The Heart Of The Game

by Pamela Aares

  Cody brushed at a crumb she had missed. She’d tried not to stare at his hands during lunch, but she couldn’t help but compare his broad palms and strong fingers to Vico’s tapered, manicured ones. She wanted to touch Cody’s hands, to feel them on her body.

  “Alex overestimates my abilities.” Cody tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, hooking his thumbs at the edges.

  She looked lower.

  American men had a way of wearing jeans so that they hugged every part of their lower bodies. Cody’s hugged a part of him she couldn’t believe she was staring at. Heat rose in her cheeks and spread, tracking a path to her belly.

  She snapped her eyes to his face. And blushed more. He’d noticed her staring.

  She’d discovered that Alex and his baseball teammates had eyes trained to observe, to anticipate, and to assess. But she’d never anticipated being the object of such focused assessment.

  “According to family lore, Alex is usually pretty accurate,” she said, fighting for a casual tone. “At least when it comes to people.”

  How could inviting Cody down to the barn set butterflies dancing in her stomach? It wasn’t as if she were inviting him into her bed.

  “I’d be happy to have a look.” His gaze darted toward something behind her.

  She turned to see Leonora trotting toward them with a wool shawl.

  “There’s a chill in the air, Signorina Zoe. You might need this.”

  Leonora handed off the shawl and then smiled at Cody before she walked back to the house. She’d been Zoe’s nanny from the first days Zoe could remember. After Coco and Anastasia had left for university, Leonora had stayed on as housekeeper, cook and, after Zoe’s mother had died, the heart of their home. She was also an infallible judge of character. Somehow Cody had already won Leonora’s approval.

  Zoe opened the shawl and a gust of wind caught it. Cody snatched the shawl from the air before it hit the ground. She’d seen horses and animals in the wild move with that sort of speed and grace, but never a man. Her mind was still savoring the image as he wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. His hand brushed her cheek. Their gazes locked, and he stopped mid-motion.

  A kiss couldn’t have felt more intimate than the look he held her with.

  “Leonora has hovered over all of us since my mama died,” she said, still caught in his penetrating gaze. Shaken by the surge of unstoppable warmth rushing through her, she lowered her eyes.

  Cody dropped his hand to his side. Busying her hands, she tugged at the corner of the shawl. Looking away hadn’t broken the trance that enthralled her.

  “I’m sorry about your mom.” His tone was soft, gentle. Coming from him, English was another language entirely. It had nuances she’d never imagined. But she was glad he didn’t say more. One more gently said word and she’d give in to her urge to curl into his arms and be held by his magnificent, entrancing hands.

  He toed the graveled path next to the table with the tip of his cowboy boot. She looked up to his face, unable to read the half smile on his lips.

  He gestured to the path. “Lead the way.”

  When they reached the barn, Cody gave Zoe a hand sliding open the broad wooden door, though he hardly needed to since the door glided with little effort. Lights came on automatically, illuminating the tiled floor and polished wooden stalls.

  He let out a long, slow whistle. “This is a far cry from our barns back home.”

  “A far cry?”

  Cody ran a hand through his hair. He’d had to explain a few American idioms to the Dominican guys on the team, but he spoke Spanish and their conversations were most often about baseball, so bridging the cultural gap with them was easy.

  “A far cry means... Well, very much unlike or really different.” She was studying him intently. “Heck, I don’t know where the phrase comes from. It’s a fine barn.”

  She laughed, surprising him. “This bit of perfection is just another of my father’s over-the-top—is that the phrase?—efforts to make us comfortable here.”

  “This seems like a fine place to be comfortable.” Now he was the one struggling with language. “I mean—you have a great polo field, a wonderful house”—he waved his arm out at the vast barn—“and a mighty good barn.”

  She tilted her head. “It’s going to take more than a barn to make me feel at home here.”

  The tightening muscles in her neck told him she’d swallowed back whatever else she was going to say. Though he wanted to know what made her tick, he didn’t want to pry. If she wanted to tell him, she would in good time.

