Nacho Figueras Presents (21 page)

T
he day of the championship finally arrived, significant not just because it was the closing season match but because Alejandro and Sebastian would be playing in honor of their father.

Georgia had never dreamed she'd have become so invested in the team's success. She found herself feeling ridiculously superstitious, rooting out her lucky underwear before starting the day.

Checking and rechecking the ponies for play and preparing the emergency medical bag, Georgia couldn't help comparing the experience with the first polo match she'd attended.

It was much more interesting now that she knew something about the game, but also so much more nerve-racking, knowing how many things could go wrong in any moment, especially since she had come to know and care so immensely for the players and ponies themselves. As the final match of the season, today would also mean she'd pretty much reached the end of her work in Wellington, and with that realization went a whole world of feeling she couldn't even begin to admit.

Alejandro, Sebastian, Hendy, and Rory stood for a last photograph in their pristine boots, white jeans, and form-fitting team shirts. Sebastian and Rory gave interviews and flashed dazzling smiles while Hendy and Alejandro made the pony line list.

The barn was like an engine, every piece tuned and thrumming with activity. While loading the ponies, in a last-bid effort to appease the implacable Gustavo, Georgia told him she'd be needing him to take the lead since this game was so important and the match was at a new field, one that Georgia had never been to before.

“I'll go on ahead so I'm there as the ponies are unloaded,” he agreed. “You stay here to see the last trailer and groom on their way and then I'll send back my car for you.”

Georgia did as she was told. Standing in the barn as the last vehicle rode out, she felt oddly abandoned. Every groom who could be spared was watching from the public pavilion.

Waiting impatiently for Gustavo's car to return, Georgia straightened her clothes and retied her hair. Then she checked on Sugar, who seemed still a comfortable distance from delivery, and affectionately scratched Tango's neck. “Bet you wish you could be out there today, huh, Old Timer?”

It was ten to one before she realized Gus wasn't sending the car, that he had deliberately sabotaged her chances of making it to the match in time. She was less angry with him than herself, for being such a stupid, trusting fool and as a result failing her last test.

She had been so content to be part of the team she hadn't even found out the destination. She had no directions, let alone passes for entrance.

For a fleeting second, it occurred to her to give up, to stay right there with Sugar and Tango and let Gus take all the credit. But she'd worked all season for the high point of this match, and she wasn't going to miss it.

She searched her phone for the event, noted the address, and grabbed her little scooter. All the way down the drive, she was still waiting for Google maps to kick in and it wouldn't.

She had the Vespa on the highway, totally illegally, feed trucks blaring past, while her stupid phone kept freezing and pinwheeling and refusing to behave.

She pulled into the hard shoulder while vehicles kept rushing by. There was no one she could call at the field apart from Gus, who refused to pick up.

Finally in a panic, she tried her father, willing him to answer. It took forever to get him to understand what she needed and to spell out the name of the event. And it felt like an eternity in which he waited for his laptop to power on and the dial-up modem to kick in. He kept asking her maddening questions about how she could have managed to get herself lost today of all days. She told him she'd been deliberately undermined by her superior but realized she sounded like some demented, paranoid character and at that point just tried not to weep.

Buzzing at last in the right direction off the highway, she thought of her giddy happiness after her riding lesson, all the pride she'd taken recently in her work in the barn and wondered if this was all some big cosmic plot to instill humility. She pulled into the parking lot and ran for the match.

Gustavo, with a smug half grin on his face, greeted her loudly. “Ah,
Señorita
Fellowes, I was starting to worry about you. The game is all but over.”

Georgia gritted her teeth and tried to keep her voice calm. “I thought we agreed that you'd send the car back?”

Gus shook his head and shrugged. “No, no—you said you'd take your little Vespa, I'm sure of it.”

He smirked at her, insufferable with the success of his scheme.

Georgia fought down the urge to smack the man. “Fine,” she said at last. “When are the next ponies going in? I'll give them the last-minute check.”

“Already done,” said Gus. “Really, there's nothing left for you to do but cheer the team on.”

Georgia seethed as he walked away, laughing. She had tried and tried with this man but there was no getting around it; he was determined to undermine her—and humiliate her—any chance he got.

But he was right. Barring an emergency, there was little left for her to do. The team was already changing out their ponies for the last time, and when Georgia tried to enter the pen to check the spent horses, Gustavo made an ostentatious show of waving her off and making it clear that he had it under control.

