The Polo Prince (Foxworth Stud Ranch Book 4)

by Mia Madison

  “Not stable girls then.”

  “Nothing like that – let the guys mend fences and shovel out horseshit.”

  “And the clients.”

  “Oops – that part is meant to be therapeutic but you don’t have to do it.”

  “I didn’t mind. I can see that caring for the animal is getting me to think outside of myself.”

  “Something Diego della Donna needs to learn. Oh good, lunch is ready.”

  We sit down to eat in a cozy dining room off to one side of the main hall. I can tell it’s been recently decorated with luxurious soft furnishings and calming artwork on the walls. Everything perfect for the spa clients and maybe Chloe Foxworth’s wedding parties too. In the large room on the other side of the french doors, I can hear the raucous laughter of the cowboys arriving for their midday meal.

  As I tuck into the various salads laid out on the buffet and some excellent blackened chicken, I can’t help but wonder where Diego della Donna is dining right now. I can’t imagine him sitting down with the cowboys and having much to talk about except horses. But even then, I assume the fine breeds he’s used to on the polo field aren’t the same as the cattle rustlers.

  Then Chloe comes in with Modesty and the other woman whose name I forget, but who I’m told lives on the ranch with the blacksmith.

  “My three Mistressteers,” Chloe says when we’re all settled with our plates of delicious food and I comment on how nice it is to be part of a real girly lunch.

  They’re lucky to have each other to hang out with every day. Shelley is right, I spend way too much time alone. Chloe is absolutely stunning, the sort of woman you see on a soap opera and so confident without being full of herself.

  While the four women chatter about their businesses and Dallyce’s upcoming wedding to Shea, one of the older cowboys on the ranch, I find images filling my head in a sort of daydream. Visions of Diego’s wide cock sliding in and out between my thighs, sending delicious hot shivers to my tummy.

  “Violet, Violet?” Chloe’s voice busts gently into my thoughts and I realize the women are all looking at me. Chloe smiles kindly. “I was asking about that badass Argentine stallion. He didn’t overstep his boundaries with you, did he?

  Oh shit, the color is rushing into my cheeks. I can tell because the heat is enough to blacken this chicken to a crisp. They’re all looking at me, expectantly waiting for an answer. I hope to god they can’t somehow detect or even have the teensiest inkling of the thoughts that were filling my head.

  Can they possibly tell how much I’d like to feel the stallion’s huge hands cover my tits and squeeze the flesh until I cry out? No one would ever imagine the clear image I had of him holding me down with his thick cock between my thighs rocking smoothly in and out, grinding deeper into me, filling me hard where I’ve been empty way too long.

  “Oh, no, not really,” I mumble, stuttering around for something smart to say.

  “He looked ready to devour her when I found them,” Dallyce says, trying not to smile too much.

  “I think he just mistook me for a groom girl – Is that what you call them?”

  “Jeez, I’m so sorry about that,” Chloe says. “I’ll set him straight.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her not to. It’s his only reason for interacting with me. And he can devour me any time he wants. I cannot believe I’m even thinking that. I have never in my life had thoughts like that about a man, especially one so out of my league, so much older and so damn full of himself.

  “He’s visiting us as well. We’re actually planning to go into a joint venture of breeding his Argentine polo horses here at Foxworth. So he can avoid all the intensive shipping and export fees the government extract down there.”

  “Wow, that sounds interesting,” I say. While thinking how freaking lucky Chloe Foxworth is to get to work with the Argentine stallion. I wish she’d create a job for me in that department.

  “He wanted to know whether he can attend the bridal party cookout tonight,” Dallyce tells her.

  The women all roll their eyes.

  “Isn’t he supposed to be the world’s most eligible man?” Edie, the Blacksmith’s girl says. “I saw that in one of Mod’s magazines.”

  “Biggest playboy more like,” Chloe laughs. “He’s bedded every model, every actress and spare woman around the globe and I didn’t get that out of the gossips.”

  “The bridesmaids are up for a good time by the looks of things,” Modesty says. “I’m sure they’d like the eye candy.”

  “Will I have to go?” I ask.

  “No absolutely not,” Chloe assures me.

  Shit, I shouldn’t have made it sound like such a chore.

  I’m figuring out how to mention that I think it would be cool, to meet some new people that is. But Chloe is already telling me about the menu for tonight. I lose the chance when she changes he subject.

  “I have something else to tell you about Diego,” she tells her employees, although they seem more like besties than real workers.

  My ears prick up and I almost lean in eagerly for the next piece of information about the stallion. It’s stupid I know, but I just want to know as much as possible. He’s so different from any man I’m ever likely to meet. I also can’t help but think that all this playboy gossip is just that.

  He probably does fuck every woman that he possibly can but any man on the planet that looked like him would do the same. It could even be more hassle for him to be such a perfect man than a pleasure. I know how woman throw themselves at guys.

  It’s the one thing about being a loner – you get to do a lot of people watching when you’re invisible in the world. But you also end up doing a lot of fantasizing so my idea of there being any depth beneath the surface of the Argentine stallion could be nothing more than my own imagination.

