Nacho Figueras Presents (7 page)

W
hat, exactly, was she doing?
thought Georgia as she followed Alejandro onto the boat. No, not a boat—it was a yacht. It was much too big to be considered a plain old boat.

“
La Bonita Pilar
,” she read out loud as they boarded. “And who's Pilar?”

“
Mi mamá
,” said Alejandro. “My father bought this boat for her, but she hated it. She gets terribly seasick. So he mainly sailed alone.”

“Big boat to sail alone,” she said, impressed.

“Well, there's a crew, of course, when she's at sea.” He opened a cabin door. “Give me one moment to get things in order.”

As he ducked below deck, Georgia walked to the front of the boat, looking out at the view from the private dock. It was dark now, but the moon shone so bright that it eclipsed the stars. She could hear the waves softly lapping, smell the tang of salt on the velvety ocean breeze. It was unbelievable to imagine that she had been shivering in her cold upstate barn less than twenty-four hours before.

She took out her phone and sent Billy a quick text.
Um. I'm on a yacht with Alejandro Del Campo
, she wrote.

Her phone chimed an answer within seconds.
GET IT, GIRL
, she read. She smiled and rolled her eyes.

Suddenly she heard the snap and whir of a generator, and the boat lit up with soft, amber lights. Alejandro emerged, carrying a sweater, a tray of food, a bottle of wine tucked under one arm, and a bottle of San Pellegrino tucked under the other. “I thought we could sit up above,” he said, and he motioned to a small set of stairs.

She followed him up, and they emerged onto a snug little balcony with a built-in table and bench. The view was even better from up there, an endless expanse of dark water and sky, broken only by the warm reflection of the lights on the boat and the silvery, wavering rays of the moon, which had just begun to wane. He handed her the sweater, dark green cashmere that was so light and soft it felt woven from silken cobwebs.

“Sorry if it's a little big,” he said. “It's mine.”

She slipped it over her head and rolled up the sleeves, happy to finally cover her torn tank top. It smelled of something warm and spicy—a cologne that she didn't recognize—and under that, a scent she'd know anywhere—the sweet smell of hay. “Thank you,” she said.

“Please,” he said, “sit down.”

She sat on the cushioned bench, and he took the seat beside her. It was an intimate table built for two, so they were almost touching shoulder to shoulder. Georgia could feel the heat emanating from him. For a moment, she remembered the way he had stood so close to her in the tent, the way his breath was so warm on her neck. She shivered.

“Still cold?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, no. I'm fine.”

He offered her a plate, and she turned her attention to the tray on the table. There were fat purple plums and a hunk of blue-veined cheese, a selection of crackers and rolls, some tiny dark green olives glistening with olive oil, and pale pink slices of prosciutto. She looked at him in wonder. “All this was just sitting there, below deck?”

He shrugged, opening the bottle of wine. “As I said, there's a crew. It's always kept ready, just in case. Wine?”

She nodded and watched as he poured a glass full of golden liquid and handed it to her. He filled another glass with sparkling water.

“You're not having any?”

He shook his head, “I don't drink when I'm in training.”

She cocked her head at him. “I would think that you might make an exception, after the day you've had.”

He leaned back and sighed. “You know what? You're right.” He poured another glass of the wine, took a sip, and smiled. “Ah.”

Georgia filled her plate, suddenly realizing that she hadn't eaten anything since brunch that morning. “I'm starving,” she said to him as she took a big, juicy bite of a plum.

He laughed. “Apparently.”

She swallowed. “So, what happens when the game ends halfway through like that? Will you play that team again?”

His face darkened. “No, we forfeit.” He took another drink.

“Oh. I'm so sorry.”

“For what?”

“Well, if I hadn't decided to flop down onto the field like that, I suppose you might have won.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” He turned toward her. “If you hadn't come onto the field, I would have lost my favorite pony.” He put his hand on her wrist. “God, I haven't even thanked you yet. What you did was so brave, and I am so very grateful. I don't think I could have taken it if I'd lost MacKenzie.”

His eyes were the truest blue she'd ever seen, thought Georgia as she looked into his face. Beautiful against the dark tan of his skin. His mouth was almost as ripe and inviting as the plum she was eating. And his hand on her arm was causing her heart to beat triple time. She was absurdly glad for the shadows, hoping that they hid the flush that she knew stained her cheeks.

“I just did what anyone would do,” she said softly.

He squeezed her arm tighter. She caught her breath. “Not at all.” His voice was hoarse. “You saw what no one else saw, and you acted. You saved a life.”

She blinked. “No, really, I—”

And just like that, he leaned down, took her face in his hands, and kissed her.

