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‘It is a celebration,’ he confirmed. ‘So why aren’t you drinking champagne?’
A second glance at the bartender ensured that a bottle of his best was brought out from the wine cooler. ‘I want to speak to you,’ he explained. ‘So we’re taking this to the ranch house.’
‘Oh, are we?’ she said, arching a brow.
‘Yes,’ he returned flatly. ‘We are.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE.’ Lizzie turned to ask the bartender if he would pour her a fresh glass of wine. ‘Controlling everything within your field of vision might be acceptable on the polo pitch, but this is my private time, and I decide what I drink, who I drink it with, and where I drink it.’
‘So, don’t drink my champagne.’ He leaned back against the bar. ‘Is there something else you’d like to say to me, or have you done venting?’
She looked as if she’d like to say plenty but thought better of it. When she firmed her jaw, he realised he liked her like this. High on adrenalin, Lizzie was wound up like a spring. He hadn’t seen her so hot for a fight since she was fifteen. But there was a difference today. She was aroused and couldn’t hide it.
‘What are you smiling at?’ she demanded.
‘You.’ It had occurred to him that for once in his charmed life, Lizzie could be hot for Tiago and not for him. He was keen to test out his theory. Also keen to feel the signs of Lizzie’s arousal pressing into his chest. ‘Shall we dance?’
She looked at him with surprise. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Perfectly,’ he murmured, staring straight into her eyes—which were darkening nicely.
She sucked in a sharp breath as he curved a smile. ‘No way,’ she murmured, holding his stare.
‘I think we should.’
‘I’m sure you do, Senhor Fernandez. But my answer’s still no.’
‘But this is a celebration, Ms Fane,’ he said, addressing her with the same faintly mocking formality. ‘And I believe the captains of the opposing teams should open the dancing.’
‘Is that your usual tradition after a game of polo? I imagine you could sell tickets if Nero Caracas were captaining the Assassins, and you danced with Nero.’ Also a world-renowned hard man of polo, Nero Caracas was one of Chico’s fiercest opponents on the polo field. She’d pay good money to see the two of them dance together.
‘Touché, Ms Fane.’ A smile touched his sensual mouth. ‘But this occasion calls for a new tradition.’ Both his voice and his expression had hardened. ‘And you owe me.’
‘A dance for saving my life?’ she suggested, recalling the almost accident on the polo field. She shrugged, conceding, ‘I am in your debt.’
‘For keeping Danny on,’ he reminded her, dismissing his heroics.
‘You’re glad you kept her on now, aren’t you?’ Lizzie remarked, smiling her triumph into his eyes.
‘Danny rides well,’ he conceded, maintaining eye contact.
‘That’s what competition does for you, senhor.’
‘Are you ever going to call me Chico again?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Surely, you mean, maybe.’
‘Do I?’ Her eyes were shadowed as she stared at him.
‘I would hope so,’ he argued, ‘but shall we address the problem after the dance?’
‘Who said I’m going to dance with you?’
‘I did.’ Seizing her wrist, he steered Lizzie towards the dance floor. There was only so much patience in his bank.
‘I suppose I owe you for making me captain of the team.’
‘Do you need to find an excuse to dance with me?’ he demanded as he swung her into his arms. ‘I hadn’t thought of exacting a payment in kind, but now you mention it— And as people seem to find the fact that we’re dancing together fascinating, may I suggest you smile?’
Lizzie’s lips pressed down as she pretended to consider this. ‘I can do pleasant.’
‘I’m so relieved,’ he mocked as he drew her closer.
As Lizzie’s tiny frame and softness yielded to his hard body the sensation was extreme. For Lizzie too, he suspected, feeling her quiver beneath his hands. ‘Still smiling, I hope?’ he murmured as the music began to play.
‘I’ve got a great big grin on my face,’ she assured him.
‘Just don’t try too hard, or no one will believe you.’
