Beck affectionately thumped him on the shoulder and followed him through the crowd. Ashley watched until he disappeared into the stable.
“My, my, I hope my nephew can keep his mind on the match today.” Beck’s aunt Mimi and her friend Bootsie had walked up behind her while she was kissing Beck.
Ashley blushed. Mimi grinned and kind Bootsie took her arm. “Meem and I would like to invite you to sit with us during the match, if you didn’t have any other plans.”
“Oh. Thank you. I don’t have any other plans for the match.” Had Beck asked them to keep her company?
“Wonderful!” Bootsie gushed. Mimi was definitely not a gusher. “We have box seats and a pitcher of mimosas all reserved.”
“Two pitchers,” Mimi corrected.
“Even better! Now, Ashley, come tell us all about yourself.”
It took the better part of a pitcher to talk about Ashley’s jewelry since flatteringly enough, Bootsie actually owned some of her pieces. “My goodness, I bought that lovely yellow-diamond sunflower brooch last year. Do you have any matching pieces?”
“No, but I could make you one. What did you have in mind?”
“A ring, I think.” She held out her plump hands, which boasted half a dozen rings. “A lady can never have too many rings. I should know.” She turned to Mimi. “How many times have I been married?”
Without batting an eye, Mimi replied, “Are you counting the annulments?”
“Naughty.” Bootsie playfully slapped her on the arm. “That only happened twice, and the third was technically bigamy on his part.”
Ummm…Ashley decided a change of subject was in order. “And you, Mimi? Have you ever been married?”
Mimi shook her head and Bootsie chimed in, “She came close once, but the local bishop wouldn’t marry them—said something about the heir to the throne not being allowed to marry a foreigner.”
Ashley blinked. Mimi definitely had hidden depths.
“Anyhoo, water under the bridge and all that, tra-la-la.” Bootsie was enjoying the mimosas a bit too much. “You must tell us all about you and Beck.” She dug her elbow into Ashley’s side. “Ah, if only I were twenty years younger!”
“Try thirty,” muttered Mimi.
Fortunately Bootsie didn’t hear. Ashley took a deep breath. “Well, you both remember Beck and I met at the first polo match about a week ago. He and I ran into each other again at the club pool, and he asked me to lunch. We’ve been seeing each other regularly ever since.”
“How romantic,” Bootsie cooed. “And that kiss he gave you before the match—I swear, it almost made my little heart go pitter-pat and fly right out of my chest. I told myself, ‘Bootsie, that boy cannot keep his hands off that pretty little blond girl and what a wonderful pair they make, both tall and fair and good-looking.’ In fact, I told myself, ‘Bootsie, I think our boy Beck for the first time might be—’”
“Talk to yourself later, Boots, the match is starting now.” Mimi leaned forward and stared at the players lined up on their ponies.
Ashley desperately wanted Bootsie to finish her sentence about what Beck might be doing for the first time, but the object of most of her waking thoughts galloped away on his pony and the match was on.
It was worse watching him play now that she knew him, had laughed with him, had made love with him.
Ashley gasped as an opposing player’s pony stumbled into his, pinning his leg between the two powerful animals. He winced but waved off any show of concern. She knotted her hands together and tried to relax into her chair. “So, Mimi, does anyone ever get seriously hurt in these matches?”
The glance between the two older women was not reassuring. “Define seriously, dear,” Bootsie asked kindly.
“Maimed? Paralyzed? Dead?” Ashley realized her voice was shrill and forced herself to take a breath.
“Nothing like that’s happened for a good long time,” Mimi said briskly. “What’s more likely is that someone falls off their horse and breaks a leg or gets a concussion, and ever since they improved the helmet design, concussions are not nearly the problem they used to be.” It was the longest sentence Mimi had uttered in her presence and Ashley was strangely reassured by that.
“Oh, my, yes. Most polo accidents happen when demon rum is involved.” Bootsie leaned in to her. “I hate to tell tales out of school, but there was one notorious Sunday-afternoon match involving Squidgy Hopkins, six pitchers of bloody Marys at brunch and a certain wager that he could play bareback like the ancient Persians once did.”