  He stopped moving for a brief second. Maybe even stopped breathing. In that moment he realized that he’d formed an image of knowing her in the future, something he never let himself imagine with women. Hell, with anybody.

  “Telemachus is in the second stall.”

  Cody whistled softly. Telemachus was a helluva horse. At seventeen hands, the thoroughbred had supple muscles and a gleaming coat. But as soon as they threw open the half door to enter the stall, he bucked up and thrashed the air with his forelegs.

  “Nothing calms him,” Zoe said, backing away. “I turned him out into the pastures and he ran and ran, and I thought he worked through this. It must’ve been the plane ride.”

  “Maybe. But in my rodeo days we transported horses by jet, mostly the broncs, for shows on the East Coast. If it’s done well, the flights don’t usually bother them.”

  “Alex said you rode bulls.”

  “Been checking up on me?”

  She blushed. The spot of color spread across her face, and he felt like it was spreading heat through him as well. Right to his groin. But this was no time and no place for shenanigans. She’d asked for his help.

  “I did ride bulls, but mostly broncs.”

  “Broncs?”

  “Horses trained to buck a man off in less than eight seconds.” Telemachus snorted and banged his hooves against the side of the stall. Cody searched the small space. “I can tell you more later. Do you have a rope halter?”

  “In the tack room.”

  “Bring it, please. And when you come back, leave the stall door open and stay outside, well away.”

  He heard the hurry in her footsteps as she headed to the tack room. She was worried for him, he could tell. And if he’d been any other guy, her worry would be well placed. A traumatized half-ton horse could kill a man in such a tight space. He’d known a guy who’d been stomped to death in a similar situation. But there was one major difference—that guy hadn’t respected the horse. Rule number one on the rodeo circuit: respect the animal one hundred percent.

  Cody began to hum under his breath. He was aware of Zoe returning, of her draping the halter over the side of the stall, of her breathing. For a few moments the only sounds were her breath, Telemachus’s snorting and his own soft, low hum. Then he began to speak to the horse. With the first few sentences and eye contact, the muscles in Telemachus’s neck softened and his eyes went wider.

  Cody reached to the horse’s shoulders, tapping first one, then the other, just like his neighbor, Old Man Henry, had shown him years before. Telemachus calmed, and Cody slipped the rope halter over his ears, talking in soft tones all the while.

  Though he was aware of Zoe’s eyes on him, Cody concentrated on what he was doing. The next few moves were critical if the horse was to trust him. He led Telemachus to the mounting block and mounted bareback. With a gentle squeeze to the horse’s flank, Cody turned and rode him out of the barn.

  Zoe walked out to the edge of the ring. Cody saw the wonder on her face. But this was no time to pat himself on the back.

  Telemachus shimmied, and Cody prepared for him to buck. But he didn’t. Cody gently tapped Telemachus’s temples, first one side and then the other, leaning down to murmur in the horse’s ear. His methods might be unconventional, but no one could argue with the results. After fifteen minutes or so, he rode into the barn and dismounted, saying a silent thanks to Henry for taking a cocky kid under his wing al
l those years ago and spending the effort to teach Cody what he knew.

  Cody led Telemachus into the stall. Zoe stayed outside, leaning on the door.

  Cody wasn’t sure which had been the greater challenge—ignoring the gaze that Zoe had trained on him the entire time or calming the traumatized horse.

  He patted Telemachus. “He’s a curious one, that’ll work in your favor,” he said, angling his body so he could see Zoe. “He wants to relate. Some idiot just shut him down.” Cody felt a flush shock through him when Zoe smiled. “I’d use a halter bridle on this boy, at least for a while. Nothing restrictive. He’ll respond to you, you’ll see.”

  Hell, she nearly had him at her feet.

  Zoe edged into the stall but stayed close to the door. “I’ve used gentle training techniques all my life, always emphasized reassurance over punishment. I know that pain and fear don’t result in a good relationship, not ever. But what you did here, just now, that’s more than a technique. Are you a...”

  He saw her searching for the word and braced.

  “... a horse whisperer?”