Georgia had been kissed her fair share in life, but she had never been kissed like this before. This kiss was gentle and urgent, hard and soft at the same time. This kiss suffused her with warmth and sent crackling bolts of electricity all through her limbs. This kiss made her toes curl, and her breath catch in her throat. This kiss melted her to her very core and pulled her inexorably toward him. She reached one hand up and stroked his hair; it was like raw silk, slipping through her fingers. He made a low sound, almost a growl, and kissed her even deeper, parting her lips with a dart of his tongue and then entering to languorously explore. She tasted the wine he'd been drinking, and the salt on his lips. He pulled her closer, and she writhed up against him, locking her hands at the back of his head, pressing her breasts against his broad, hard chest. She could feel his heart beat, and it felt as wild as her own.

Suddenly, the image of the young, dark-haired woman she had seen him with earlier that day swam before her eyes. She wrenched herself away with a gasp. “I'm sorry,” she said, “but this is a bad idea.”

He looked at her face, his breath coming in short, hard pants. “No,” he said roughly. “No, it's not.” And he kissed her again. But this kiss was not gentle at all. This kiss was demanding and full of need, and she felt herself answer him, kissing him back with an urgency that untethered her. His hands slid through her hair and then roamed down her throat and it felt as if his fingers were trailing sparks wherever they touched her. He ran a finger over the bare skin at her chest, and then slipping his hands beneath the sweater, he cupped her breasts and gently rubbed her nipple with his thumb. A searing heat rocketed straight through her veins, making her arch and moan.

This time it was Alejandro who broke the kiss, taking her chin in his hand and looking into her face. His sky blue eyes were stormy now, his pupils dilated with desire. “Georgia,” he breathed, “my God.”

She wanted nothing so much as she wanted to kiss him again, to feel her body twined with his, to answer the raw need she saw in his face, but then she thought of the troubled way he had looked at the girl in the tent—his face so full of emotion—and she knew she didn't want to be some sort of fly-by-night substitute. She knew she better seize the moment and break away, that she was seconds from giving herself over completely and getting caught up in something all wrong. After all, she'd been cheated on before—she knew how terrible it felt—and she hated the idea of being complicit in some stranger's pain.

“I—I think we should get back to the clinic,” she said shakily. “MacKenzie should be out of surgery.”

He took a deep breath, took his hands off her, and sat back. His mouth tensed, and his eyes, which had been so alive with longing a moment before, slowly went cold, his professional mask descending again. “I'll call a car,” he said politely and took out his phone.

A
s much as she enjoyed Billy's folks, Georgia had been more than a little relieved when, after another hour with MacKenzie in the recovery room, she had finally arrived at their beach house and found that they were skiing in Aspen and she and Billy had the place to themselves. She could not have imagined standing there in her grass-stained clothes, knees still weak from Alejandro's kisses, and having to make polite and intelligent adult conversation. It was sweet relief to have Billy take one look at her, arch a perfect eyebrow, hand her a cup of hot tea heavily laced with whiskey, and then tuck her into the soft and fluffy guest-room bed.

She sat up for a minute, wanting to tell him about her strange night, but he gently pushed her back down.

“Now, Peaches,” he said as he smoothed back her hair, “you know I want to hear every little dirty detail of what happened, but you're so tired that I might as well be talking to your one-eyed donkey right now. So go ahead and sleep and you can tell me everything over mimosas in the morning.”

She'd slept into the afternoon and awoke to Billy standing by her bed, holding a cup of scorching hot coffee in each hand. “Scooch over,” he said, and climbed into bed with her. “Now, start from the beginning, and don't leave anything out.”

They had lingered in bed, laughing and talking, until they finished a whole pot of coffee and Billy had wrung almost every last detail out of her. Not wanting Billy to tease her about her excessive morality, she left out the part about ending the kiss because she thought Alejandro might have a girlfriend. Instead, she just said vaguely that things had “felt wrong somehow.”

Finally, Georgia declared she was starving, and Billy had shown her the huge, light-filled kitchen and told her to help herself while he took a shower.

Georgia munched on a croissant and took herself on a tour of the premises. The beach house was predictably incredible in the late afternoon light, modern and open, with floor-to-ceiling glass and a beautiful gray slate pool too tempting for Georgia to ignore.

She stuck her head back in the house and yelled, “Billy? I'm going to swim, okay?”

“Go right ahead, darling,” came the faint reply from upstairs as Georgia went to her room to dig out her suit.

After spending most of the night on a hard plastic chair at the emergency clinic, Alejandro made it back to the
hacienda
early that morning and had gone straight to bed, exhausted. He awoke hours later to a slight hangover and thoughts of Georgia. That woman exerted a terrible influence on him. An entire year of abstinence had been broken in one night. He hadn't been able to help himself. He'd been so twisted up over MacKenzie and the terrible memories of Olivia's accident, and then so grateful for Georgia's sweet, steady company, that he'd become sloppy and careless. She'd talked him into wine, though he didn't need much convincing, and they'd been sitting so close that when she had turned her bright face up toward him like some night-blooming flower, the moonlight reflecting in her hazel eyes, her red lips parted just so…he'd been overtaken by an absolutely unstoppable need to find out what she tasted like.

