Nacho Figueras Presents (8 page)

“Nonsense,” said Sebastian with a wink. “We would let him play even if he only paid for a quarter of our expenses. Hendy is a fine athlete.”

Lord Henderson waved him off. “I was once perhaps, but now I am old and slow. But anyway,” he said as he gave her a stiff-armed British kiss to the cheek, “well done, Dr. Fellowes! You saved our best horse yesterday, my dear.”

“So MacKenzie's all right?” Georgia asked as the bouncer took one look at Sebastian and pulled aside the rope for them all.

“Absolutely,” said Lord Henderson. “She won't play any more this season, of course, but she should be back in the barn by tomorrow and ready to go next year.”

The club was loud and jam-packed with beautiful people looking all the more glamorous in the flattering ultraviolet light, but Georgia was too busy feeling relieved about the pony to remember to be intimidated. Beau dragged Billy onto the dance floor. Sebastian wandered off to secure a table, and Rory arrived and took her aside.

“Drinks are on me, Georgia. You saved my arse,” he said. “Alejandro would have never forgiven me if that sweet filly hadn't recovered.”

Georgia smiled at him over the glass he gave her. “Actually, I don't think he would have ever forgiven himself.”

Sebastian waved them over to the table. Billy threw her a wink from the dance floor, his smile telling her it was time to shrug off all worry and have some fun.

And it was a fascinating spectacle, this horsey set. Sebastian sat at her side giving her the lowdown on everyone they saw and repeatedly filling her glass.

There were jockeys hitting on big-bottomed show jumpers, Arabs renting yachts for a quarter million dollars a week, blond German dressage queens seducing billionaire hunter jumpers. “With that lot, it's not one Rolls Royce, it's a dozen—”

“Show jumpers. Dressage. That's not real riding,” Rory slurred. “The only real riding is polo. That's a man's game.”

Georgia smiled and politely nodded, raising her eyebrows at Billy on the sly as he rejoined them.

The apparently endless ranks of Sebastian and Rory's friends and fans and groupies kept stopping by the table to say hi. Within minutes Georgia had met Argentines, Jordanians, Americans, Indians, Brits, French, Swedes, and Germans. There were owners and riders—and the socialites, semi-celebrities, jewelers, and groupies in orbit around them. Talk was of St. Moritz, Buenos Aries, Santa Barbara, Windsor Great Park, and Paris. Georgia was reminded of a maxim of her mother's, “Polo is a passport to the world.” She hadn't been wrong.

The real riders sported tan lines from their riding gear—polo shirt bands of pale skin beneath spaghetti strap dresses, tan wrists, and white hands from their gloves. They looked like striped and spotted animals on the prowl. Everyone in the room was dressed to seduce and hell-bent on partying hard.

Finally, Sebastian got restless and declared it was time they all head back to the Del Campo
hacienda
for a quick drink. There was a Del Campo open house tonight, and they were all invited. Georgia started to protest, saying another drink was probably the last thing she needed, but Sebastian insisted, saying his mother would be so disappointed if she didn't come along.

Georgia took Billy aside and hissed in his ear, “I can't go there, B. What if I run into you-know-who?”

“Oh don't worry, Peaches. I'm sure he never even comes out of his room at these things. And the house is huge; there's no way you'll cross paths. Besides, this is the first time Beau and I have been invited to the
hacienda
, and you, Miss Wonder Vet, are our ticket in. Please say you'll go. This is an amazing networking opportunity. Everyone who is anyone will be there.”

Georgia sighed. “As long as you promise to offer a quick escape if I need it, okay?”

Billy shook his head at her. “It was just a couple of silly kisses, G. You'd think the man had ravished you, the way you're acting.”

Georgia closed her eyes and thought of strong, callused fingers that trailed sparks so hot, they melted her insides.

“You have no idea,” she said.

D
riving back to the
hacienda
, Alejandro was dismayed to see a crowd of cars. Christ, between practice and an extended workout to shake off thoughts of Georgia, he'd forgotten about the party. He knew his mother would want him to make an appearance, but he was hardly suitable for company at the moment. He slipped in through the kitchen and took the back stairs to his bedroom, hoping to avoid running into anyone before he could clean himself up.

He stripped off his clothes on his way to the bathroom, savoring the prospect of a long, hot shower. He realized that he hadn't cleaned himself since the night before, since he'd had Georgia in his arms, and for a moment, he imagined the phantom scent of her on his skin. He was suddenly jolted with lust. Every fantasy that he had worked so hard to push away came slamming back into his head. There was no holding them back. He stepped into the shower and gripped himself under the hot jets of water, pulsing with desire, helplessly reliving the way her silky skin had felt under his hands, the sound of her gasps and moans, the way she had writhed against his chest, urgently pressing her firm, full breasts against him. Imagining all he would have done if she had not stopped him, how her naked body would have looked in the moonlight, how he would have explored her every curve and secret shadow…until at last he braced himself against the tile and found explosive release, letting the water run down over him and rinse him clean.

