‘Then, what are we waiting for?’ Danny pressed.
‘We have to have a game plan,’ Lizzie murmured thoughtfully.
‘Like we drug the players and hobble their horses,’ Danny suggested. And when Lizzie huffed a laugh, she added, ‘Before we get ourselves trounced on the field of battle, are you going to come with me to read that list, or not?’
* * *
‘Lizzie Fane, captain of the grooms’ team,’ Danny read out. ‘And I’m on the team too.’
Lizzie was stunned by her appointment as captain, but not so surprised about Danny. ‘Of course you are,’ Lizzie assured her friend. ‘You’re a great rider.’
‘When our taskmaster isn’t looking at me. I swear, that man only has to glance my way for me to fall off my horse.’
‘So long as you don’t fall at his feet.’
‘You like him, don’t you?’
‘Chico?’ Lizzie shrugged. ‘No. Not interested.’
Danny hummed in disbelief. ‘Well, whatever you think about him, our game would be a complete shambles without you. Tactics are where you excel, so we need you to put structure into the game—though speaking personally, I’ll be happy just to survive.’
Lizzie shook her head decisively. ‘Survival isn’t enough for me. I won’t be satisfied unless we win.’
‘And how are we going to do that? Drug the players, hobble the horses, and cancel the match?’
‘Confidence. I’ll work something out. And, in the meantime,’ Lizzie added as she scanned the list, ‘have you seen who else is playing against us?’
‘Let me guess.’ Danny’s cheeks pinked up. ‘Tiago?’
Lizzie confirmed this. ‘And someone called Lucas, alongside Gabe Ortoya, the Brazilian team captain, who just happens to be world champion at the moment.’
‘Great,’ Danny murmured. ‘Shall we give up now?’
‘No,’ Lizzie said thoughtfully. ‘Let’s call our first team meeting.’
* * *
The internationals rode bareback. Chico rode facing backwards at one point, until Lizzie had a word at the end of the chukka. How dared he patronise her, or her players? They could thrash him without the need for circus tricks on his part.
‘So you’ve found your voice at last, Senhorita Fane?’
Ignoring the shiver of arousal that streaked through her at the sight of Chico in full Gaucho polo rig, which meant he was wearing leather chaps over jeans worn thin in all the wrong places—or right, if she cared to look—along with a top that moulded his pumped-up muscles to perfection, she lifted her chin to give back as good as she got. ‘This isn’t a class, and I’m not your student on the field of play, Senhor Fernandez. We’re captaining opposing teams, and—’ And I don’t know how yet ‘—my team is going to thrash yours.’
‘So you say, Lizzie,’ Chico called after her as she cantered off in her matching ensemble of neatly pressed jeans and clean white polo shirt.
They were completely outplayed, but that was no reason to give up. Lizzie suggested a fair exchange at the end of the next chukka—two professionals in exchange for two from the grooms’ team. She sent her guys over to Chico’s side, selecting Tiago and the good-natured Gabe Ortoya to play on the side of the grooms. Now they had a game worth the name, and the match went down to the wire. It was five goals each when Lizzie snatched a ball from Chico—or maybe he allowed her to think she had—and she slammed it into the goal.
The competition was relentless, the dirty tricks endless—hooking sticks, riding the opponent off, hacking, stabbing, shouting, swearing—Gaucho polo at its best. This was the hottest sport known to man, Lizzie concluded as she watched Chico at full stretch. She had never felt so alive. A change of ends later, with adrenalin racing through her system, Lizzie passed the ball to Danny, but then for some reason—excitement, probably; catching sight of Chico bearing down on her at speed, certainly—she rashly turned towards the play instead of away from it, and managed to collide with Tiago and Gabe, and as her horse plummeted forward she shot over its head, and would have been trampled had it not been for an arm like an iron band snapping around her waist.
‘Acrobatics, Ms Fane?’ Chico’s hot minty breath brushed her cheek. ‘I’m impressed. No harm done,’ he confirmed when she looked at the pony.