He stretched in his bed, thinking about that kiss, and felt himself getting achingly aroused all over again. Perhaps it was the fact he hadn't touched a woman in such a long time, but from the second his lips met hers, his body had been throbbing with a strength that shook him still.

He groaned and rolled out of bed. He did not have time for this. They had forfeited the game yesterday, so they were that much farther from the Del Campo Cup. He had to get to practice. The last thing he needed right now was to lose his focus. Thank God, he told himself as he pulled on his riding gear, that she'd had a cooler head than his, that she'd stopped things before they'd gone too far. Their return to the clinic had been excruciatingly awkward but at least professionalism had been restored. He pulled on his shirt, and the memory of her hands on the base of his neck, pulling him into an ever deeper kiss, welled up again. He felt his entire body tense and go hard. He shook his head violently, attempting to dislodge the vision. Damn it. This would not do. He needed to ride.

Alejandro drove to the barn and put himself through the paces for a good four-hour stretch, until he was soaked in sweat and felt barely able to walk. Still, no matter how hard he pushed himself, every time he closed his eyes, Georgia appeared before him—her mouth, her curls, her eyes, the curve of her breasts, the swell of her hips, her hands, her smile—it was maddening.

He was relieved to have a real distraction when Hendy showed up, waving him over to the side of the field.

“We need to talk,” said Hendy. Alejandro swung off his horse and started to lead the mare back to the stables. Hendy walked alongside him. “Considering what happened last night, I assume you have no objections to the fact that I fired Dr. Evan this morning, and I damn near fired Gustavo, too. They were both stinking drunk and totally incapacitated. It was a serious breach of their responsibilities.”

Alejandro fought a wave of irritation. He'd been preparing to do the same thing, but he'd hoped to find another vet first. Dr. Gustavo followed them up from Argentina every year and did not have a license to practice in the United States, so they needed an American vet to prescribe medications.

“It's late in the season to find a replacement,” said Alejandro.

“I know, but by God, we could hardly keep him on after we almost lost our best pony. We were just lucky that lady vet was there—what was her name again?”

“Georgia,” said Alejandro. “Georgia Fellowes.”

“Yes, that's right. A bit odd, eh? But obviously knows her stuff. You know anything else about her?”

I know that her mouth tastes like wine and plums. I know that when her skin touches mine, we burn together…

He shrugged. “I believe she's returning to New York in a few days.”

Hendy nodded. “Ah, too bad. Well, we'll have to put the call out. I swear, it was only out of respect for your father that I kept Gustavo on, but damned if I'll let him choose the next vet. We need to find someone capable, and we need to find them fast, my friend.”

“Agreed.”

Georgia dove into the pool. She and Billy had laughed about her adventures that morning, but with every length she swam, things started to feel more serious. She relived all the events of the night before, starting with her insane decision to jump onto the polo field, to what felt like her even more insane decision to kiss Alejandro on the boat, and ending with the note of cold fury with which he'd wished her good night when, satisfied MacKenzie would be all right, she finally left the clinic. Georgia was always conscientious to a fault, raking over every professional decision at the end of the day to be sure she had no regrets. But yesterday's situation ate at her way beyond that. She felt so exposed somehow and couldn't help doubting everything that had happened, professional and personal.

She hoped MacKenzie really was all right. She'd already checked her phone, half expecting a morning update, but there had been nothing. The surgeon had said that she'd made the right call, but she couldn't help worrying. She had acted so impetuously, and Dr. Gustavo had looked so horrified at her conduct. What if she'd gotten things wrong? What if there had been complications after she left, and the beautiful horse was maimed, or worse yet, dead?

She pushed herself under the water again, willing away the thought.
Enough.
She knew she'd been right. Her medical decisions were sound.

But the rest of it. Alejandro…

The man was ridiculously beautiful and the way he had kissed her—no wonder he got under her skin. He was also unforgivably presumptuous. No doubt he was used to any number of women simply throwing themselves at him. No doubt he assumed that she didn't know about his young girlfriend or that, even if she did, she wouldn't care. Well, fine. It was merely a kiss, after all. Well, a kiss or two. And, she told herself sternly, it had practically ended before it began.

She climbed out of the pool, and Billy called out from the kitchen that they would go out later tonight. A quick glimpse of her pale and hairy legs sent her straight to her glorious guest bathroom for some serious damage control. Half an hour later, legs smooth, razor blunted, she slipped into one of Billy's hotel-cozy robes and gladly accepted the mojito he handed her.

While Billy lounged by the pool, Georgia gave her dad a quick call. She'd sent him a text from the airport when she landed yesterday, but she knew he would be uneasy until he heard her voice.

