The Polo Prince (Foxworth Stud Ranch Book 4)

by Mia Madison

  “Come here. Don Quick needs to be groomed.”

  She looks all around like she expects someone else to take care of it. Then she slowly gets up from the ground and walks across the field. I can’t take my fucking eyes off her. The slow sway of her hips as she steps daintily, leading her horse calmly along with her. Her round tits bob gently, the weight of them making my cock unfurl hungrily.

  Jesus, it’s been too long. I have to get out of here and back to civilization – soon.

  3

  Violet

  I don't know who the bossy guy is but he sure likes to shout out orders. He also doesn't seem to understand the basics of gender. Naming a female horse Don Quixote is odd. I’m guessing he must be the owner here or maybe the owner’s son. Except there’s that foreign sounding accent that would seem to suggest he’s not from anywhere around here. But whoever he is, his commanding stance has me leaping to my feet to do as he says.

  There’s also the small matter of him being absolutely the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. My skin prickles along the lining of every limb and it feels like confetti cannons are firing in my tummy the closer I get to him.

  And he doesn't seem to know I exist. He watches me halfway across the field and then abruptly looks away to start fiddling with his horse’s bridle even though I’m pretty sure there’s nothing wrong with it.

  The closer I come to him, the faster my heart starts palpitating. To the point that I have to struggle to inhale a breath even though the sky is wide open.

  It’s a big field and I forgot all about Freesia, which I’m not meant to do. Caring for the horse is my task. It reminds me of the school project we had once of looking after an egg for a week. You couldn't just put it in a bag and forget about it. It was a raw egg and likely to crack. This was to teach us about looking after a baby – or anyone more vulnerable than our self-absorbed selves.

  I dash back and take Freesia’s reins to lead her with me. At first she tugs back on me, refusing to come. I get more insistent with her, pulling her firmly enough to show her who’s the boss.

  “Damn, I’m as controlling as the guy in the skintight pants,” I admit to her. The horse eyes me with her huge moon eyes and nods her head, almost as though she understands me.

  “Sorry. I don’t know what it is, but that dude makes me nervous.”

  Freesia does one of her little pointy toe dances and lets out a fart noise through flaring nostrils that makes me laugh out loud.

  “Okay, let’s try this again,” I tell her, leading her with less urgent force now.

  This time she comes along without resistance and we walk easily across the paddock until I come close enough to the boss to start trembling. “This is ridiculous,” I whisper from the side of my mouth to the horse. She rewards me with another lip fart so that when I arrive in front of His Lordship, I’m cracking a huge smile and my nervousness has receded a little. Enough that I can face him without quaking in my boots.

  Did I mention the guy is rocking skintight white pants and knee-high black leather boots that some poor menial has polished to a mirror shine. I can guarantee you that that Dude didn’t take care of that himself.

  “What’s so funny?” he snaps at me.

  He sets his feet apart, giving him an authoritarian stance that would be comical if he wasn’t so freaking sexy. His hair is somehow loosely unkempt but styled at the same time. All I want to do is run my fingers through its glossiness and I don't even like this guy.

  But I do want to touch him. His thick thighs are flexing taut in the tight fabric that sculpts every hard tendon like a Renaissance statue. And to complete the Roman effect, his nose has the patrician length of an emperor, offset by full lips like a pair of dark red pillows I could sink into.

  Every word he speaks from that mouth makes those lips curl in a way that makes all the wrong parts of me heat up and demand something they’ve never even thought of until now. He’s not long shaven but he’s already rocking a five o'clock shadow effect on his chiseled jaw and around those provocative lips.

  All in all he’s a total package of manhood that no woman could hold shields up against. And speaking of the package. Barely covered by the untucked yellow polo he manages to make seem incredibly masculine, that too is impossible to ignore, pressing huge against his tight pants.

  He’s staring at me, his dark eyes stripping me bare and I realize he’s waiting for an answer.

  “Oh nothing. Just a private joke.”

