Playing the Polo Player

Chapter Two

Rupert

The truck door opens and I watch with fascinated eyes as the young woman emerges. It’s almost comical how short she is compared to the big truck she’s coming out of—and she’s absolutely beautiful. Her big, doe-brown eyes, round face, pouty lips, tousled chestnut hair pulled into a bun, bring an adorable look to her sexy, curvaceous form. She’s full-bodied with wide hips, thighs that snuggly fit into her skinny jeans, and a chest that is hardly contained by the sweatshirt she’s wearing.

Blue Hen Stables, with a bird logo underneath.

I’m putting together that’s her business, considering she pleaded with me not to take her horses and is toting a horsebox.

I put on an easy smile as I extend a hand to her. “Rupert Lee,” I introduce.

“Rupert? How old are you?” She practically snorts before her hand clamps over her mouth and her eyes widen even more. I’m biting the inside of my lip to keep from laughing. Her hand lowers and shakes mine. “Luce Normandy. Professional disaster. I am so so so—”

I put a hand up to interrupt her apology. “Tell you what, if you promise not to apologize anymore over the course of a drink, I won’t ask for that insurance information. Deal?”

Truth is, I have exactly zero interest in her insurance. I’d go to town on my Bugatti with a hatchet before I let her pay a single cent in compensation. All I want right now is to motivate her to stop saying sorry every other sentence.

Luce’s brow creases and her lower lip pushes upward. I wonder if she has absolutely any control over her reactions, or if she’s just like this when she’s upset. “O-Okay…” she mutters. We start toward the club but I feel her eyes on me. “I don’t understand why you’re being so nice about all this.”

I shrug and can’t resist teasing her a little. “When you’re this good looking and rich, you have better things to think about than insurance.”

Her cheeks turn bright red, and I can’t help but savor it. I like her strong reactions, it points toward honesty more than anything else. Besides, I’m used to people being fake and trying to impress me. Within a minute of talking to her, she called me an asshat and suggested I learn to park. Couldn’t get anymore honest than that, can it?

As we pass my car, I can see her turn and gape at it. I had the valet move it out of the way and park it properly the moment I discovered the scene between her and my nephew, Bryson.

“Just so you know, I didn’t park it like that. My idiot nephew—I think you met him—took it for a spin. Despite my better judgement, and his complete lack of social skills, I do have a kind of…familial fondness for the kid. He’s not a bad person, just used to getting his own way.”

“He’s a psycho,” Luce mutters, and I snort a laugh as I watch her head turn, studying the damage as we move past.

“Yes, you’re not the first to use that word to describe Bryson. Stop staring at the car, it’s fine. An hour in the shop and nobody will know the difference.”

I’m exaggerating for her benefit, trying to put her at ease, but the truth is it’s really not that bad. Sure, it’s dented, the headlight is cracked, and there’s a gash in the hood—but it’s not enough to ruin someone’s day, week, month, or maybe even year over. Even if I wasn’t absolutely fascinated by the culprit. It’s a drop in the bucket for me to get it fixed, and I know not everyone is that privileged.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your family… Sorry, I know I’m not supposed to apologize anymore… Sorry… Sorry.”

There isn’t any holding in that laughter. Shit, it’s only been a few minutes and I am already a bit smitten with her. It’s dangerous how charming she is, particularly while seeming so unaware of it—but I’ve never shied away from a bit of risk. “It’s fine. We don’t have our drinks yet,” I tell her with a wink.

As we approach the doors of the club, she stops in her tracks and shakes her head. “Actually, I… I appreciate the offer for a drink, but I’m really not dressed for this. I promise I won’t drive upset, I’ll just sit in my truck and wait to calm down.”

I furrow my brow as I give her an easy smile. “Who cares what you’re wearing?”

“Well, it’s a polo club and—”

“And you’re with a polo player. No one is going to say anything to you, trust me. Not with me around.” For a moment, my smile fades. The thought of anyone insulting her, of someone upsetting her… Not on my watch. No fucking way. I nod toward the door, getting myself under control, pushing my lips into their usual resting position. “You must be burning up in that sweatshirt out here. Come on.”