Sam was with him. They were chatting about farm taxes, her dad said, but from the sound of his half-jocular, half-bellicose tone, it actually sounded to Georgia as if they were a good six-pack in. Georgia shook her head at her own hypocrisy. It was late in the afternoon, and here she was, after all, enjoying her own glass of rum and lime, but there was something about the forced mirth of her father when he was drinking that she found hard to take. Sam was talking over her dad, the two of them laughing and sharing inside jokes. Her dad always seemed to have more in common with Sam than she did. She tried to cut the conversation short with a breezy promise to call tomorrow.

“Just you hold on,” her dad said. “Sam's got an idea. He wants to set you up in business in the space below his offices in town. You can work off the rent. Says he'd much rather have a tenant he likes. He wants to invest in you.”

“I know,” she said. “Sam and I talked about this earlier, but I'm not sure. I need to think about—”

“What's to think about?” her dad said, a little bit belligerent from the alcohol. “You'll be your own boss from the get-go, not saddled by an overhead over which you have no control.”

“Yes, Dad, I'm sure you're right. But I don't know if—”

“It's a generous offer, Georgia. Don't disrespect it. Sam's a good man. It's what you don't do that you regret.”

She bit her lip, wondering what it was they were really talking about here. She knew her father would like nothing better than to see her settled nearby and couldn't help being a bit dismayed that, despite full knowledge of Sam's betrayal, he still acted as if Sam were the best she'd ever do.

“We'll discuss it when I get home, okay?”

She eased off the phone and looked over at Billy, who was not even trying to pretend he hadn't heard the whole conversation.

“That sounded fun,” he said.

She sighed and closed her eyes for a minute. “We're not going to talk about that. I'm right here, right now. So”—she opened her eyes brightly—“what's a girl to do in Wellington? Just keep me off the boats and well away from the elder Del Campo brother.”

Billy laughed. “Not a problem. The man never goes out, from what I hear. He's basically a monk. Anyway, first, we need to get you dressed. And no offense, but I know you, Fellowes, and I happen to know that the only dress you own is probably that sad little polyester number you wore at graduation. So I pulled in a few samples. It may look like overkill. But the thing you have to know about Wellington is that every night's prom night…”

Thanks to the bounty of freebies from Billy's stylist friends, Georgia's bedroom was soon an explosion of tissue paper and sparkling sequins and strappy heels. The suitcase containing her stained gold dress sat ignored to one side while Billy plied her with Prosecco and an assortment of outfits with the price tags still attached.

She tried on a sweeping silk maxi-dress the bright green of a parrot's wing. Billy shook his head and called for more leg. “Why would you cover those gorgeous things up?”

She wiggled into a short black Versace dress and stepped into a pair of six-inch pumps. Billy whistled. “That's better. You look like a high-class hooker! And I mean that in an entirely good way!”

Georgia took that dress off quickly.

It was like a Hollywood movie montage. Georgia tried on dress after dress while Billy made her bandy about horse terminology to amuse him.

“Wait, so what part's the gaskin again?” He giggled. He managed to make everything sound dirty.

There was only so much looking in a mirror Georgia could stand so she finally settled on an inky blue Calvin Klein slip dress with silver sandals. (“Sexy but not slutty,” pronounced Billy. “Not that there's anything wrong with slutty.”) She considered putting on the pendant that Sam had given her, but then hesitated and decided to leave her neck bare.

Billy looked immaculate in his uniform of never-before-worn white V-neck tee, fitted gray Armani jacket, and perfectly cut jeans.

Another mojito while Georgia painted her toes, and they were good and ready to go.

Wellington was a scene. Sleek Italian cars cruised under a picture-perfect Florida sunset, every restaurant teeming with people spilling out onto the gorgeously landscaped streets. Women struck poses in heels and showed off their whitest whites against sun-kissed, perfectly toned skin.

They pulled up to a nightclub, and Billy handed his car over to the valet. Georgia looked at the long line snaking around the corner and seeing the crowd gave her a sudden flash of paranoia. What if she were to go in and they told her she'd been wrong? What if the poor, priceless pony had been ruined and it was all her fault?

Her stomach churned with fear on seeing Sebastian rushing up the street toward them. She held her breath, for a minute thinking he was coming at her in anger, but he was running toward her only to sweep her up into a bone-cracking hug. “
Señorita
Fellowes!” he said, smiling. “Our genius lady vet!”

He introduced Georgia to Hendy. “This is Lord Henderson, our
patrón
. He is also in your debt.”

Georgia looked at him, not understanding the term “
patrón
,” and Lord Henderson smiled under his salt-and-pepper mustache. “A
patrón
pays to play, my dear. I bankroll half the team's costs, and in return, they put up with me on the field. A bit like owning a basketball team, except that they actually let me onto the court.”