The pony was probably in better shape than Lizzie, who was pinned tightly against Chico’s hard chest, and badly winded.
‘You need a fresh mount and then we’ll get on with the game,’ he said, showing her no mercy. He practically threw her onto the new pony. ‘Your team’s honour rests on you, Lizzie.’
That brief, hard blast of contact against Chico’s muscular body must have restored her, Lizzie concluded, throwing him a steely glance. He’d saved her life and she would thank him—she just hadn’t decided how, yet.
* * *
‘You are preparing for the party, aren’t you?’
Danny had just arrived in their room after the match. Lizzie was lying on the bed with her eyes closed, trying to shut out the adrenalin of the match, and her fierce urge to have sex with Chico. Without looking up, she knew Danny was staring around, hunting for some sign that Lizzie was secretly preparing for the party.
‘Don’t tell me you’re not coming?’
‘I’m not coming,’ Lizzie stated flatly. She was safer where she was. Sleeping with a man as ruthless as Chico Fernandez could only end badly. And she didn’t deserve a party after making such a stupid beginner’s mistake. It could have led to her pony being injured.
‘So, what are you going to do while we’re at the party enjoying ourselves?’
Lizzie threw an arm across her face. ‘Nothing, and then I’m going to check on the horses.’
‘Chico has hired some outside staff especially to do that, so think again, Cinderella.’
‘I have a letter to write to my grandmother.’ Lizzie had rung Annie, the housekeeper at Rottingdean, who had reassured her that her grandmother was doing well, and would be up and about in no time—which Lizzie took to be a euphemism for, ‘There’s nothing you can do here, so make a success of that course.’
‘Use email,’ Danny insisted, distracting her. ‘Just as effective and twice as fast.’
‘And half as personal,’ Lizzie argued.
‘You’ll miss out.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Okay, I want you to come to the party so we can celebrate together. You’re our captain, Lizzie. You can’t stay away. And if that doesn’t clinch the deal, I haven’t had a chance to thank you properly for stopping Chico throwing me out on my ear.’
‘You don’t need to thank me. You deserve your place here.’ Sitting up, Lizzie ruffled her hair. ‘You’re right. I should be celebrating with the team, not moping around.’
‘So, what are you going to wear?’
‘I’m going exactly as I am.’
‘In jeans?’
Lizzie’s answer was to run a hand through her hair. ‘Look—I even had my hair done.’
‘You could put on some make-up.’
‘And look as if I’m trying too hard?’ That was not what she wanted Chico to think.
‘All right, have it your way,’ Danny conceded. ‘Lip gloss, maybe?’
‘No.’
‘Eye shadow, or a spritz of scent?’
Danny got the same answer each time—and though she was fast, Lizzie was faster, and, leaping over the bed, she managed to dodge out of reach as Danny brandished a bottle of scent.
* * *
Lizzie looked amazing, and he had to thank Danny for getting her to come down to the party. But it wasn’t Danny who held his attention, but Lizzie, who was a real little Miss Prim in her smart jeans, clean shirt and trainers. He’d grown to like the look. It was sexy on Lizzie and made him want a repeat of their h
eated kiss, and to hell with the past. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were sparkling with laughter as the teams gathered round to tease her about her acrobatic performance on the polo field, and to congratulate her on leading the grooms’ team to a draw. She played this down. He liked that too. He liked her, though it suited him to remain aloof for now. They had a lot to talk about before he could relax the way he wanted to with Lizzie. He waited until Tiago put a glass of wine in front of her and then he made his move.
‘What are you doing?’ Lizzie demanded as he came to stand between Lizzie and the other polo player. ‘Tiago was just asking me about opportunities for polo players in the UK.’
‘I bet he was.’ Turning his back on Tiago, who had angled his chin to shoot him a wry look, he moved Lizzie’s glass of wine away.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded when he glanced at the bartender and the glass of wine was removed.
‘Saving you for the second time today.’
