Gabriel starts to talk about the team we’ll be playing against tomorrow and I listen intently. Polo is my life and I’m good atit, partly because I study the other teams and I’m able to exploit their weaknesses.
“They have Xavier, who’ll be keen for a win as he’s not had a great season this year,” Gabriel says, and I grunt my agreement. Xavier, also from Argentina, is something of a rival to me. He’s a few years older and the only other high goal player here.
“Raoul is playing very cautiously at the moment, which we should be able to take advantage of if we can start assertively,” Gabriel explains. “And Paul, well, we know he just pays the bills so he can play.”
We talk a bit more about tactics for tomorrow, and then Gabriel and Linden fall into talking about people they know, and I stop listening, content to let my mind wander.
Next year will be my first pro year, when I play for Gabriel in the new team he’s setting up. There are better opportunities in the States, and I was offered a few when I stated that I was turning pro back in the summer, but Gabriel’s offer intrigued me. The money is good, I can’t argue there, but it was more than that. I like Gabriel a lot, and the idea of being involved at the start of his venture with the new team and the equestrian centre is appealing. Along with being able to teach and coach players, which I also enjoy.
It’s also a long way from Argentina, which suits me just fine for now. I used to have a perfect life. Being able to play polo, having access to the best horses, I travelled and played where I wanted, and was seen at all the best events. I slept with whom I chose, much to my brother’s disgust, and I never saw myself settling down. The only sign of trying to create anything permanent was five years ago, when I set up a breeding program for polo ponieson one of my father’s farms. Yes, everything was going perfectly, until six months ago when my father suddenly passed away.
Gabriel shouts that they’re turning back, and I do the same with Chispa. She shakes her head in annoyance, as she loves to go out exploring as much as I do, so I stroke her neck.
“We’ll find you some good trails in England,” I promise, and she settles down again. Chispa was the first horse I had as a foal, claiming her as my own when my father’s favourite polo pony had her first. In the eight years of her life, we’ve rarely been apart, and I know her as well as I know myself. I trust her implicitly, but I also know she won’t take any crap from me. If my mind is not on the job, she’ll let me know, and she’s ditched me more than once on the polo field. But that’s only made me a better player, and when she’s in the right mood we’re unstoppable.
When we get back to the barn, Jorge has already exercised Marvel and Furia. I leave him to do the same with Saban and I take Terco out to the practice arena as I feel he needs a little more work on his turns. He’s my newest horse, and he came to me with a reputation as being troublesome. I didn’t bother pointing out that if you name a horse stubborn, then what do expect, but he was cheap and I like the ones no one can do anything with. What I found was that he just took longer to learn than others, and if you switched to learning something new before he felt he’d learned the previous task, he got frustrated and then the problems would start. I found if you backtracked and went through a move he was familiar with, then he’d calm down. So he’s not as experienced as the others, and I’ve not played him much, but he’s part of the five I’m taking to the UK, as I think with a little more work, he’ll be excellent as a teaching horse.
When I get back I have time for a shower, and then I’m to meet Gabriel and Linden, along with Austin, Linden’s father, for lunch before we make our way over to the polo arena for today’s matches. As we leave the hotel I catch a glimpse of Simon talking to another guy. He stalks off and my curiosity is piqued. Not that it should be, but Simon hasn’t been far from my thoughts all morning. I haven’t slept so well in months as I did last night. And I can’t get the feel of his soft skin and his perfect arse out of my head. Not to mention his cute face and adorable curiosity. It’s enough to distract me all afternoon, though I manage to pay enough attention to the matches to glean some details of the teams we might end up playing later in the week.
The polo scene has an incredible social element between all the players, patrons, and followers. Tonight there’s an event hosted by one of the sponsors. A buffet dinner followed by a disco. I feel restless when I enter, and after downing three glasses of champagne—which only marginally helps—I get cornered by Paul, the patron of the team we’re drawn against tomorrow.
“The trouble is, Xavier never listens to me,” he says petulantly. “He only thinks of himself and he never passes the ball my way.” I could give him plenty of reasons why that might be, but I don’t think he’ll want to hear them. “You’d be better. I would’ve offered you the job, you know, but Xavier is contracted for another year.”