Sebastian led as they picked their way up a brick path toward the entrance, breathing in the heady, burnt-sugar scent of the jasmine and magnolias that bloomed all around them. Everywhere Georgia's eyes fell there was something lovely to see. The sprawling white adobe house glowed warm and welcoming through dozens of mullioned windows. Towering live oaks dripping with Spanish moss were underplanted with billowing hibiscus and floodlit from beneath. They entered through a stone arch into a private courtyard surrounded by a mossy brick wall. A tiny chapel stood across from the main entrance, and in front of the chapel was a small, shallow pool, bubbling with water that barely glazed the brightly colored, intricately painted tiles within. Nothing as splashy as a fountain, Georgia noted.

The party was met at the entrance by a slight, elegant, and rather forbidding older woman, her face framed by two snowy streaks in her otherwise jet-black hair. There was an emerald the size of a robin's egg resting at her throat. Sebastian introduced her as his mother, Pilar.

She smiled coolly as she took Georgia's hand in her own light grasp. “Ah, you are the
señorita
who saved our
yegua
—our little mare.
Bienvenida.
I am very happy to meet you.”

She then turned her cheeks for Rory's kisses. She greeted Beau and Billy with the same easy welcome and then ushered everyone in before turning back to the door to meet more arriving guests.

Beau introduced Georgia to Cricket, a lush, platinum blond British girl who Georgia learned was an Olympic medalist in show jumping.

“Oh my God, I hate you!” was Cricket's opening remark. She paused long enough for Georgia to worry and then said deadpan, “You have the exact hair I've always wanted.”

“Cricket, you're ridiculous,” Rory said fondly.

Cricket took Georgia's arm and leaned in. Georgia thought she smelled like very expensive cotton candy. “I hear you're the hero of the day,” she said, her voice dropping intimately. “Pilar told me all about it, of course, but I'd love to hear your version of events.”

“Where were you anyway?” Sebastian asked. “Why weren't you at the game?”

“Being inducted into yet another Hall of Fame, darling,” she drawled.

The group made their way through an impressive great room and out onto the back terrace, where low planter's chairs looked out over the lush landscape. Georgia was handed a glass of delicious ice-cold wine beaded with condensation. Billy begged to see the gardens, and he and Beau ran off together. Sebastian and Rory were busy talking to other players about horses and plays, conversations, Georgia could tell, that tended to go on and on…and Cricket followed Pilar back to the kitchen.

For a blissful minute, Georgia was on her own, stretching her legs and curling her toes, feeling the breeze drift through her hair, smelling the magnolia blossoms, and listening to the ebb and flow of conversation from inside the house. She realized she was a little woozy from the club cocktails and having had nothing to eat since lunch. She lay back in her chair and closed her eyes. This had to be one of the most beautiful places she'd ever been, and she wouldn't at all mind falling asleep here.

“Tired?” a low voice said. Georgia jolted upright and almost gave herself whiplash, turning to find Alejandro standing in the doorway, a silhouette like the statue of David backlit by the lights of the house.

Damn it, Billy. So much for the whole “he never comes out of his room” routine.

“Sorry. God. Talk about making myself at home.” She got to her feet in what felt like a clumsy fluster.

He chuckled and stepped out of the shadows. “I'd say you've earned it.”

Alejandro was casual and elegant in jeans and a thin red T-shirt, which clung to the rigid contours of his muscular chest. Georgia felt her face flush and quickly looked away. “How—how is MacKenzie?”

“She's doing well,” he said. “Back in the barn by tomorrow, and the vet thinks back on the field by next season. Though, knowing that girl, she will be ready to ride by next month.”

Georgia frowned. “Oh, but you really shouldn't push her.”

He took a step closer to her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Don't worry,
Doctora
, I never push.”

He reached out and swept a stray curl from her cheek.

Georgia froze. She knew she should step back, leave, go find Billy, but she found herself rooted to the ground, staring up into his pale blue eyes.

“
Doctora
,” he murmured, “I've been thinking about you all day.”

Georgia's heart fluttered. “Me, too,” she admitted.

“Oh? What sort of thoughts?”

Georgia met his gaze. “Well, since you brought it up,” she whispered, “I think maybe you should tell me first.”

