The Playboy of Argentina(58)


‘I was looking for something …’ This time it was her turn to smile from ear to ear.

‘Tell me you found it.’

She smiled coyly. ‘Oh, yes. I found it, all right.’

‘I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you blush, Frankie Ryan.’

That crackle of heat began.

‘It’s too dark to see in here.’

‘Maybe I just need to get a little closer to be sure, then.’

He was right beside the horse’s withers.

‘You’ll have to wait in line. I came to see Roisin.’

He stepped right up, so they were almost toe to toe. He saw her chest rise as she drew in a sharp breath. Her lips parted slightly. His appetite for her roared into life. The hunger that would gnaw at him forever.

‘You’ll have all the time in the world to get to know her.’

He scooped his hand around her neck, felt the warm, supple skin and silken hair. Sweet heaven, how had he lived these days without her?

‘Oh, really?’ she whispered, tilting her head back, her perfect wet lips opening in invitation.

He accepted. With the slowest, softest, sweetest kiss.

‘Oh, yes,’ he murmured, against her mouth. ‘I’m not stupid enough to let you go for a third time.’

Thoughts of everlasting days and nights with his woman, his wife, swirled in his head—made him dizzy with his love for her.

Roisin stamped her foot. He grabbed Frankie by the hand, led her out into the sunlight.

‘Come on. We’ve got two hours until we need to be at Palermo. It’s Dante’s first match as captain. He can help us celebrate.’

She stopped, narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Celebrate? What …?’

He bumped his brow. ‘Of course. How stupid of me.’

There in the middle of the yard she planted her feet like a stubborn mule. Folded her arms and scowled a grin at him.

And he did the thing he never dared hope he would do, but in his mind had been practising for twenty years. He dropped to one knee, held her pale skinny fingers in his hand, slipped the Ipanema ring off her right hand and looked up into that darling face. Her eyes, filled with trust and hope, and now glistening with tears, stared down.

‘Frankie Ryan. Sexiest, smartest, kindest woman alive. Will you marry me?’

He touched her ring finger and held the tiny silver Ipanema band poised.

She cocked her head to one side. ‘Can I think about it?’

‘Will you do what you’re told for once? Please?’ he said, staring up into her smiling, crying face.

She pursed her lips, wiped her hand over her soaked cheeks, nodded her head. ‘I actually think this once I can.’

Then he stood and swooped her into his arms. He clutched her to his chest and she clambered to straddle him even as he strode back across the yard to the house and the rest of their lives together.

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