“I have a job,” I comment neutrally, not adding that his indiscretion about Xavier is only one reason why I’d never work for him. But he doesn’t stop whining and I can’t get away. A server passes with a tray of canapes, and I absently take one. Anything to distract me from listening to Paul. Luckily Raoul comes over to ask Paul a question and I quickly make my escape. I look down at the tiny blini, with a delicately pipedportion of pate on top, and wonder if Simon made it. This is getting ridiculous. Am I going to be unable to eat anything this week without thinking of him? I need a distraction, a good one. Another hookup should do the trick. I work my way through the throng of guests. I usually don’t have any problem identifying a likely target and homing in on them, charming them into bed with me, but not tonight. No one catches my fancy. Either their eyes are not blue enough, or they’re too obnoxious. I’m not usually picky enough for those things to bother me, but I am tonight, and that makes me irritable. By the end of the evening, as the event is winding down and staff are starting to clear up, I’m feeling more uptight than I was before.
“Good night. Get a good night’s sleep,” Gabriel calls to me as he supports a slightly drunk Linden.
“I will,” I promise, and they disappear towards the rooms. Pent-up frustration makes me feel less like sleeping now than ever, and I know I’m going to toss and turn for hours. Annoyed and grumpy, I eventually give in and take the same route I did last night. I’m pleased to see Simon is alone in the kitchen as I walk through the door. He looks up as I approach, and a small smile quirks on his lips, the one I’ve been searching for elsewhere all evening in vain. He looks pleased to see me, and some of my tension eases slightly.
“Hi,” he says as I come to a stop before him. “You know you’re not supposed to be here.”
“I know, but I was wondering if the offer for carrots was still open.”
CHAPTER FIVE
SIMON
I wasn’t expecting to see Andrés again, so I was unprepared for the way my stomach flipped when he walked through the door. He’s dressed in a dark blue shirt and black trousers that fit him perfectly, like only expensive tailoring can. I’m glad I have my apron still on as it goes some way to hiding the semi I have just from him looking so gorgeous.
Although his visit is welcome, I need to remind him that he can’t just come back here any time he chooses. For a start, someone might see him, and I don’t want to be answering those kinds of questions. He gives me that same look—with his warm dark eyes and dancing smile—that he did yesterday, and my insides somersault again.
“Did you really come back here for carrots?” I ask, leaning back on the stainless steel counter behind me and crossing my arms, trying to add a layer of defence against his charm and good looks. He gives a small smile.
“I wanted to see if it was you who made those pretty little blini canapés tonight.”
I huff a barely concealed snort. I’ve heard some lame excuses in my time, but this tops them all.
“I know my way around a piping bag, for sure,” I reply. “But tell me, are you in the habit of walking into kitchens to find out who makes your food?”
“Only if the chef is really cute and has an arse so hot I’ve been thinking about it all day.”
“Did you come back here for a second helping?” I ask, trying to cover up my surprise that he’d thought that, never mind admitting it to me, and he steps in close to me, a smile playing on his dark red lips. He reaches out a hand and cups my arse, pulling me tightly against him. My dick hardens against his thigh, and his lips twitch when he feels the effect he’s having on me. He leans in close and I can feel his hot breath on my neck.
“With some dishes, you need to taste them again to know if you really like them.” His voice, like dark molten chocolate, caresses my skin, and my hips respond by grinding my dick against his leg. He gives my arse a squeeze, and I bite down on my bottom lip to stop the moan that’s desperate to escape. I know he’s a rich playboy who’s leaving in a few days, but no one’s made my body respond like this for a long time.
“I’m up for seconds,” I croak, and he pulls back abruptly, leaving my body bereft at the loss of his touch and my cock aching with frustration. I’m about to growl my annoyance when I see he’s waiting for me. Oh right. I get it. He’s got my agreement. He no longer has to work on trying to convince me, so why bother. I nearly tell him I’ve changed my mind but my dick is not onboard with that change of plan. I don’t know why it bothers me so much as it’s just a hookup. A rich, gorgeous one, though, I suppose, so I have nothing to complain about. I pull my apron off and hang it up. I head to the door and start turning off the lights.
“Come on, then,” I say more tersely than I mean to, and Andrés’ brow creases into a small frown, which disappears almost as soon as it appears.
