Page 2 of Virgin's Stolen Nights with the Boss

No one but her brothers would know that.

Her hair, when it was out of its ponytail, was glossy and long, and she dazzled on the red carpet on suitable occasions. Away from the spotlight, though, Carmen lived in jodhpurs, or on particularly hot days a bikini and shorts, but had been trying to be a little more glamorous of late.

‘And youabhordancing,’ Sebastián added, not noticing the press of her lips as he continued his mini lecture. ‘As well as that, you don’t take direction...’

Carmen shot her brother a look. ‘You have no idea how disciplined riding is.’

‘I meant outside of riding.’

‘I was joking about being an actress,’ Carmen said. ‘I’m going to work in a café or a restaurant.’

‘But why?’ Sebastián gave her a nonplussed look. ‘It’s not as if you need the money.’

‘Perhaps I want to prove that I can make it on my own.’

‘Carmen,’ he said, glancing at her kitten-soft hands—despite a life spent in the stables, shealwayswore gloves. ‘I’ve never seen you take a cup through to the kitchen, let alone wash it. Anyway, you won’t last a morning without a horse.’

‘I can barelyremembera morning without a horse.’ Carmen sighed. ‘And I’ve never known a moment when I wasn’t a Romero...’

‘Meaning?’

Her full name was Carmen Romero de Luca, but in Spain she was Carmen Romero, a brilliant and talented equestrian who had trained and performed with the famous Andalusian dancing horses, as well as competing in dressage at the highest levels.

And she was José Romero’s only daughter.

People said she was entitled and spoilt.

And that was all true.

But a deeper truth was that she was lonely and scared and seemed to have the worst luck with relationships.

Carmen had overheard her last boyfriend talking about her, saying how demanding and needy she was. She had covered her mouth to silence her cry of anguish. Her mother had, on more than one occasion, accused her of being the very same. They couldn’t both be wrong, could they?

The character assassination hadn’t ended there, though. She’d listened to the man she had been planning to lose her virginity to that weekend telling his friend that she always smelt of the stables, and that he practically had to hold his nose to kiss her.

His friend’s response: ‘Just close your eyes and think of all that Romero money...’

But actually it wasn’t her ex who had broken her heart—her mother had inflicted that damage a long time before. And now, at the grand old age of twenty-six, Carmen was starting to believe that it might be safer to carry her broken heart all the way to the grave rather than risk attempting to love again.

She looked at her brothers. They had the same dark eyes as her, the same glossy black hair and olive skin, and they shared the same DNA. Yet even though they came from the same broken home her brothers were so self-assured, so confident...

Carmen only pretended to be.

And, while it was true she was spoilt and precious—she’d been her father’s favourite, after all—Carmen would trade it all for peace in her soul.

She wanted to make her own way, earn her own keep—stand on her own two feet, rather than sail on the family’s wealth or hide in plain sight on the back of a horse.

‘I’m going to be Carmen de Luca in America,’ she told her brothers.

‘You’re going to usehername...?’ Sebastián frowned. ‘But you hate her!’

‘Perhaps. But I’ll use her name if it buys me a chance of freedom.’

‘But you love riding...’ Alejandro still insisted.

Did she, though?

Her passion for horses had been fully indulged, yet not a soul knew or understood that at first riding had simply been her one true rebellion...

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