  “With your horse?” he barks.

  He must think I really am the crazy lady, here for a last ditch attempt at some alternative therapy. I’m supposed to bond with the horse not engage in girly chats. Freesia beside me stamps one shoe into the grit and suddenly I decide I’m not going to cower in front of this asshat like he clearly wants me to. Like I always do in front of most people, power mad asshats or otherwise.

  “Yes with Freesia,” I say. “We’ve become quite good friends the last few days.”

  “I have long chats with Acropolis, my horse. Back home,” he admits, chilling suddenly and looking wistful for home. Wherever that is. “It’s very calming but don't tell anyone that. It’s a secret I’ve never shared before.”

  All the arrogance drops from the Lord’s features then and he softens his gaze on me. He’s almost human for a moment. A real man, not a perfect god towering above the rest of us mortals. Then he remembers his position and hardens up again.

  “Still, you’re supposed to be available when I need you.”

  “Am I?” I say, more forcefully than I meant to. “I didn’t know that was part of the requirement here.” He startles at the comeback and I doubt he’s used to anyone answering back with much more than a ‘yes sir’.

  “It is,” he growls, his accent making it sound rougher and a whole lot of decadent. “You are required to do everything I say.”

  I’m sure this guy could make ordering breakfast sound filthy. And all these things are thoughts I’ve never once had about a man. I once dated a nerdy guy I dug up on a dating site when Shelley insisted I had to put myself out there just once. Just try it she said. I tried it and I didn't like it.

  And I right away went back to staying home with books and dark chocolate bars and not having to explain myself to another living soul. Living the same way as I’ve done since I was sixteen years old. The only way I can get through each day as it comes.

  “Violet.” A voice from a long way off calls my name. Or it seems like its coming from far away but in fact Dallyce is just emerging from the ranch house, looking for me.

  “Violent is your name?” bossy dude asks, his lips plumping and shifting into a seductive smirk.

  “Violet, not violent,” I say. Freesia again starts to dance around, mirroring the tingles in my legs that make me want to hip hop from foot to foot to loosen them.

  “Ah Violetta,” he purrs, his voice as gravelly as the grit under his huge black boots.

  “Violet, I’m sorry I was gone so long,” Dallyce comes running up, out of breath. “The wedding party arrived early and there was a stampede over the rooms, then they ordered an outdoor cook out tonight. Anyway, I’m here. Um. I’m sorry Signor della Donna, spa guests are guaranteed privacy,” she informs him. “I’ll have to take Violet away.”

  “A cook out?” the della Donna guy asks as Dallyce and I walk away with Freesia between us.

  I swear it’s like he’s trying to restrain us and keep us from leaving. While on the other side, Dallyce seems anxious to get me away from him. I’m starting to feel like the mad woman sequestered from the normal humans. “Is that for the staff also?”

  “Yes, you’re welcome to attend,” Dallyce throws back over her shoulder, joking.

  “I will fire up the parilla,” he quips.

  “The what?” she shouts, not stopping, like she’s not falling for any tricks. I can imagine her as a tough little mommy with her kids, if or when she has any.

  “The parilla – the barbecue pit. It is the man’s job and I am the
best at it. It is our Argentine way.”

  “Well, um, I guess you can help Shea and Abel with the fire. They usually have charge of all that,” Dallyce tells him. He hasn't once taken his eyes off me even when talking to her. I’d have thought Dallyce was more his style, the blond cheerleader look whereas I must look very ordinary to him.

  “See you later Violent,” he husks.

  “Oh no, Violet will be -” Dallyce begins

  “Later,” I say in a determined tone, surprising myself for the umpteenth time today.

  4

  Diego

  Did I say that?

  No.

  I just managed to restrain myself from saying, ‘Don’t go’ and making a big girly fool of myself by begging a woman to stay. I watch the two women walk away from me, leading the horse back to the stable. I’m in a kind of mesmerized stupor. And there’s a tug in my abdomen like I’m being led by a set of leather reins, dragging me along behind the girl I’m dying to know more of.