“Never laughed so hard in my life,” Mimi confirmed. “Squidgy didn’t feel a thing when he fell off and broke his arm. Good thing he didn’t land on his liver—probably would have shattered that rock-hard organ.”
Ashley burst out laughing and Mimi gave her a quick grin.
Beck swooped in and leaned off his horse so his head practically touched the ground, whacking the ball into the opposition’s goal. She and Bootsie and Mimi leapt to their feet and cheered.
“What a wonderful shot,” Bootsie enthused. “Our Beck always makes everything look effortless.”
“He’s had it too easy,” Mimi announced.
“Oh, Mimi, that’s not true.” Bootsie looked shocked. “Beck is a very hard worker.”
“I didn’t say the boy was lazy, I said he’s had it too easy.” She ticked off her points on her fingers. “Smart, rich, charming, handsome, irresistible to the ladies…”
“Present company not excepted,” Ashley murmured.
“Now, Meem, Ashley’s going to get the wrong idea about Beck.”
Mimi lifted an eyebrow. “Or the right idea.”
Beck scored another goal and stood in his stirrups to wave to the crowd, acknowledging their applause. He spotted Ashley and blew her a quick kiss. Her heart galloped like a runaway horse and she blew him a kiss in return.
Bootsie sighed with pleasure. “A true Prince Charming. If he’d been my first husband, I never would have married the other six.”
Ashley’s eyebrows shot up, while Mimi shook her head. “Fortunately for us, Beck’s no prince. Take it from me—princes are only good for one thing—their royal balls.”
Ashley muffled a snort until she saw the twinkle in Mimi’s eyes and burst out laughing. Bootsie, obviously accustomed to Mimi’s sense of humor, shook her head. “Oh, Mimi, when Ashley runs away in terror, I’m going to tattle to Beck.”
Ashley patted Bootsie’s hand. “Don’t worry, Bootsie, I’m not going anywhere.” And to her surprise, she meant it.
BECK LEAPED OFF his pony, one of Caesar’s sons, and was immediately surrounded by well-wishers. He fought his way to Ashley as she descended the steps to the field. He couldn’t wait for her to reach the bottom so he could pluck her into his arms.
“Beck!” She clutched his shirt, heedless of how sweaty he’d become.
“A kiss for the victor, Ash?”
“Always.” She reached around his neck and gave him a hearty smooch.
Pure lust surged through his veins, already fueled by the incredible rush he always felt after winning a match. He was about ready to drag her off to the nearest private place—or public. After feeling her breasts push against him and her hot mouth under his, he wasn’t feeling too picky.
Someone tugged at his arm and he frowned at Mimi, who had a hide as thick as a rhinoceros. “Beckett, the groom has a question for you about Caesar. Said he was favoring a front leg.”
Damn. He couldn’t delegate that responsibility and gently set Ashley down. “Bootsie and Mimi can show you the reception tent. This may take a while.”
“Your pony’s health comes first. Come find me at the reception tent.” She squeezed his hand.
Ashley understood how much his horses meant to Beck. Short of words for once, he nodded and sent her off with his aunt and Bootsie.
Caesar was limping a bit, but Beck didn’t find any evidence of a sprain or tendon pull. He lifted Caesar’s hoof and found a slightly reddened spot—maybe he h
ad caught a rock during the match. He gave the groom instructions to watch Caesar during his turnout period tomorrow and report to him afterwards.
Once his horse was settled, Beck hurried to the men’s locker room. He muttered a curse as he realized he had forgotten a change of clothes since he had stayed in bed with Ashley instead of getting ready on time. Luckily he had a clean uniform, and that would have to do.
He showered and put on his fresh breeches and shirt before heading out to the party where Mimi and Bootsie were shepherding Ashley around the crowd. He’d have to remember to thank them for their kindness in looking out for her.
Mimi lifted an eyebrow at his clothing. “Did somebody schedule another match and forget to announce it or do you like to show off how good you look in your uniform?”
Ashley giggled. Leave it to his aunt to deflate Beck’s ego at any opportunity. No wonder his father had retired from polo in favor of sailing—being Mimi’s brother must have been exhausting.