‘I’ll be sure to achieve an appropriate balance.’
‘Be sure you do.’
Their banter was born of pure, unadulterated lust on his part. Lizzie was a little harder to read. She was stiff to begin with, when everything about the sultry South American music called for fluidity, for rhythm and abandonment, and for sex—
‘If you hadn’t saved me today,’ she commented thoughtfully when the first tune ended.
‘You wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t have had to dance with you,’ he supplied.
‘Is my dancing that bad?’
‘It is a little prim.’
‘I can do wild.’
Just not with him, he gathered.
‘But, thank you for today.’ She relaxed a little. ‘I really mean it.’
‘No need to thank me. It could be my turn next match.’ He murmured this against her hair for the excuse to inhale her fragrance. ‘We all make mistakes. Polo is a dangerous game.’
The expression in Lizzie’s eyes suggested nothing could be as dangerous as dancing with him. Good. He planned to keep it that way.
She pulled back at the end of the next number. ‘And now I suppose I have to thank you for the dance as well. Looks like I’m going to be for ever in your debt.’
He smiled and shrugged, and pulled her back again. ‘This is a party, Lizzie. Relax.’
With you? her eyes asked him.
And then, surprising him, she broke free, and yipped and spun around. Seeing Tiago watching her, he caught her close. Hell, every man at the party was watching her. Lizzie was one of those quiet types who, when they cut loose, could set the place on fire. It worked for him.
* * *
Dancing with Chico was the next best thing to sex. And much safer. Sensation without consequences suited her. She could move as she wanted to, and express herself through the dance in ways she would never dream of doing under normal circumstances. Dance allowed her to express her sexuality, which was something she had never done before. Being pressed up hard against Chico was dangerously exciting when every part of him carried an erotic charge. He made moving to music the hottest and most necessary outlet for her energy imaginable. And what really turned her on was that while she had her chance to be wild and abandoned, he was fiercely controlled. Chico kept everything under wraps. She never knew what he was t
hinking, but just for tonight, exactly as he had suggested, she was going to take her chances and relax into this.
When the music heated up so did she, until they were both at flash point. When Chico stared at her, she stared back. He was a sensualist and a very experienced man. She loved that. His engines were always running at full speed. She loved that too. His control was a delicious reminder of the type of lover he would be, and now the rhythm had grown hot and sinuous, with a sexy and suggestive throbbing beat. Chico was a powerhouse of possibility, utterly confident of her responses, as well he might be, when she was desperately aroused. Dancing was the closest she would ever come to having sex with him, and the only things that mattered tonight were the music and the dancing, and Chico.
Heat pooled between her thighs, and she was reduced to snatching air to satisfy the needs of her racing heart. Chico’s touch on her arm and on her back was thrilling. Her hand in his, so small it was enclosed completely, felt safe, felt right. She was his for this dance, and when the music slowed and he shifted position a small cry escaped her throat. It was maybe by accident, but with one powerful thigh he had just brushed the place where she needed him most. The sudden pulse of pleasure made her gasp out loud. He’d heard and shot her a keen look, and now all she could think about was being alone with Chico—naked and at the mercy of those sensitive hands.
Had he noticed her reaction? He must have done, she reasoned. You couldn’t dance as closely as they were doing and not register every nuance in your partner’s behaviour, but Chico probably took such things for granted. Or he didn’t care.
The music encouraged her to progress her fantasy. They fitted so well together, even though Chico was twice her size, and at least twice as hard and muscular, but imagining them together wasn’t so hard—him so bronzed and powerful, looming over her, his hands so light, so sensitive. He would control her pleasure in the same effortless way he controlled his wild ponies. Chico was known for the most sensitive hands in the polo world. Her throat tightened at the thought. The band had just segued into another, slower tune, and she knew this was her chance to break away—to thank him for the dance and return to her table. She could queue for a drink at the bar, or try to find Danny. There were endless possibilities that would be safer than staying here.