Lizzie’s green eyes flashed with affront. ‘I thought this was supposed to be a celebration.’
‘It is a celebration,’ he confirmed. ‘So why aren’t you drinking champagne?’
A second glance at the bartender ensured that a bottle of his best was brought out from the wine cooler. ‘I want to speak to you,’ he explained. ‘So we’re taking this to the ranch house.’
‘Oh, are we?’ she said, arching a brow.
‘Yes,’ he returned flatly. ‘We are.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE.’ Lizzie turned to ask the bartender if he would pour her a fresh glass of wine. ‘Controlling everything within your field of vision might be acceptable on the polo pitch, but this is my private time, and I decide what I drink, who I drink it with, and where I drink it.’
‘So, don’t drink my champagne.’ He leaned back against the bar. ‘Is there something else you’d like to say to me, or have you done venting?’
She looked as if she’d like to say plenty but thought better of it. When she firmed her jaw, he realised he liked her like this. High on adrenalin, Lizzie was wound up like a spring. He hadn’t seen her so hot for a fight since she was fifteen. But there was a difference today. She was aroused and couldn’t hide it.
‘What are you smiling at?’ she demanded.
‘You.’ It had occurred to him that for once in his charmed life, Lizzie could be hot for Tiago and not for him. He was keen to test out his theory. Also keen to feel the signs of Lizzie’s arousal pressing into his chest. ‘Shall we dance?’
She looked at him with surprise. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Perfectly,’ he murmured, staring straight into her eyes—which were darkening nicely.
She sucked in a sharp breath as he curved a smile. ‘No way,’ she murmured, holding his stare.
‘I think we should.’
‘I’m sure you do, Senhor Fernandez. But my answer’s still no.’
‘But this is a celebration, Ms Fane,’ he said, addressing her with the same faintly mocking formality. ‘And I believe the captains of the opposing teams should open the dancing.’
‘Is that your usual tradition after a game of polo? I imagine you could sell tickets if Nero Caracas were captaining the Assassins, and you danced with Nero.’ Also a world-renowned hard man of polo, Nero Caracas was one of Chico’s fiercest opponents on the polo field. She’d pay good money to see the two of them dance together.
‘Touché, Ms Fane.’ A smile touched his sensual mouth. ‘But this occasion calls for a new tradition.’ Both his voice and his expression had hardened. ‘And you owe me.’
‘A dance for saving my life?’ she suggested, recalling the almost accident on the polo field. She shrugged, conceding, ‘I am in your debt.’
‘For keeping Danny on,’ he reminded her, dismissing his heroics.
‘You’re glad you kept her on now, aren’t you?’ Lizzie remarked, smiling her triumph into his eyes.
‘Danny rides well,’ he conceded, maintaining eye contact.
‘That’s what competition does for you, senhor.’
‘Are you ever going to call me Chico again?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Surely, you mean, maybe.’
‘Do I?’ Her eyes were shadowed as she stared at him.
‘I would hope so,’ he argued, ‘but shall we address the problem after the dance?’
‘Who said I’m going to dance with you?’
‘I did.’ Seizing her wrist, he steered Lizzie towards the dance floor. There was only so much patience in his bank.
‘I suppose I owe you for making me captain of the team.’
‘Do you need to find an excuse to dance with me?’ he demanded as he swung her into his arms. ‘I hadn’t thought of exacting a payment in kind, but now you mention it— And as people seem to find the fact that we’re dancing together fascinating, may I suggest you smile?’
Lizzie’s lips pressed down as she pretended to consider this. ‘I can do pleasant.’
‘I’m so relieved,’ he mocked as he drew her closer.
As Lizzie’s tiny frame and softness yielded to his hard body the sensation was extreme. For Lizzie too, he suspected, feeling her quiver beneath his hands. ‘Still smiling, I hope?’ he murmured as the music began to play.
‘I’ve got a great big grin on my face,’ she assured him.
‘Just don’t try too hard, or no one will believe you.’
