Christmas Nights with the Polo Player. Susan Stephens
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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