  He had to admit the overused term sounded endearing in her Italian accent. But labels confined and restricted. And in any case, he was no expert. He just did what he’d done all his life—keyed in to the animal with respect.

  “Nah, I just reassured him. But the tapping I did, that is a technique—for resolving trauma. Works for people too. I can teach you.”

  He motioned for her to stand close. Through the odor of sweat rising off Telemachus and the familiar smells of the barn, Zoe’s scent drifted to him and zinged a hot path of want right to the body part he was doing his best to ignore. He held out his hand for hers. He had every intention to reach her hand up in his, to show her where to touch her horse and to teach her the tapping technique. But as his fingers closed around hers, she let out a soft murmur that sounded nearly like alarm.

  He tipped his head to see what was wrong. She slid her other hand to his neck, tugging his head toward hers and lifting up on her toes in order to press hers lips to his.

  Her bottom lip quivered as she took in a shuddering breath. And he was gone. Groaning, he pulled her into his arms and tasted. Slid his tongue into the sweet heat of her mouth and nearly shuddered himself at the force of want that rushed blood to his groin.

  Telemachus neighed and leaned into Cody, pressing him hard up against Zoe. Surely she’d feel the throb of his erection. But right then he didn’t care. He ignored the sweat and grime on his hands and ran them up her back, his fingers reading her signals, tracking the fire, pulling her closer. Her eyes flew open as his erection pressed against the top of her jeans. He fisted his hand in her hair and drove the kiss deeper.

  A knock sounded on wood, echoing in the tight space. Zoe stiffened in his arms, and Cody broke off the kiss. The same white-haired man who’d helped serve lunch now stood awkwardly at the door of the stall.

  Zoe pulled away and her shawl fell into the straw. “Placido.”

  The man eyed Cody and then the horse before addressing Zoe.

  “Scusi, signorina, but there’s a man here with a delivery. Adrian’s gone down to the winery to fetch some papers for Mr. Gualdieri.” Placido held Cody in an assessing stare that Cody knew only too well. Except that usually he was the one doing the assessing. “I thought you might know where Signor Tavonesi would want the boxes,” Placido continued, not taking his eyes off Cody. “And you’ll need to sign for the delivery.”

  Zoe lifted her shawl from the straw and shook it out. “Mr. Bond was just helping me calm Telemachus.”

  Mr. Bond. The formal use of his name sounded jarring to Cody’s ears, especially after the intimacy of their kiss.

  Placido nodded. “Yes. I saw him riding. You have a way with horses, Mr. Bond.”

  Cody heard what Placido didn’t say. Evidently paying attention to Zoe’s welfare was a key part of the man’s duties. But Cody wasn’t a stable hand caught kissing the princess, even if that was how Placido saw him. Cody turned and slipped the halter off Telemachus.

  “I’ll be right there,” Zoe said.

  Placido gave Cody one last unreadable look and left.

  “Don’t mind him.”

  He tossed the halter over the wall of the stall, resisting the urge to back her against the wood panel and follow through on the invitation her kiss had delivered, to explore her lips, to feel her body under his hands, to do all the things he’d imagined doing since the first day he’d met her. But warnings blasted in his mind. He hadn’t needed Placido’s critical stare to know he was out of his league. She was a sophisticated heiress and his teammate’s cousin. If he followed through on his urges, he’d spend five minutes getting into a tangle that could take months to undo. But in spite of the arguments rolling over him like incessant crashing waves, he wanted more.

  She shivered as he stepped toward her.

  “You’re cold.”

  Cody reached out one hand and smoothed the shawl over her arms. The wool was warm in his fingers as he shifted it, and he allowed his fingertips to trail slowly up her smooth skin. He played with the shawl along her shoulders, tracing the curve of her collarbone. He wanted his lips where his fingers were, wanted to track along the graceful column of her neck with his tongue. Her eyes went wide when he touched his fingers to the indentation at the base of her neck and let them rest there. He felt her pulse throb, echoing the throbbing of his rock-hard erection.