“I see.” He moved even closer. Her breath caught in her throat. “I've been thinking about doing this,” he said, and he placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her.

She gasped, willing herself to resist, but he brought her closer to him still, searching her lips with his, moving with agonizing leisure over her mouth, his tongue delicately flicking, until she relaxed and involuntarily parted her lips for him. She moaned as he twined his fingers into her hair, positioning her head so that he could probe deeper, rhythmically moving his tongue in and out in a way that filled Georgia with almost unbearable heat, that made her want to press herself fully against him, to feel every part of his hard body against her own. He broke the kiss and looked into her eyes, searching. “And what about you? Is that what you've been thinking about?”

She nodded, barely able to speak. “Some—something like that.”

“Show me,” he said roughly.

Georgia smiled and took a hesitant step forward—but suddenly the back door slammed open, and the lovely young woman she had seen in the tent stood in the doorway.

“Ugh, this party is lame. I'm heading out,” she said to Alejandro.

Georgia quickly stepped away from him, flooded with alarm at being caught.

Alejandro stood his ground and turned coolly toward the girl. He seemed more annoyed than anything. “You promised you'd stay at least a couple of hours.”

She pouted. “I'm bored!”

Georgia looked at her, disbelieving. Up close, this girl looked even younger than she had thought earlier. She could hardly be legal.

“Valentina,” said Alejandro, “now is not the time—”

“But Marcella wants to go clubbing and—”

“V—” He raked his hands through his hair and turned to Georgia. “I'm so sorry, Dr. Fellowes. This will only take a moment.”

Georgia stared at him, completely confused. How could he act so cool? Didn't he care at all that his girlfriend had almost caught them kissing? What kind of unfeeling jerk was he?

Valentina curled her lip at Georgia. “Yes, please do excuse us, Dr. Fellowes,” she said mockingly. “Apparently I need to be lectured.”

Alejandro clenched his jaw, and the color heightened in his cheeks. “That is quite enough, Valentina,” he bit out.

Georgia frowned. She didn't know what was going on between these two, but she knew she didn't want to be part of it. “You know what? I'm going to go. I never should have come. It was my mistake.”

Alejandro blinked at her in surprise. “Georgia—”

“I'll see you around,” and she left to find Billy.

G
eorgia pled sick and got Billy to drop her off at his house. He offered to stay, but she insisted that he go back to the party, and later on he texted her that he was going to spend the night at Beau's.

The next day, Georgia woke up early with a blinding headache so she swallowed some Advil, forced herself to eat a bagel, and then took a book and a giant pitcher of lemonade out to the pool and alternately read and swam and slept until her head stopped throbbing.

She was snoozing in the shade when she heard the toot of a horn to tell her Billy had returned. She opened the door to find him, freshly showered and skin happily flushed, holding a note he'd found beneath the door.

“For you. What's this? Georgia, have you been naughty? Ooh, which Del Campo brother did you mess with this time? Oh, no, wait, oh joy—was it both of them?”

“What is wrong with you?” she snapped, snatching the subtly expensive envelope out of his hand.

He seemed far too cheerful to be troubled by her cranky mood.

“What a night!” he said happily. “That party was off the hook. The longer it went, the wilder it got. The champagne just kept getting poured, and people were getting rowdier and rowdier, and at one point, Rory was making out with two girls at once—but then Pilar walked in and put a stop to that with just one well-arched eyebrow. Man, that lady is super fierce, right?”

Georgia shrugged. “I guess.”

“Oh, but she must have been in a terrible mood from the get-go, because right after you left, Alejandro and Valentina…Had. It. Out. Right there on the terrace. Yelling, screaming, exposing family secrets. It was crazy.”

Georgia looked away, not wanting to admit that she had been the cause of that fight. “Don't you think there's something wrong with a guy who has a girlfriend that young? I mean, what's he trying to prove?”

Billy made a weird face. “What girlfriend? Oh, wait, you mean Valentina? Ew. That's his daughter, Georgia. She's sixteen! What is wrong with you?”

Georgia stared at him for a moment. And suddenly, the last of her irritable hangover dropped away, and she felt a ludicrous, completely inappropriate swelling of hope. Oh God, that made so much more sense. He wasn't some authoritarian asshole with a taste for young girls; he was just a protective father with a bitchy teenage daughter. She laughed with relief, aware she probably seemed a little unhinged.

“You're weird, Fellowes.” Billy laughed. “But hey, who's the mystery note from anyway?

Georgia opened it and abruptly stopped laughing. She looked up at him, eyes wide, and said, “It's from Alejandro. He wants to meet for lunch at his club.”