“Thanks for showing Ashley around,” he said, “but I want to show her the horses. She hasn’t met them yet.”
“Want us to join you?” Mimi gave him a devilish look, but Bootsie saved the day.
“Of course we won’t, Beck, dear.” She fanned her face. “It’s so much cooler in here, and besides, the flies and the smell…”
Mimi rolled her eyes but conceded to Bootsie. Beck, realizing his narrow escape, hustled Ashley away, grabbing a champagne bottle and a pair of flutes from a waiter.
“You do look good in your breeches, you know.” She smiled at him, tucking her hand into his arm.
“I would have had plenty of time to pack a change of clothes if someone hadn’t distracted me this morning.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining when I joined you in the shower and found that bottle of body wash that made very slippery suds.”
He bit back a moan at the memory of exactly how her hands had soaped him. “Ah, here we are.”
She glanced at the solid wooden building. “The barn?”
“The stable,” he corrected. “Barns are for cattle.” He guided her into the quiet building where his precious horses were housed. Large fans cooled their stalls, which were clean and well-stocked with water and hay. He never doubted the staff for a second.
A junior groom, Juan, came out from the tack room wiping his hands on a rag. Startled to see a team captain in the stables during the party, he stammered a greeting. “Señor Beck, what a match today! Is everything here to your satisfaction?”
“Muy bien. I am giving the señorita a tour, so you do not need to stay. Go have a drink with the men.” Beck passed the groom a couple of bills and told him in Spanish to buy a round of drinks for his colleagues and not to come back for an hour or so.
Juan didn’t need any encouragement and rapidly left. Beck set the flutes on a small table and opened the champagne with the quietest of pops. No need to be vulgar and startle the horses besides.
He handed a flute to Ashley and kept one for himself. She strolled down the concrete aisle, peering into each stall. “Beck, come introduce me to your friends.”
He followed, not sure if she was teasing him or not. “My friends?”
“Your horses.” She gestured at his ponies. “Aren’t they your friends? Or are they only tools to get you from goal A to goal B?”
“Not at all,” he said with indignation. “They are pampered, treasured creatures, the lifeblood of the sport.”
“Well, tell me their names.”
She was serious. “All right, this one is Augustinian, that one is Octavian.” He pointed down the line. “And those are Claudius, Domitian, Tiberius, Hadrian and Vespasian.”
“What, no Caligula or Nero?” Ashley smiled at him over the gold rim of her glass, its metal no match for her hair.
He laughed. “No, we wouldn’t do that to an innocent horse. You know your ancient Roman history. All our ponies were born and bred at a family property. It’s customary to give classical names to the foals.”
“So how did you escape being named Marcus Aurelius?”
He laughed. “We may be a horsy family, but at least my parents could tell me from a foal.”
“They must have figured that out when you weren’t running in the pasture within your first hour of life.” Ashley gave him a sidelong look, her lips turned into an amused bow. She was laughing at him. No one laughed at Beckett Emery. Flattered him, courted him, seduced him, but laughed at him?
“And this lovely boy? He is a boy, isn’t he?” She craned her head to peer under the horse’s belly, and he stifled a grin.
“But of course. His name is Caesar, and he has sired several of these fine fellows.”
“Caesar, huh? Does he bite?”
“Only if we lose a match.” He plucked an apple from a bucket and handed it to Ashley. Caesar ambled over hoping for a treat. “Hey, boy, good job today.”
Caesar whinnied and nuzzled his sleeve. “No, not from me—from the pretty lady.” Beck showed Ashley how to hold the apple on her flat palm.
The pony delicately nibbled the fruit from her hand. “Ooh, he tickles. Can I pet him?” At his nod, Ashley stroked the pony’s muzzle. The sight of her long fingers petting the pony actually made Beck jealous. How pathetic, to be jealous of his favorite pony.
“You have a nice touch with him. Are you sure you’ve never been around horses before?” He ruefully noted the increasing amount of gray hair on Caesar’s muzzle. Soon he would retire to a life of leisure on the family ranch.