‘I’ll be sure to achieve an appropriate balance.’
‘Be sure you do.’
Their banter was born of pure, unadulterated lust on his part. Lizzie was a little harder to read. She was stiff to begin with, when everything about the sultry South American music called for fluidity, for rhythm and abandonment, and for sex—
‘If you hadn’t saved me today,’ she commented thoughtfully when the first tune ended.
‘You wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t have had to dance with you,’ he supplied.
‘Is my dancing that bad?’
‘It is a little prim.’
‘I can do wild.’
Just not with him, he gathered.
‘But, thank you for today.’ She relaxed a little. ‘I really mean it.’
‘No need to thank me. It could be my turn next match.’ He murmured this against her hair for the excuse to inhale her fragrance. ‘We all make mistakes. Polo is a dangerous game.’
The expression in Lizzie’s eyes suggested nothing could be as dangerous as dancing with him. Good. He planned to keep it that way.
She pulled back at the end of the next number. ‘And now I suppose I have to thank you for the dance as well. Looks like I’m going to be for ever in your debt.’
He smiled and shrugged, and pulled her back again. ‘This is a party, Lizzie. Relax.’
With you? her eyes asked him.
And then, surprising him, she broke free, and yipped and spun around. Seeing Tiago watching her, he caught her close. Hell, every man at the party was watching her. Lizzie was one of those quiet types who, when they cut loose, could set the place on fire. It worked for him.
* * *
Dancing with Chico was the next best thing to sex. And much safer. Sensation without consequences suited her. She could move as she wanted to, and express herself through the dance in ways she would never dream of doing under normal circumstances. Dance allowed her to express her sexuality, which was something she had never done before. Being pressed up hard against Chico was dangerously exciting when every part of him carried an erotic charge. He made moving to music the hottest and most necessary outlet for her energy imaginable. And what really turned her on was that while she had her chance to be wild and abandoned, he was fiercely controlled. Chico kept everything under wraps. She never knew what he was t
hinking, but just for tonight, exactly as he had suggested, she was going to take her chances and relax into this.
When the music heated up so did she, until they were both at flash point. When Chico stared at her, she stared back. He was a sensualist and a very experienced man. She loved that. His engines were always running at full speed. She loved that too. His control was a delicious reminder of the type of lover he would be, and now the rhythm had grown hot and sinuous, with a sexy and suggestive throbbing beat. Chico was a powerhouse of possibility, utterly confident of her responses, as well he might be, when she was desperately aroused. Dancing was the closest she would ever come to having sex with him, and the only things that mattered tonight were the music and the dancing, and Chico.
Heat pooled between her thighs, and she was reduced to snatching air to satisfy the needs of her racing heart. Chico’s touch on her arm and on her back was thrilling. Her hand in his, so small it was enclosed completely, felt safe, felt right. She was his for this dance, and when the music slowed and he shifted position a small cry escaped her throat. It was maybe by accident, but with one powerful thigh he had just brushed the place where she needed him most. The sudden pulse of pleasure made her gasp out loud. He’d heard and shot her a keen look, and now all she could think about was being alone with Chico—naked and at the mercy of those sensitive hands.
Had he noticed her reaction? He must have done, she reasoned. You couldn’t dance as closely as they were doing and not register every nuance in your partner’s behaviour, but Chico probably took such things for granted. Or he didn’t care.
The music encouraged her to progress her fantasy. They fitted so well together, even though Chico was twice her size, and at least twice as hard and muscular, but imagining them together wasn’t so hard—him so bronzed and powerful, looming over her, his hands so light, so sensitive. He would control her pleasure in the same effortless way he controlled his wild ponies. Chico was known for the most sensitive hands in the polo world. Her throat tightened at the thought. The band had just segued into another, slower tune, and she knew this was her chance to break away—to thank him for the dance and return to her table. She could queue for a drink at the bar, or try to find Danny. There were endless possibilities that would be safer than staying here.
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