Christmas Nights with the Polo Player
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Susan Stephens
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Chapter One
Christmas is an amazing time in London, Lucy reflected as she stared around the sleeping nightclub where she had been lucky enough to secure a short-term job as a waitress for the holidays. A warm glow of anticipation lifted everyone’s spirits, and there was the festive food, the sparkling decorations and all the big stores competing to have the most fabulous Christmas scenes in their windows. The holiday season also gave impoverished students like Lucy the chance to take advantage of all the extra work on offer, but most important of all, friendships were rekindled. And Lucy had her friend Holly to thank for this job.
Crazy Holly. Wonderful Holly. Lucy’s long-time friend since school had insisted that this was the chance they had been waiting for to get together in London. They saw each other so rarely these days, what with Lucy’s studies and Holly accompanying her husband Ruiz Acosta—one of Argentina’s infamous polo playing brothers—on the polo tour. Which was another reason Lucy was working long after her colleagues had gone out on the town. How was she supposed to sleep, knowing she had accepted Holly’s invitation to the Acostas’ Christmas Day party tomorrow?
Not that she was shy. Much. Put her with customers and she was fine. Put her with colleagues and she was fine. But put her in a room full of fast-living, jet-setting sophisticated types and she was…not fine.
Lucy lived in the country where she attended veterinary college, and London had hit her hard in the face. Admittedly, this was the busiest time of the year with crowded streets, traffic at a standstill, breath rising in icy streams from battalions of determined, red-cheeked shoppers swathed in scarves…by comparison the nightclub was a haven of calm.
And it looked beautiful. It was the hottest nightclub in town and was tastefully decorated with slim silver Christmas trees and white fairy lights. Everything was just about perfect, apart from the mistletoe hung at strategic places—like right over her head, Lucy noticed, moving away.
She avoided mistletoe like the plague. It reminded her too much of the snooty golf club where her parents had decided she would snare a wealthy husband from the unappealing specimens on offer. The golf club always had mistletoe bristling from every corner at Christmas parties so that even the most committed singleton was bound to be caught out at some point, and Lucy neither wanted nor needed a husband, let alone the palaver that went with being a golf-club wife.
She got along fine by herself, and had almost managed to convince herself that her choice of veterinary science with a specialism in roll-up-your-sleeves-and-get-down-in-the-muck equine medicine was a rebellion against the cake-making classes her mother had insisted she take in preparation for becoming the ‘perfect wife’. The irony of Lucy wanting to work with horses, specifically in the polo world, renowned for being the mothership of snobbery, hadn’t escaped her. But at least she could bake a cake and eat it while she laughed.
Her thoughts were meandering, Lucy realised, which meant it was time to go home. She should try to get some rest before the Acosta Christmas party tomorrow, but the excitement would probably keep her awake all night anyway, and she did love these rare moments of quiet and solitude—
Solitude my foot! she thought. She should at least be honest with herself. She was waiting…for him. There was always a chance the unbelievably sexy owner of the nightclub and number one Brazilian polo player, Gabe Ortoya, might drop by to check everything was locked up securely for the night.
Gabe captained the Brazilian polo team and was the hottest man alive. When he wasn’t playing polo, he either lived on his fabulous ranch in Brazil, where he trained polo ponies, or in London, where he had a penthouse overlooking the Thames.
When Holly had heard Gabe was looking for holiday staff she had contacted Lucy. Lucy was always on the lookout for holiday work to supplement her non-existent income, and the chance to work close to one of the most famous polo players in the world had proved irresistible, so here she was.
The job in London was a big adventure for a small-town girl, and at first Lucy had wondered how she’d fit in with her country manners and dull clothes, but her colleagues at the nightclub had made sure that she never felt out of place, and Holly never let a day pass without a morale-boosting call.
And then there was Gabe Ortoya.
Ah, yes. Gabe Ortoya…
The man of her dreams and more importantly, Lucy’s erotic fantasies. She didn’t know what had attracted Gabe Ortoya’s attentions, but she certainly made that bad boy smile.