  6

  Diego

  I must be the only clean man on this entire ranch. Even though the cowboys have scrubbed themselves up they still look like rough cattle wranglers. I come down to dinner and a moment of silence falls on the room wen I enter. The rough boys refuse to let me in as I approach. They eye me, my low slung jeans probably too urban for their tastes. Their stares travel down to land on my slip-on Toms and I notice the smirks, like I’m prancing around in stilettos or some shit. I had to the bar where my grooms are hanging with beers in their hands.

  “Those shirts you guys always wear with your name across the front and back, that in case you forget who you are?” One of the cowboys asks.

  The macho tension in the room swells hard. Where the fuck are the women?

  “Logo says DD,” another quips.

  “That’s our preferred cup size,” Flavio fires back.

  “Mine too,” some young buck says.

  “That will be enough of that kind of talk,” Abel says as he looks up and sees Chloe coming in with a whole gaggle of women following her like a parade of baby chicks.

  The excitement is palpable within the new arrivals. Chloe announces them as the bridesmaids for the wedding, come to set up and prep for the big event. Women on the loose are more spirited than rampaging steers and ten times as horny. Two already are making a beeline for Flavio and Nacho – my grooms they distracted from work this morning.

  These girls are clearly here to play and normally I wouldn’t mind amusing myself with two or three of them. But this time, I find my gaze is kept occupied with scouring through the faces of the assembling party searching out Violet.

  I move to the bar and order a shot of single malt followed by a cerveza.

  “So you’re bothering my guests, I hear.” I turn to see Chloe lifting a glass of champagne, a wistful grin on her plump lips.

  “I didn’t realize she was one of your spa clients,” I tell her, barely holding back from inquiring where Violet is.

  I don't want it plain to everyone that the woman is fast becoming a bit of an obsession for me.

  “You assume every woman on a ranch is a stable hand?” Chloe
says sweetly.

  “How could I when you are so clearly the mistress here?” I say.

  “Oh good, you aren’t going to be all macho then?”

  “Not at all. We have or had until recently, a female president which is something the United States doesn’t seem able to manage.”

  “”Oh dear, we’d better not start on politics,” she says.

  “Or feminism,” I tell her with a grin.

  Seeing one of the cowboys throwing daggers at me like he’d like to skewer me over an open firepit, I move off.

  For all they know I could be going to the washroom or looking to change my footwear. All I care about is seeing Violet again.

  I don't find her in any of the public rooms on the ground floor so I head upstairs. I’m starting to worry, not entirely sure how I’m going to get away with checking all the bedrooms for hers. Or even what I’m going to say to justify why I’m roaming around the house looking for her like a kid on a hide and go seek quest.

  But it’s an itch I can’t scratch, this need to see her, to speak to her, to look at her full mouth purse together as she thinks about a response to my questions, or demands. And I picture those soft full lips wrapped around my stiff cock as they slide along the length of me. My cock stiffens just thinking about finding her in her room in a silky short slip.

  How I’ll slip the shoestring strap over her smooth shoulder and plant a kiss on the curve before yanking the rippling fabric down over her uplifted round tits. The slinky material will glide to a pool around her feet as I cup each perfect mound in my palms and suck the hard point into my mouth.

  Once she starts moaning and arching her back for more of me, I’ll trail my hand down her belly and part her wet lips, pushing into her slickness and relishing her short gasp as the pleasure overtakes her.

  I check every room, like a wild man. Quickly opening doors and tugging them shut again, glad that everyone is occupied with enjoying the sunset get together. She isn't in any of them. I’ve checked the entire freaking house. Perhaps I spooked her and she took off. No, Chloe would not have been grinning about me making demands to her guest clients if that were the case.

  The last room on the corridor is a library lined with floor to ceiling books. There are two deep armchairs in front of a fireplace, cowhide not surprisingly, with rugs and blankets for losing yourself in. She’s not curled up there either. As I go to leave and pull the door closed, I hear a small gasp of surprise. I throw the door open again, heart lurching, but she’s not there. I must be hearing shit in my desperation to find her. Fuckit, I should just go get some bridesmaid action before they’re all pinned down by horse wranglers.

  “Hey,” a soft voice floats down to me.

  I look up to the ceiling and she’s almost up there, like a fucking angel in the sky. There’s a ladder on a slider for climbing up to the top shelves and she’s up there, seated on one of the rungs with a book open.

  “What are you doing up there?” I demand.

  I’m gurning like an idiot, I’m so fucking overwhelmed with relief and pleasure at finding her here and alone. “A library’s a weird place to be when there’s a party going on. Come on down.”

  “Is it safe?” she says jokingly.

  “No guarantees on that one.”

  “Then I’m good up here.”

  “I’m not a wolf,” I assure her.

  “Any guarantees about that?”

  “Hmm, maybe not.”

  “So what are you doing in a library when there’s a party on more to the point?”

  “Would you believe it if I said I’m looking for you?”

  “Not even remotely.”

  “Okay how about a copy of Pride and Prejudice.”

  She laughs then and the tension in the room relaxes, although not the electricity. That continues arcing down at me from atop the ladder like Cupid firing a fucking dart. And fuck it, that was not a good piece of imagery. There’s no love going on – definitely not – it’s all about the lust.