  With an indrawn breath, she wiggled out from under his hands.

  “I have to go.” She moved toward the door of the stall and then turned. “Perhaps you can show me that technique another day.”

  “Sure.” He adjusted his jeans and willed his erection to subside. Nothing doing. He patted Telemachus. And then a few seconds later followed her out of the barn into the bright day.

  When they reached the truck, Vico had one foot on the drop-down loading gate piled with boxes.

  The driver held out an electronic tablet. “You the lady of the house?”

  Zoe nodded.

  “As I was just telling this man”—he nodded to Vico—“this here’s top-of-the-line laser surveillance equipment, best in the business. You’ll want to unpack it very carefully.”

  As Zoe scratched her name on the tablet, he added, “You got Fort Knox in there or something?”

  “Fort Knox?”

  “Gold. It’s where they store gold in the States,” Vico answered.

  “No,” she said, laughing. “Just a painting my mother inherited. My father’s gone over the top. He worries too much about such things.” She glanced up at Vico. “This isn’t Italy, after all.”

  “It appears plenty safe to me,” Vico said.

  “Some people never feel safe. Keeps me in paychecks,” the driver said.

  Cody knew enough about surveillance equipment to know the sophistication and value of the items in the boxes. There’d been a time when his own dad would’ve had a field day with the system sitting on the loading platform of the truck. But expensive items like these were out of his reach, even in his dad’s best years. Either the painting was one helluva prize or her dad liked tinkering with expensive toys. Or there was something else the man needed to protect.

  “I could set the system up for you if you’d like,” the delivery guy said. “Or he could help.” He nodded toward Vico. “He knows more about this system than I do. It’s new. And new manuals usually suck for the first few months until enough people complain. Got a few complaints on this one already.”

  “I’d be happy to give you a hand,” Vico said. “I’m not busy this afternoon. And it’s true that I’m handy with these sorts of... systems. A hobby, you might call it.”

  “My father prefers to organize his own equipment, thank you,” Zoe politely declined both offers.

  Was it Cody’s imagination, or did Vico look disappointed? He hadn’t missed Vico’s intent study of the labels on the boxes. It took all kinds to make a world and electronic systems of any sort held litt
le interest for him, but apparently they fascinated Vico.

  Too much?

  Stop, Cody told himself. Growing up with a dad in the CIA had taught him some good habits and some bad ones. Mostly bad. He’d learned to anticipate trouble when there wasn’t any, to consider curiosity akin to suspicion. Maybe the guy was just a geek, but to Cody’s eye, Vico’s polished ease and flamboyant manner didn’t fit his idea of a geek. Yet maybe Italians just did everything with flair. Zoe’s family certainly did.

  Zoe called over to where Placido stood like a guard at the steps of the house. “Would you show this gentleman where you’d like these boxes kept until Papa returns from... until Papa returns from wherever he’s gone off to?”

  Either she didn’t know where her father had gone or she’d forgotten—or maybe she simply didn’t want to share that information in front of strangers—but from the knitting of Zoe’s brows, Cody knew that something about her father’s trip bothered her.

  Adrian stepped briskly up the path, rolls of blueprints under his arm. He eyed the truck and the driver. “More equipment?”

  “Papa’s overdoing it again,” Zoe said, shaking her head.

  “Toys,” Adrian said with an affable smile to Vico and Cody. He tapped the rolled drawings. “We are in luck. I found both the irrigation and the electric plans. We can spread them out in the dining room—the library has a longer table, but my father has that room locked down. It’s his sanctuary, so I can’t blame him; it’s been chaos around here these past few months. Vico, I imagine you can make better sense of these than I can. And we can copy them and send them over to your foreman so he can study them more closely. The sensor blocks at the base of each line of vines you’ll have to order from a company in Napa. I can point you to them.”

  “It’s always best to have a good example to work from,” Vico said.

  “And a strong double espresso to get through all the technical details,” Adrian said. “At least for me.” He made a sweeping motion toward the house. “Salvation awaits us.” He turned to Zoe. “Coco was looking for you.”