  Violet. Violetta.

  Like the color of her eyes which seem to shade from a new morning blue at the top, down through all the shades to violet at the bottom edge. The most fascinating eyes I’ve ever met. Filled with a kind of sadness.

  I don’t usually get off on moaning misery women. Coming from a city with the highest number of shrinks per capita anywhere in the world, I’m glad to escape all that as much as possible during polo season. I get to fly around the world, riding the best horses in a match, being photographed for all my luxury endorsements alongside the most beautiful models in the world.

  It makes for fabulous parties, thrown by billionaires at their mansions and on yachts in the Med. Well, usually thrown by their wives, who also are eager to bed the famous polo player. Polo is the sport of royalty so there are always a few playboy princes trying to steal my thunder. Good luck with that, because none of them have my good looks. The kind that set women shaking when they see me

  I can see it in their faces, their bodies, even if they try to act cool and disguise it. The little pop of the eyes as they take in my patrician features and then check out the six one height of lean muscle. The little flush at the cheekbones as desire gushes through them. Finally the telltale hardening of nipples and reaching for another glass of champagne.

  But Violet skipped through all the tells.

  Oh, her body was trembling alright. I could see she was shaken by me. But she didn’t display the usual lascivious hunger rising up in her face and body. She seemed thoughtful, intrigued even. Like I’m some kind of specimen she was doing research on. Those incredible eyes were filled with genuine interest, but also a tinge of fear which normally I like but in Violet’s case I suddenly wanted to shield her. I wanted to assure her I wasn’t going to hurt her.

  “Jesus, what the fuck am I going on about?”

  She’s a woman, same as all the rest. I’m making her out to be something special, like one of my prize polo ponies. She’s just a woman.

  “And goddamn, she left me to take care of my own horse.”

  I remount the Don and ride her across the yard to the stables. I’m not about to walk her, leading her like some groom.

  Violet and the other girl, the blond, aren’t in the stalls. But two of the gauchos, the ranch hands are, unsaddling their mounts.

  “Did you see the two women come back in with the Peruvian?” I ask.

  They look up at me like I’m some alien being just landed from Outer Space. Then look at each other in silent sharing so I wonder whether they’re too much of a pair of yokels to even understand the English I learned at a British boarding school.

  “Are you referring to my wife, Dallyce?” The bigger of the two finally replies with a snarl.

  If he was my hired hand he’d be out on his ear for speaking like that.

  “I’m not familiar with the relationships on this ranch,” I tell him. “I only need the stable girls to take my horse when I come in.”

  “You must be dreaming, Dude,” the other one says. “No stable girls at Foxworth.

  “Dallyce is a counselor for the equine spa,” the first tells me. “And the woman she’s with is a client here. Definitely not a hand.”

  “Mierda,” I mutter.

  I realize how I must look like the most arrogant stuck up twat these two have ever laid eyes on. Plus Violet must hate me for the way I spoke to her the first time I saw her in the stables. Why didn’t she say something instead of allowing me to run my mouth off telling her what to do?

  “Things are done differently here, ain’t that right, Shea?” one of the cowboys says. They aren't remotely intimidated by me as the men are at home, all bowing and heads down when I walk by.

  “Un-huh,” the one called Shea nods. “We look after our own horses here. But you got somewhere urgent to be, I can tell Giddings to take your pony for you.”

  “That’s okay, I can manage it,” I say as I unbuckle and pull the saddle off Don Quixote’s high back. She’s hardly a pony.

  “You need help with the cook out tonight. We Argentines are best in the world at grilling meat.”

  “I reckon we can manage that,” the smart ass one says. “We may not be the best in the world but we know how to handle our meat.”