Beyond frustrated, Georgia felt ridiculous tears spring to her eyes. She had just dashed them away when Cricket clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Where have you been, chick? Everyone was wondering.”

Georgia shook her head. “Got lost,” she muttered.

“Oh well, looks like Gus held down the fort for you anyway. Can you believe they're actually going to win this thing? It's in the bag!”

For the first time, Georgia looked out onto the field. The ponies were thundering down the turf. Alejandro looked and clearly felt magnificent—all his certainty and command were back. Galloping toward the goal, ducking and diving the defense, he was blocked on every side until suddenly in a break of brilliance he was whizzing around everyone on the pitch and powering all the way to get his goal. The crowd rose as one, and La Victoria, to the man, all had huge, glorious grins on their faces.

Cricket laughed. “I haven't seen Jandro this happy for years.”

She was right, thought Georgia, as she applauded, watching Alejandro and Temper joyfully gallop across the field. Alejandro looked like he had dropped twenty years and a ton of sorrow.

The last horn blew, and the Del Campo brothers whooped and threw their arms up in victory.

“I better get over there,” said Georgia as the players rode off field, their helmets raised up in the air.

Cricket followed her.

Alejandro rode over to shake the hand of the other team captain and then cantered toward the pony lines and swung off Temper, handing off the reins to a stable boy. Georgia, entering through the gate, smiled and raised a fist in victory for him. His eyes met hers, and then in one swift moment, she was off her feet and in his arms, folded into a hug as warm and joyous as anything she'd ever felt.

“We did it!” he crowed, swinging her around.

Georgia laughed out loud as her feet found the ground again, but his arms didn't let go. He looked down at her, still grinning, and their eyes locked. Suddenly his smile softened, and Georgia felt her breath catch in her throat.

“
Papá!
” Valentina yelped and crashed into him, wildly hugging him from behind. “
Ganamos!
We won!”

Alejandro turned around, laughing, and embraced his daughter. “
Sí, mi princesa! Ganamos!
”

Hendy was there to shake Georgia's hand. “I'm so sorry—” she began.

He shook his head. “Tsk. I heard you got lost. Think nothing of it. We missed you today, but you've been a wonderful asset to the team, my dear.”

Georgia took a step back, trying to smile, until Valentina, too, came to hug her in delight.

Next to her, Cricket raised an eyebrow. “Poor Georgia,” she drawled, “you'll miss all this.”

B
ut you have to come, Georgia!” pleaded Valentina. “Everyone will be there!”

“V, you don't understand this because you are still young and nubile,” said Georgia as she and Valentina sat dipping their toes in the pool, “but for most people, the prospect of spending the evening in the company of others wearing nothing but a swimsuit is not a very appealing one.”

Valentina rolled her eyes. “I've seen you in your swimsuit. You look fine. Not too shabby for such an old lady.”

Georgia snorted and splashed Valentina with her foot. “What a nasty child you are,” she said, laughing.

“Anyway, put on a sarong and suck it up. This is a huge win for La Victoria, and we've got to celebrate!”

This is ridiculous
, thought Georgia, as she stepped off her scooter wearing her bikini, a sarong, and high-heeled sandals, along with the cherry red helmet that had been given to her when she took possession of the bike. I might as well be naked with a bucket on my head.

But once she ducked through the club and found the terrace, open to the beach, she realized that she was overdressed, if anything. Women strutted by wearing nothing but mere patches of fabric, the tiniest triangles hovering over their toned and perfect asses and silicone-enhanced breasts. The men were scarcely less shameless, wearing nothing but shorts and showing off their muscled and tanned bare chests.

“Oh darling,” said Cricket as she slipped in next to her, “don't you look cute? I thought that suit was just for bashing around the house, but you're totally pulling it off.”

Cricket was wearing a gold lamé one-piece that plunged down past her belly button in the front and danced just above the crack of her ass in the back. And yet, thought Georgia, with her fashionably small chest and narrow hips, she still looked more classy than trashy. There really was no look this woman didn't rock.

Cricket toyed with a long, gold chain around her neck. “I'm glad you decided to come—despite the whole showing up late fiasco today. I'm sure no one really noticed, though, right?”

Georgia frowned. She didn't want to sound like a whining child and throw the blame on Gustavo, but still…“It wasn't my—” she began, but Cricket had already lost interest. Seeing Alejandro's approach, she made a busy display of flirting with the nearest financier.

Suddenly Alejandro was standing in front of Georgia, bare chested, with a drink in one hand and a pair of board shorts hanging below the vee of his well-defined abs. Georgia was reminded of that first night at the pool and felt her breath leave her body.