Whether that was good or not, Lucy had yet to work out, but it wasn’t hard to guess why Gabe intrigued her. She had never met anyone like him before—a man so ridiculously good-looking he made her eyes hurt. Gabe’s fellow polo players often swung by the club, but Gabe Ortoya was a darker shade of bad. She had started off by trying to avoid him, so she didn’t fall under his spell, but how could she avoid her boss when he signed off her paycheque every week?
Gabe’s eyes were wicked, and his smile was so engaging, nothing about him could be called safe. It hadn’t taken Lucy long to work out that it was a lost cause trying to ignore her boss. Her underused body had applauded this decision and responded with indecent eagerness to Gabe each time they met. They had been dancing round each other for a few weeks now. The Ortoya two-step, as Lucy had come to think of it. Gabe took one step forward, while she took two steps back. She had more sense than to have an affair with a man who was only toying with her as a cat toyed with a mouse. If she did have an affair, it would be with a man a whole lot easier to handle than Gabe Ortoya. Huffing a rueful smile, she picked up her bag and prepared to lock up and leave.
What was that noise?
Stopping dead in the middle of the dance floor, Lucy listened intently, and then shrugged. Old buildings made noises at night. Water hissing through pipes, creaking floorboards, shadows—
‘Lucy Lavender?’
The harsh male voice shot Lucy to attention, and her pulse rate into orbit. There was no mistaking Gabe Ortoya’s commanding tone.
‘That’s me.’ The same Lucy Lavender who had never flinched from an angry bull in her life and who wasn’t about to start now, though judging by her boss’s face, Gabe’s evening had not worked out the way he’d planned.
‘I was in the area and saw the light on,’ he explained, bearing down on her. ‘I’m here to check what’s going on. I almost mistook you for an intruder, Lucy. You’re lucky I didn’t wrestle you to the ground.’
Lucky? She bit back a smile as she stared at Gabe towering over her, and only wished she’d brought a balaclava and a swag bag to work.
Gabe’s eyes were as dark as sin beneath ebony brows that swept up like a Tartar from the Russian Plain. His cheekbones could have been chiselled by Michelangelo, and his unapologetically sexy mouth gave this bad boy the look of a rampaging barbarian, so that even dressed in a formal tux with a crisp white shirt and a properly tied black tie, Gabe Ortoya looked more like one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse than a respectable nightclub owner and international sportsman. War on a red horse, potentially…
Gabe was fascinated by Lucy’s transformation from impeccably turned-out waitress to cuddly chick. He’d only seen her wearing the chic black work uniform, but right now she looked hot in a messy ensemble of woolly scarf, fuzzy jumper, heavy parka, worn jeans and a pair of knee-length boots that had definitely seen better days. ‘Why are you working so late, Lucy?’
‘I didn’t mind staying on to lock up when the others left.’
His brows shot up. ‘It’s Christmas Eve. Has everyone else gone out on the town and left you here on your own?’
‘I didn’t want to go out tonight.’
He thumbed his stubble, feeling the inclination to prolong the encounter. ‘London still too much for you?’
He felt bad when she blushed. ‘Relax, Lucy. You don’t have to go out if you don’t want to.’ He shrugged as he smiled. ‘And I’m sorry if I startled you when I came in.’
‘I’ll get over it.’
He felt more than a beat of interest when she smiled.
He’d liked this girl from the first moment she walked into the club. Lucy had no airs and graces. The customers loved her because she was open and helpful, friendly and funny. She was a real asset to the club.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked him softly. ‘It’s none of my business,’ she added with a shrug, her cheeks glowing a brighter shade of red.
He loved the way she pressed her lips together, as if to prevent any more words spilling out, but he didn’t explain himself to anyone.
‘I’d better get going,’ she said when he remained silent.
‘Not yet, Lucy.’
Her worried eyes flashed to his face. ‘Sorry. I should have asked. Can I get you a drink or something?’
‘You’re off-duty, so why don’t I get you a drink?’ he suggested. ‘You’ve been working all night.’ Moving behind the bar, he reached inside the fridge for a bottle of champagne.
‘Oh, no!’ she exclaimed when he brought it out.
He smiled to himself, trying to imagine any other woman refusing. ‘Won’t you share a Christmas toast with me, Lucy?’
Arranging the scarf around her neck, she shook her head. ‘I really should be getting home.’
