Susan Stephens - The Argentinian's Solace

‘So you’re Diego Acosta?’ she exclaimed, unable to conceal her surprise. Trying to ignore the waves of awareness washing over her, she took a fresh look at the man towering over her. He still looked more like a disreputable pirate than an international polo player. Bracing herself, she extended her hand in greeting—which he ignored and turned away.

Diego Acosta wasn’t sophisticated and he wasn’t charming. He certainly wasn’t her usual wedding contact, most of whom looked to Maxie for guidance. The thought of this man looking to anyone for direction was a joke. Diego Acosta was a glowering tyrant who expected to be obeyed.

But she had dealt with difficult characters in the past, Maxie reminded herself. It was inevitable that she met a wide mix of personalities during the course of her work. Diplomacy was an essential part of her skill set and she was used to difficult men, having grown up under the iron fist of her father. She had learned how to handle him before illness had so cruelly diminished him, and now she must learn how to manage Diego Acosta.

SUSAN STEPHENSwas a professional singer before meeting her husband on the tiny Mediterranean island of Malta. In true Modern™ Romance style they met on Monday, became engaged on Friday, and were married three months after that. Almost thirty years and three children later, they are still in love. (Susan does not advise her children to return home one day with a similar story, as she may not take the news with the same fortitude as her own mother!)

Susan had written several non-fiction books when fate took a hand. At a charity costume ball there was an after-dinner auction. One of the lots, ‘Spend a Day with an Author’, had been donated by Mills & Boon ®author Penny Jordan. Susan’s husband bought this lot, and Penny was to become not just a great friend but a wonderful mentor, who encouraged Susan to write romance.

Susan loves her family, her pets, her friends and her writing. She enjoys entertaining, travel, and going to the theatre. She reads, cooks, and plays the piano to relax, and can occasionally be found throwing herself off mountains on a pair of skis or galloping through the countryside. Visit Susan’s website: www.susanstephens.net—she loves to hear from her readers all around the world!

Recent titles by the same author:

THE SHAMELESS LIFE OF RUIZ ACOSTA

THE UNTAMED ARGENTINIAN

RUTHLESS BOSS, DREAM BABY

(Men Without Mercy)

Did you know these are also available as eBooks?

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For Carly.

Intuition tells me to be excited about my new editor.

SHE had to close her mind to the man on the shore. Getting the old boat safely into its berth was more important. But he was like an elemental force, his gaze fixed and unswerving, with the most magnificent physique Maxie had ever seen. Tall, ripped and tanned, with wild black hair and dangerous eyes. A gold earring glinted in what light there was. Low-slung jeans over a flat, muscular belly were enough to throw anyone off course …

So think of the snarling face that would stop a rhino in its track and your concentration will come flooding back .

She had sailed the boat this far and she wasn’t turning back now.

Bringing the trawler through mountainous waves single-handed had been nothing short of a miracle. They had barely made it out of the harbour when the skipper had declared himself out of action after consuming the greater part of a bottle of Scotland’s finest. Maxie would be the first to admit her qualifications for sailing a boat this size were slim. She had once helped to crew a sixty-eight footer, but this old rust-bucket was proving rather more cantankerous. And she was more than a bit rusty, Maxie accepted as the deck lurched beneath her feet.

Glancing at the man on the dock, she guessed he was waiting for her to fail. His massive forearms were crossed over his formidable chest, and his black eyes blazed with mockery and scorn.

‘Welcome to Isla del Fuego,’ Maxie muttered beneath her breath. But, however unfriendly the welcoming committee, she was going to berth this bucketing monster if it killed her!

Which it probably would, Maxie registered with panic as the ancient fishing craft crashed into the dock.

With relief she saw the elderly skipper had made it out of his bunk in time to take the wheel. Boiling black storm clouds suggested the weather wasn’t about to change any time soon, which for a wedding planner on a scouting trip for an excited bride was somewhere south of perfect. And if the man onshore worked for the Acostas, who owned the island, he would need some serious retraining in the art of welcoming guests before the wedding, Maxie concluded, trying not to look at his glowering face.

She could always tell Holly the island was unsuitable …

The idea flitted across her mind, but it wasn’t an option. She’d seen Scottish castles in worse settings transformed into fairytale palaces on a warm spring day, and damp French châteaux revealed in all their ancient glory when the sun shone. Plus, she trusted Holly. The bride was a smart girl, and June was a famously fabulous month in which to get married. Bottom line? If Holly wanted to get married on Isla del Fuego then it was up to Maxie to make it happen and the man on shore would just have to suck it up.

Dios! What had the storm washed in? Some pin-thin, drooping violet with—

With a very accurate and surprisingly powerful throw, Diego conceded as he caught the rope the girl tossed him. But she had no business sailing Fernando’s fishing boat—let alone slamming into the dock, thanks to her poor reading of the weather. She was lucky to be alive after sailing to the island in a storm.

‘Are you ready?’ she called, preparing to toss a second rope.

With his stiff leg he could only move at half her speed. The second she turned her back he limped as fast as he could to get into position before she could see him lurching like a drunk.

‘Here it comes,’ she warned him, in a voice that was both light and musical, yet which somehow crested the howl of the wind.

Catching the rope, he secured it. It appeared fate had a sense of humour, sending an attractive girl to the island when he could least handle the action. Resentment swept over him as he watched her darting nimbly about the deck. When his brother’s fiancée had called to warn him the wedding planner was on her way he had accepted his self-imposed exile was over, but to have some lithe young girl call time was insulting. He had come down to the dock to meet the principal of the events company—someone older and sophisticated, with a keen sense of style—not some kid in jeans and a hooded top with long dark hair hanging in sodden straggles down her back. Was his brother’s wedding of so little importance they’d sent some underling?