Christmas Nights with the Polo Player. Susan Stephens
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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.
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