Natural empathy was warring with her caution, he guessed. Unscrupulous to the last, he worked on her empathy. ‘Humour me. I’ve had a bad night.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry…’
‘Don’t be. I’ve had a lucky escape.’
‘If you need to talk about it…’
He laughed. He couldn’t lead her on. Lucy was fast proving herself to be unique. A woman who cared more about him than herself? ‘Are you a good listener, Lucy?’
‘Some people say I am.’
He removed the wire netting from the foil covering the cork, and started to ease it with his thumb. ‘I have – I had,’ he corrected himself with a wry look, ‘a rather grand girlfriend.’
‘Someone royal?’ she guessed.
‘I couldn’t possibly say,’ he admitted, but it amused him to think that Lucy had instantly put him in the type of high society he had no time for.
‘You’ve broken up with her?’ she pressed.
Was there more than interest in her voice? ‘I don’t do grand, Lucy.’
‘Me neither!’ she exclaimed, but this was swiftly followed by the lip-pressing routine. ‘Sorry—I didn’t mean to interrupt you.’
‘That’s okay. Come on—sit down.’ He angled his chin toward the nearest bar stool, and noticed Lucy’s gaze skimming the mistletoe overhead. The designers had really gone to town. ‘If you’re allergic to mistletoe we can sit over there.’ He indicated one of the booths, and then realised she’d hate that. Booths were far too intimate.
Gathering her jacket around her like a protective cloak, she confirmed this. ‘I’m fine standing.’
‘Sit,’ he insisted. ‘You must be tired.’
‘A little,’ she admitted. ‘And, okay, just one glass,’ she agreed when he glanced at her for her agreement as he began to pour.
‘You don’t get the champagne until you sit down, Lucy.’
She laughed and relaxed a little, and came to perch on a stool.
As he pushed the crystal flute across the bar toward her, she rested her chin on her hand and turned her face up to his. Did she realise how tempting she looked?
‘So, you had a bad night,’ she prompted.
‘I planned for a Christmas without complications,’ he admitted, ‘but my on-off girlfriend had other ideas, and made the mistake of trying to prise a proposal of out of me.’ Along with a whole host of financial favours for her high-living, feckless parents, he remembered.
‘So you’re a confirmed bachelor,’ Lucy supplied.
‘You guessed it,’ he said, playing along. But she was right in that he liked being able to pick and choose when he socialised and when he was alone. He was a focused man. Polo was his life. He occasionally envied his friends with their wives and children, but falling in love wasn’t for him. He wasn’t ready. He doubted he ever would be. He liked his life exactly as it was.
‘So if you could have one thing for Christmas what would it be?’
He stared at Lucy, surprised at her openness, but then again, not. ‘I’m supposed to be asking the questions here, Lucy. I’m the boss.’
‘Ah, but as you reminded me, I’m off-duty,’ she said, ‘so we’re just friends having a chat.’
‘Are we now?’
Friends? No woman had ever called him that before. He had enjoyed arrangements in the past that suited him, sharing pleasures that were freely offered.
‘If I could have one thing for Christmas…’ Lucy said, distracting him.
‘What would that be?’ His interest surprised him.
‘I’d want something simple, something meaningful…’
A woman who cared nothing for wealth and fame? She was certainly unique. But if everyone was like Lucy he’d have to stop giving lavish presents and he loved giving lavish presents. He laughed. ‘So you’d rather have a bag of penny sweets I’d picked out myself than all the expensive gifts in the world, if someone else chose them for me to give to you?’
‘Too right I would,’ she agreed. ‘But I do love this champagne,’ she said, grinning at him over the rim of the glass. ‘And I’m guessing this isn’t cheap.’
‘You’re right.’
‘It’s delicious.’
And so was she.
‘I’m sorry to hear about your bad start to Christmas, Senhor Ortoya.’
‘Gabe—please.’
‘Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be?’ She heaved a theatrical sigh that made him smile.
‘You’re right there.’ The affair had been struggling for weeks.
‘So your girlfriend wanted a diamond ring for Christmas. Most girls would wish for that in their stockings. But what else did she want? She obviously asked too much of you?’
