He pushes his hands deep in his pockets, and his pants drop an inch. I have a feeling he knows exactly what he’s doing. I keep my eyes trained on a tiny freckle above his top lip. Except now all I can think about are his lips. I already know how they feel, how soft they are. But I want to feel them everywhere, and it’s not the alcohol talking.
“Where’d you go?”
“Agatha’s full moon party.”
A grin spreads across his face. “When Hendricks and I were teenagers, we used to see her dancing naked in the moonlight.”
“I mean, yeah. . .” I burst out laughing. “I can imagine that.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just stands there staring at me. The air gets heavier, stickier, and I need to get out of here before I do something I can’t take back.
I thumb behind me. “I’m pretty beat?—”
“Then let’s get you to bed, Trouble.”
I don’t know why, but the way he saysTroublesets off a pulse between my legs, steady and insistent. He’s right behind me as my foot hits the first step, close enough that I feel the heat rising off his body, and the scent of the soap he uses.
And when we arrive at my room, his hand reaches around me for the doorknob, and he pushes it open. Goosebumps erupt as his abs brush my arm, and I swear if he gets closer, he’ll hear the thudding deep in my core.
I’mthisclose to pulling him inside with me.
“Good night, Ruby.”
I swallow, releasing my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “Good night,Miles. Thanks for waiting up.”
“My pleasure.”
He stays in place as I close the door, and when I undress, the folded parchment paper slips from my bra where I’d tucked it for safekeeping. I’m tempted to check if he’s still outside my room, but I get into bed instead.
My body takes a while to recover. The full moon beams a path to my door, taunting me, and I’m still awake when the church clock chimes twice. Two a.m.
Snatching up the parchment wishes, I decide not to take any chances. Creeping downstairs, avoiding the creakiest floorboards, I grab a box of matches from beside the fireplace and step out into the garden.
I do as Agatha instructed and light my wishes on fire. It’s watching them burn that has me coming to my senses.
“Oh my God, Ruby,” I whisper into the darkness, admonishing myself. I’ve clearly gone insane. “What are you doing?”
I traipse back inside and up the stairs.
CHAPTER 19
Miles
The home crowd at Foxleigh Park is like nothing else.
While it’s set out similarly to most polo grounds, this one bears my colors and my flag, featuring the coat of arms my father designed himself when he founded the club.
The crowds here are different because they’ve been coming since they were children. There’s a loyalty, and they show it through the noise, the devotion, and the love they pour into every match. I’ve played with the Foxleigh Flyers all over the world, in every major tournament, but nothing beats the feeling of galloping onto the field here.
And the Foxleigh Low-Goal Festival is the best day of them all.
The gates opened at ten this morning, and crowds have been flooding in ever since. The VIPs head straight for the champagne tents while everyone else drifts between food stalls or sets up picnics beside their cars, boot open and blankets spread across the grass. Dogs run free, children tear around, and families settle in for the entire day.
It’s relaxed. Easy. My favorite day of the season.
The matches mean nothing in the grand scheme of polo. They don’t count toward the England’s Cup. It’s purely for fun, and all profits raised go toward Valentine Nook’s local charity.
Celebrities play some matches alongside ten-goal polo players, but the best thing about it is that nobody takes it too seriously. In a month packed with top-tier polo, this is the day we all get to relax and remember why we fell in love with the sport in the first place.
