why can’t I?’ There was a pause, and then she said in a soft, angry voice, ‘Don’t you dare …’
He could come up with a whole raft of reasons why a blind woman couldn’t take part in the grape-treading, including the fact that Grace could slip and fall, or could be jostled and hurt herself. But she was right. He was the coward, fearing something might happen to her and allowing the past to throw up obstacles—like the fear that he couldn’t keep those he cared about safe. Grace was strong. She could do anything she set her mind to. He shouldn’t even think of stopping her when he would be there in the vat to protect her.
‘Of course you can do it,’ he agreed.
‘No surrender?’ she said fiercely.
‘No surrender,’ he agreed wryly.
‘Like a sheep?’ she said. ‘So long as that’s the worst I have to do.’ She laughed as he led her forward.
He had to ask himself if he had ever felt such pleasure in a woman’s company before. With most women everything was simply a prelude to bed, but with Grace there was so much more to learn—just being with her felt like a privilege, a gift.
‘What’s that sound?’ she said, shrinking back in alarm.
‘That’s the sound of the grapes being tipped into the vat,’ he explained. It went on and on, but he could see that now she knew what was invading her darkness Grace wasn’t frightened any more. She laughed when he told her she would be up to her thighs in grapes inside the vat.
‘Which means they’ll probably be round your ankles,’ she commented.
He asked himself again: was taking Grace into the vat sensible? He had noticed several of the local youths eyeing her up, and once they were inside the vat there would be no quarter given and no attention paid to status or rank. He was the acknowledged leader of the pack, but tonight there would be challenges to his supremacy. He had seen it in the eyes of the other men when they looked at Grace—not because she was blind, but because she was beautiful, and because she was with him. Combat was in their blood as much as it was in his. Claiming Grace wasn’t so much a rational decision as a primitive compulsion. Those youths would stay away from her if they knew what was good for them.
A young woman showed Grace how to tuck up her skirt. She sounded friendly and kind, and Grace thanked her for her help. She was getting better at that, Grace realised. She wasn’t always pushing people away now, as she had done initially, when she had first lost her sight. She’d also eased up a lot since she’d been in Argentina. Being with Nacho had done that. He was so no-nonsense he had unlocked something inside her. It was something that said everyone needed help sometimes and that it had nothing to do with pity. Nice people liked to help their fellow man, whatever their physical status might be. It had nothing to do with being blind.
‘Do I look okay?’ she asked, smoothing her hands over her naked thighs, feeling a bit self-conscious now.
‘You look great,’ he said.
The hint of a smile in his voice made her feel womanly and sexy for the first time in ages.
‘Stay close to me, Grace.’
As if she had any option—as if she wanted one, Grace thought as Nacho put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. He made her feel so safe.
‘I’m going to lift you into the vat,’ he said, making her heart race even faster. ‘Wait there for me—I’ll get in first.’
She listened intently when Nacho left her side and heard him vault over the side of the vat. There was a wet, squelching sound when he landed.
‘Reach out—let me guide your hands,’ he said.
Before she knew it she was over the side and knee-deep in grapes.
‘How does that feel, Grace?’
‘Wet!’ she said.
Nacho laughed. ‘Hold on to me so you don’t fall.’
Well, that was no problem.
And then the band started to play, and as the tempo increased the crowd all around them began to jump rhythmically in the vat.
‘This is seriously crazy,’ she yelled, hanging on to Nacho for dear life. ‘Don’t you dare let me go!’
‘Not a chance,’ he husked in her ear.
She was soon stamping furiously like everyone else. She had never felt so abandoned and free. Her legs were swimming in warm juice and the sensation was erotic and amazing. Nacho should have warned her—but would she have come if he had?
As Nacho let go of her for a moment, to tug off his juice-drenched shirt, she realised her own blouse was soaked through with juice. She could only imagine how transparent it must be. And now her overly sensitive hands were free to roam Nacho’s warm, naked skin. She could feel a wealth of muscle beneath her fingertips, and his heart throbbing strongly in his chest.
‘You’ll fall if you don’t hold on,’ he warned when she quickly drew her hands away.
She’d fall if she did, Grace thought.
He’d seen the other men looking at Grace with hunger in their eyes, and he felt his power surge even higher as she clung to him. He had left the other men in no doubt that he was the one Grace trusted to keep her safe.
The music stopped as suddenly as it had begun and a hush fell over the crowd. He knew what would happen next—though Grace had no idea why he was suddenly holding her so firmly. A few seconds passed, and then a drum began to beat. The sound was little more than a seductive whisper to begin with, but then it grew louder and faster, until everyone was stamping their feet to the same heated rhythm, and the air was charged with a primal energy that made his own senses sharpen in response.
More and more couples were leaving the vat, Grace noticed. There was a lot more room for manoeuvre, and not half so much yelling and laughter.
‘I’ll need at least an hour in the shower after this,’ she told Nacho,