“
Buenas noches
, ladies.” He smiled. “You both look lovely.” His pleasure in winning today still seemed to radiate from him. He was loose and relaxed and maybe a little drunk. He seemed to be enjoying himself in a way that Georgia had never seen before.

In the background, a salsa band started playing. Alejandro's smile got even wider.
Definitely a little drunk
, she thought.

“Come on,” he said, putting down his drink and grabbing Georgia's hand. “Let's dance.”

Before she had time to protest, they were out on the deck, Georgia stumbling as her heel caught in a slat.

“Stay still,” said Alejandro.

“What?”

He knelt down at her feet and unhooked her shoe, his hand brushing over her ankle and then lingering on her instep for a moment. Georgia felt her entire body enflame.

“Now the other.”

She obediently lifted her other foot for him. He removed that shoe as well, grinning up at her devilishly.

“You can't dance in the sand in shoes,” he said, leading her away from the dance floor and into the shadows of the beach.

Good God
, thought Georgia,
who
is
this man?
Where was the carefully guarded and disciplined boss she thought she knew?

Alejandro tossed her heels over his shoulder and took her in his arms. “I can't remember the last time I danced,” he murmured.

“Me neither,” admitted Georgia, thinking to herself, actually, she couldn't ever remember dancing quite like this.

Alejandro pulled her closer. He smelled like the sea and good whiskey, with just the faintest trace of sweet hay. Georgia closed her eyes and let him lead her.

Once upon a time, thought Alejandro, he had been as comfortable dancing as he was on a horse. Why had he ever stopped?

Because there had been no one he'd wanted to dance with…Not until now.

He looked down at the top of Georgia's head, fighting the urge to lay a kiss on her sun-gilded curls. He felt the bare, warm skin at the small of her back, tightened his grip on her hand, took a step, and pressed himself against her, closing what little space remained between their bodies. He heard her gasp as their flesh met, felt himself throb in response, felt the firm softness of her breasts pressing against his chest, the silken feel of her skin, the unbelievable heat generated between them.

“I'm—I'm sorry about being late today,” Georgia suddenly choked out.

He frowned and shook his head, not wanting to think about work in this moment, wanting to lay all that aside for once. The season was over. He'd had a few drinks already—everyone was always eager to buy a drink for the winners—and he figured it was okay, just tonight, to stop worrying about what everyone thought, to push away his responsibilities. To do what felt good, not necessarily what was right.

“Don't worry about it,” he said. “It could happen to anyone. Gustavo took care of things.”

He felt her stiffen in his arms, take a step back from him, and peer up into his face.

“That's the thing,” she said. “I wouldn't want you to think I was so irresponsible as to not—”

“Jandro,” came Cricket's husky voice, “I'm sorry to cut in, darlings, but you know, there's that thing we should get to.”

He blinked. “What thing?”

“Oh, that pesky little party I've been telling you about. Dimitri Angelis will be there. You know, the shipping titan Hendy's been trying to fix you up with for ages?”

Georgia let go of his hand and stepped out of his arms. Alejandro suddenly felt cold and exposed. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. Of course. Hook a sponsor while victory was warm.

“Sorry, Georgia, we'd invite you along—but it's a delicate conversation—finance at this level—and we wouldn't want to do anything to endanger the business aspect of things.” Cricket fluttered her hand. “You understand, don't you? Too many hangers-on come along and we might look like amateurs.”

“Yes, of course,” said Georgia. “I—I was just going home anyway. It's been a long day.” She smiled at Alejandro. “Thank you for the dance.”

He smiled back. “My pleasure,
querida
.”

“Don't forget your shoes, darling,” said Cricket as she slid her arm through Alejandro's. “I'll drive, Jandro. You are obviously not quite yourself.”

Georgia watched them walk back up the steps to the terrace, arm in arm, to be greeted by an impatient Hendy. They looked so right together. Cricket's silky blond head leaning against his shoulder, their skin nearly the same lovely dark gold color. You could hardly look at them without thinking,
Meant-to-be
.

Georgia sat down on a log, reaching for her discarded shoes. Cricket was right, of course. Alejandro had clearly had a few too many. She could have been anyone on that dance floor. He probably wouldn't even remember it in the morning. And all the better if he didn't. She flushed, remembering the scent of him, the way he had pressed up against her, his skin on hers…

He might not remember. But it would take more than a few drinks to make her forget.