  They laugh together, assuming the foreigner won’t get the meaning. The cowboys watch my every move. Like they’re waiting on me to fall flat on my face in the mud. Well they can forget that. I was born in the saddle. I may have started playing polo at the age of seven but my father made me learn every single thing about dealing with horses up until that point. And we have over a hundred thousand head of cattle on the estancia so I’m quite accustomed to managing a herd.

  “We’re going to need to hire some more expert grooms around here,” I inform them and notice an exchange of glances.

  That got them thinking. Wondering why and how come I’m making decisions. I can’t resist pressing all their buttons.

  “And then when Chloe and I are married there will of course be some major changes.”

  Fucking awesome.

  Their mouths drop to the floor like a pair of atom bombs released from the fuselage. I finish smoothing down Don and at last, my own grooms appear from wherever they went after breakfast.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” I ask them in Castellano, our own language.

  Just as I thought by the smug grins, Flavio informs me that they were detained with the arrival of the group of bridesmaids.

  “We had to help the ladies carry their bags.”

  “That isn’t your job,” I snarl.

  “No, but it meant we got to manage the assignment of the bedrooms,” Nacho smirks.

  “Jeezus. Get on with it now then.” I leave my grooms to finish the job with Don – both of them attending to my one horse.

  I stride away, laving them to their labor but feel strangely unsatisfied by the exchange. The cowboys may not be the usual elite I hang with but I can tell they're genuine guys. I don’t want to get into a pissing match with them. I even admire them. The way they seem to stick by their women and love them intently. The way the big one, Shea, immediately stood up for his girl was impressive.

  Then the girl, Violet, floats into my head. Or rather ramraids into it, like she doesn't ever want to leave. Or like I don’t want her to. Just like I didn't want her to walk away.

  I wish she hadn’t been taken off by the cowboy’s cheerleader. I lost the chance to find out more about her. Why her eyes are filled with the most deeply ingrained sorrow that she’s trying to keep hidden from the world outside.

  And my thoughts then move to her perfect body. And how I'd like to be deeply engrossed in fucking her sweet pussy, riding her hard until she screamed out my name. There’s something bizarre about this ranch. It gets under your skin and changes the ideas you hold normal. Either that or it’s so fucking far from civilization that a man gets stir crazy and ready to drop into insane thoughts about women he’d never usually look twice at.

  Perhaps the best thing f
or me would be to stick with what I know and join my groomsmen in fucking some slutty bridesmaids.

  5

  Violet

  I know who he is, of course. One quick look at google reminds me that he’s one of the top ten polo players in the world. I’m no expert on that sport. It seems like an elite game for the aristocracy. But Diego della Donna is also famous for a ton of perfume ads, and one for the swanky watch I can barely pronounce the name of that I know costs more than your average mid-size family vehicle.

  And of course, how did I forget about the car commercials. He’s done a bunch of them, all where he’s driving through the night, across deserts or mountain switchbacks, chasing after the girl. Except he’s talking to himself and you realize he loves the car even more than the woman. I can imagine Signor della Donna being like that for real.

  “Sorry about that,” Dallyce says. “As soon as we finish with construction of the new stables on the other side of the property, Spa clients will be entirely separate from the rest of the ranch.”

  “Oh, it’s okay,” I tell her, shrugging my shoulders.

  “He seems like a real handful but he sure is easy on the eye.”

  “Are you allowed to say that?” I ask, flicking my head at the beautiful engagement ring on her finger.

  “I can look, can’t I?” she laughs. “Shea’s the only man in the world for me but life’s gonna get pretty boring if I can’t have idle fantasies.”

  “What’s he doing here at Foxworth?” I ask casually, trying not to indicate too much interest that might get Dallyce wondering and talking.

  Her boss may then discuss my sudden arousal with my therapist Shelly back home.

  “I’m not sure exactly but he’s doing some deal with Chloe, the owner’s daughter. She’s our age but she’s making the ranch into a major business concern. It’s so inspiring how focused she is. Plus she’s created employment for me and two other girls so far. Great jobs with a future.”