  “Any man that reads Jane Austen can’t be all bad,” she says. Making no move to come down the tall ladder.

  “I can’t admit to reading it. You coming down? I’m gonna need a neck brace staring up at you from down here.”

  “I can’t,” she says regretfully.

  “Why not? I have proven myself to be semi literate.”

  “I’m supposed to stay away from the party and do – stuff.”

  “Stuff?”

  “I don't know, purposeful. Meditative.”

  “That sounds like hogwash. Get down here and come to the party.”

  “I need to be apart from others and just – reflect.”

  “That sounds depressing

  “It’s meant to be a cure for depression,” she says, not convinced.

  “I can show you a cure for depression.” I smile like a wolf.

  She laughs again and I’m sure whatever is going on with her it isn’t depression. I’m no expert – unless you count my childhood pre-boarding school.

  “Are you depressed?” I ask.

  “Didn't they warn you about me?”

  “Only that you’re an off-limits spa guest.”

  She smiles wistfully.

  “Why, did they warn you about me?”

  “Only that you’re the world’s top ten player.”

  “Polo player.”

  “Among other things.”

  “Touché.”

  “So you’d better take off for your own safety.”

  “Says who?” I say, ready to take them on.

  “Chloe.”

  “Last I checked she wasn't running my life – is she in charge of yours?”

  “No,” she says with a good bite of feistiness.

  “Then come down,” I challenge her.

  She makes no move to come down so I get on the ladder and start climbing up. Rung by rung, listening to her peals of laughter floating down from above me spurs me upward.

  7

  Violet

  I feel kind of silly, sitting up here on a ladder rung, barely supported by a shelf behind my butt cheeks. Silly because refusing to come down must have made it seem like I’m scared of men or something. Which is not the case. I’m actually afraid of people in general – their questions and attitudes and especially the judgments they pour over others so quickly, without considering that person’s personal situation. Or the past they’re trying to live with.

  Diego della Donna rises closer and closer, looking up at me with a huge grin that lights up his gorgeous masculine features. A filthy grin, I might add so that I can’t stop laughing, part nervous, part excited. Although I don't want him to figure out that last part.

  This is a game to him. I’m a game.

  A stimulating challenge for the playboy who likely has never met someone like me. An ordinary girl, but one with nothing. No family, barely any education thanks to being locked in the house. No career path. I guess he thinks I’ll be an easy lay. All starstruck by the famous sports star and model, the godlike physique, the hot sexy accent.

  I’m definitely out of my element here. Let’s start with this huge luxurious ranch with all the outbuildings for the hands that work here. The stables filled with prize horses, thousands of cattle and its own rodeo arena. The house I live in, my parents house, back in Fort Lauderdale is just a simple three bedroom, with a small yard I never took care of but intend to start on as soon as I get back.

  “Here comes the big bad wolf,” Diego growls, only a few rungs down from me.

  His hand reaches up and brushes against my bare foot, resting on a lower rung and I shiver under his touch. Two, three more steps. He’s climbing up on only the strength in his hard thighs, barely holding on with his hands. The fingers of one continue to trail across my foot and down the arch of my instep. Tremors of hot light fly up my legs. Diego manages to fill even touching something as unsensual as a foot with a mound of heat.

  His face comes closer up, level with my toes and I realize, shit, I real
ize he’s going to travel up the length of my body between my legs. On reflex, my thighs snap together so my knees align like a prim little virgin. This amuses him no end and he bites my pinkie toe, sucking it between his full lips.

  My heart goes skittering around under my ribs just imagining what other small parts of my body he’d be willing to tug into his beautiful mouth.

  A warm pulsation is making itself known from between my compressed thighs. I wish I was brave enough to part them again so he’d have to rise up between my knees and maybe stop to bury his delicious mouth against the ache.

  But I don’t.

  I have to set my mind to focus on the fact that I am no Cinderella here. Nor am I a guest at the ranch, no matter what Chloe Foxworth says. I’m here out of desperation. A poor girl from nowhere, using the last of her income to try to find the route out of the funk her life has sunk her into, before it’s too late. I do not have time to spend dallying with rich playboys. Well, after tonight, I don’t. Because just this once, it’s fun to be this close to a man that pulls these novel sensations from my body even from ten feet away.

  His hand cups my ankle and he stops, level with my virginal knees and rests his perfect chiseled chin on top. His floppy hair, falling across his high cheeks and the intense big eyes remind me of a lovable dog. Except for the intense lust trapped there.

  His palm slides up the length of my calf, making me shudder. He laughs and holds me firm as I wobble atop the ladder.

  “You okay?”

  I nod.

  “Good, when I said come down I didn't mean for you to leap. You’re quite safe. Don’t go hurling yourself off the top of any ladders to escape me.”

  “Who says I want to escape you?”

  “Those choir girl kneecaps look like they’re pretty firmly barricaded.”

  “Oh those,” I say, relaxing the clench all the way down my thighs and noticing how soaked they are at the tops.

  Diego climbs the rest of the way and with a smooth maneuver of his body, so big and muscular but also lithe as a ballet dancer, he slides in on the rung beside me.