“No, only the pony rides at the local amusement park. During the summer, if we had a little extra money, Mom would take me for an ice cream cone and a pony ride. We never really went on vacation, so it was a fantastic treat.” She spoke without self-pity, her face lighting up at her fond memories. “I loved those little ponies—and they were ponies, unlike these full-size guys.”
“Your friend Letitia is right. I do need to take you for a ride.”
She nodded noncommittally, obviously not taking his invitation as sincere. Did he really appear so insincere? “A toast.” He raised his champagne.
“To your win today, especially for beating that guy who crashed his pony into yours.” She grinned and raised her glass.
“To you cheering me on today, which is a better victory,” he responded, lightly touching his rim to hers.
She blushed slightly but didn’t look away. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” They both drank, her tongue darting out to lick the bubbles off her upper lip. He caught her around the waist and captured her perfect pink mouth. She gasped but softened under his insistence, the champagne enhancing her natural sweetness.
He gently coaxed her lips open and entered her with his tongue, stroking her warm wetness. She nipped at him with her teeth, and he smiled in triumph. She always surprised him with her passion, hidden by her cool blond beauty but boiling to the surface at his touch.
He yanked her even closer, their thin clothing no barrier to the proof of his desire. Her arms went limp, and he heard champagne splatter on the floor. Without looking, he set their glasses on the table. Now they had both hands free.
He pressed kisses across her cheek and down her neck into the hollow between her breasts, inhaling deeply. She smelled of sun and lilies and her skin was as soft as the finest silk. She had only left his bed a few hours ago but he still wanted her with a surprising fierceness.
She clutched his head against her, her fingers dragging frantically through his hair. “Oh, Beck,” she murmured. “Oh, yes.”
She shifted, rubbing the curve of her breast along his cheek. He turned his head, capturing her nipple through the thin fabric. Her cry startled the horses as he sucked her to a peak, delicately biting her. His hand shook slightly as he cupped her other breast, and he couldn’t chalk it up to fatigue from his match.
She was like a dainty peach in his hand, ripe and firm but sweetly soft. He brushed her nipple with his thumb and it immediately peaked. She was so responsive to his touch
, as if they’d been lovers for years. He knew once they joined, they would be as combustible as a lit match in dry straw. And nearly as dangerous.
He stopped kissing and fondling her and she dragged her eyes open with a questioning look. “We should stop.” He reluctantly dragged his hand from her dress, and she almost pouted.
“Why?”
“Why?” It was difficult to remember why it would be a bad idea, especially when she traced the length and weight of him. “Ashley, no.”
Ignoring his protests, she stroked him. “This is telling me not to stop, Beck.”
He groaned and thrust into her hand before pushing her wrist away almost violently. “I want you. And you want me.”
“I’m going to drag you into an empty stall right now.”
He made kind of a choking noise and ran his hand over his burning face. He’d paid off the groom to have time for a romantic tour of the stables, not to make love to her over a hay bale.
“Your eyes—they’re golden when you’re turned on. Like molten metal setting off sparks.”
That did it. “You’ve driven me to the edge, and now you’ll see what happens when we fall over it.” His nostrils flared and he crushed his mouth to hers, pressing her against the wall next to Caesar’s stall. His hands traveled over her body, caressing every inch he could reach.
She eagerly met his fierce kiss, sucking on his tongue while her hands frantically worked the buttons on his shirt. She found his bare skin, and they both moaned as she pressed her hands to his chest. She explored his masculine build, teasing the nubs of his nipples, cupping his pecs. She curved her hands around his ribs, dipping into the deep valley of his spine.
Lower, lower, lower—there. She grabbed his ass with both hands, causing him to break their kiss and gasp for air as if he were some teenage boy with his first girlfriend.
She smiled in satisfaction. His eyes narrowed at her pleasure in her dominance. It was payback time. “You want to play with fire? We’ll both get burned.” He deliberately released her, and she whimpered in disappointment.
But his hands went to his waist as he slowly undid the buckle on his belt. Startled, she looked around. “Here?” The stables were empty, but that could easily change considering the crowds still roaming the polo grounds.
Knowing the Score Page 7