He was instantly alert. Something had changed in Lucy’s voice. She wasn’t playing a game any longer. She was really interested. This would have been the cue for a confirmed bachelor to slam the door and turn the key in the lock, but because he wanted to keep Lucy around a little longer, he opened up. ‘Her parents lived in a stately pile where I was expected to shoot with Daddy, and make up a bridge foursome with Mummy every weekend.’ Lucy looked even prettier when she frowned. ‘Why the frown?’ He topped up her champagne.
‘Just trying to picture you in plus fours.’
He laughed out loud. ‘I’ve never worn them, but I’m a crack shot.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ she said wryly. She laughed, and her whole face lit up in a way that made his senses roar. ‘So why do you hate the idea of the weekend visits so much?’
‘I abhor killing animals for fun, and I’d rather eat my own feet than put them under a bridge table.’
‘Poor Gabe.’
‘Stop laughing at me.’
‘Sorry.’ Failing to mask the smile, she dipped her face to the glass. ‘With a life like yours, you just need to be quiet sometimes, I expect,’ she said thoughtfully when she straightened up.
‘Don’t make a martyr out of me, Lucy. I’m a fully paid-up bad boy with a track record—’
‘—that would really scare the horses?’ she suggested, starting to laugh.
‘You are a bad, bad girl, Lucy Lavender.’ And he was enjoying her company more and more. He might have left it there if Lucy hadn’t chosen that precise moment to brush a strand of mistletoe that had escaped the swag above the bar away from her face. He had wanted to kiss her on many an occasion and tonight that feeling was unstoppable. He was already anticipating the way she would soften beneath his touch, and as he leaned toward her…Gabe Ortoya experienced rejection for the first time in his life!
He barely had chance to brush his lips against hers before Lucy pulled away and damn near fell off the stool. He had to fling himself across the width of the bar to catch her and steady her before she hurt herself.
‘It is a Christmas tradition, Lucy,’ he reminded her with a glance at the mistletoe.
‘And one I try to avoid, Senhor Ortoya.’
‘You do have an allergic reaction to mistletoe,’ he observed dryly.
‘Yes. It’s called the fight-or-flight mechanism.’
‘Then stay and fight,’ he challenged.
A tense moment passed, and then to his relief she smiled at him. ‘I might just do that,’ she warned, ‘and then you’ll be sorry.’
He doubted that somehow. His senses were still reeling from Lucy’s clean soapy scent; she had felt warm and pliant beneath his ultra-sensitive hands. The brief touch of her lips hadn’t lasted nearly long enough for him, and he had been reluctant to let her go. But he couldn’t hold on to Lucy when she was trembling like an unbroken mare. She needed space rather than crowding. Pretending nonchalance, he tucked the errant twig away. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you a second time in one night. I was just carrying out one of my tests on the club. And I’m happy to see the mistletoe works.’
If he thought that was the end of it, he was mistaken. Sitting very straight on the stool, Lucy lifted her chin to confront him. ‘Next time you plan a test run, Senhor Ortoya, please warn me in advance so I can call for my stunt double.’
‘It was that exciting?’ His lips quirked in a smile.
‘It wasn’t exciting at all. You just took me by surprise.’
He laughed. That was him told. But Lucy had unwittingly transformed this encounter into a challenge he couldn’t let go of.
‘No harm done, then,’ he said, narrowing his eyes in concentration, as if putting the mistletoe back in its place required precision engineering. ‘There we are… You wouldn’t know anything untoward had happened here.’
Really? Gabe was joking, wasn’t he? Her pulse had rocked off the scale, and she was still breathless. Gabe would always startle her, but not in the way he meant. She would never get used to the way he looked. The shadows cast by the bar lights only enhanced Gabe’s brutal beauty. Dressed all in black, he looked more like an avenging angel than a polished playboy with his thick, wavy black hair, his dark as night eyes and chiselled cheekbones, not to mention his firm, sexy mouth. The lightest brush of Gabe’s lips had been enough to fill her body with all sorts of needy heat. One minute they had been chatting and getting to know each other, and the next all she could think about was sex. Which she absolutely mustn’t do when she was working up to asking Gabe Ortoya for a really big favour.
