“After the polo match, you and I will have a little time to ourselves.” He rubbed one palm over her ass and smacked it lightly. Heat flared in the wake of his touch and she let out a throaty purr.
The erection pressing into her bottom was a clear sign she wasn’t the only one affected by their position and her reaction.
“You are killing me, Callie.” He kissed her cheek, and with a reluctant sigh, let her go. “Get dressed before I change my mind and make us late to the match.”
After flashing him what she hoped was a saucy grin, to which he rolled his eyes, she ran back to the closet and got dressed. When she came back out, she noticed the tip of a canvas tucked under her bed close to Wes’s boots. She forced her gaze up to his, hoping he wouldn’t notice where her eyes had focused seconds before. The lie, the deception ate away at her stomach again, and she prayed he wouldn’t sense anything was amiss.
“You ready?” He held out a hand and she took it, grateful to have a reason to touch him.
“Ready.” She smiled and followed him to the door. She didn’t dare cast a glance at the bed and what she’d hidden underneath. One lie. That was it, but God it felt so huge. She never wanted to hide anything from Wes, but she had to go with her gut.
* * *
Wes mounted his polo pony named Vengeance and trotted behind Royce, Emery, and Fenn. As a team of four, they were perfect to go up against the opposing team of four players. Stephen Vain III, Thomas Stonecypher, Gerald Parker, and Samuel Cross were on the opposing team, all men his age who he’d grown up with. Whenever a charity needed money, polo was an easy way to raise support. The ladies dressed in their best clothes and mingled by the field, drinking mimosas while the players waged war on the turf. Gossip ran rampant among the tents, which was just what the FBI needed for the plan to work. The unveiling of the Monet would be quite a topic for the members of the Gilded Cuff who would be attending the match.
“Ready for some fun?” Royce nudged Fenn in the ribs and their horses nipped at each other as the two men bumped shoulders. Fenn chuckled and slapped the neck of his horse.
“I haven’t played since I was eight. What do you think?” Fenn retorted.
“I think,” Emery said as he joined his brother, “it’s like riding a bike. You played well on those tiny polo ponies we had as kids. You’ll be fine.”
Wes grinned as the Lockwood twins ribbed each other. It was a sight he’d never expected to see again, all four of them together. Something in his chest squeezed painfully and he checked his reins and then gripped his mallet. Vengeance shifted restlessly beneath him. He was a bit wild for a polo pony, but Wes took the risk because the horse had speed.
“Easy, Ven,” he soothed with a pat. Vengeance was a retired racehorse, a thoroughbred with an excellent bloodline. Built for bursts of speed, stamina, and agility, he was every polo player’s dream. Wes had trained Vengeance after he turned three years old, and the horse could read Wes’s cues by the slightest pressure of his legs or by weight cues whenever Wes adjusted his body. Wes always had a few other mounts as backup because they often needed to change rides during each seven-and-a-half-minute chukker period.
Wes followed his friends out onto the field where the announcer was discussing the players’ bios and their statistics. It wasn’t something he ever listened to, but he wondered what Callie had to be thinking of all of this. He sat up on his horse and glanced over his shoulder at the large tent full of tables where ladies and gentlemen were seated or walking about. The flare of the rose-colored dress made Callie jump out in his line of sight. She was deep in discussion with Hayden and Sophie, Emery Lockwood’s fiancée. Callie was smiling and laughing, too, which made him smile.
“What’s with the goofy grin?” Emery asked Wes. He reined back his pony and was checking his chin strap on his helmet.
Wes just shook his head. “None of your business.”
His best friend laughed, the sound carrying. “If I had to guess, it has to do with the reason my brother has a black eye and split lip.”
“Maybe, but he deserved it,” Wes growled. Fenn may be one of his best friends, but he wouldn’t hesitate to blacken his other eye if Fenn ever mentioned Callie again in a way that pissed him off.
“Okay. You win. I won’t ask any more questions.” Emery raised his hand to imitate a whipping noise. “Happens to the best of us.” Then he laughed hard and the pony jumped forward.
Wes was too distracted to play much of an aggressive game. Every thought seemed to be focused on Callie. If he could catch the art thief, he’d be able to take her back to Paris. In the short time there, he’d only been able to scratch the surface of what the city had to offer. The idea of how much he still wanted to experience with her left him feeling oddly excited. The little tremors in his stomach were foreign, but not unwelcome.
Royce shouted as he chased the white plastic ball down the line, which was an invisible path the ball took that defined the play of the game. Players were restricted by the path of the ball. Wes’s black pony huffed and darted after the ball but Stonecypher drew up alongside Royce, mallet lowered. Royce, as the hitter, had the natural right of way, but Stonecypher could approach alongside and hook the ball away. Wes kicked Ven’s side and sprinted toward his friend. But Stonecypher smacked the white ball away, changing the play.
Stephen Vain galloped past him, a grin twisting his lips as he waved his mallet in a mock salute.
“Bastard,” Wes said, laughing. Game on.
The next two chukker periods went by quickly, the play rough. More than one risky play and almost illegal moves happened on both sides. Wes changed horses twice and now sat astride one of the chestnut ponies, a gelding named Lord Nelson. Nelson wasn’t nearly as quick as Vengeance but was more agile. With a tied score, a horse with agility was better.
Fenn raced up ahead, mallet swinging for a blow. Suddenly, Stonecypher’s horse rushed at Fenn.
“Fenn! On your right!” Wes shouted out the warning but there wasn’t enough time for Fenn to react. Their horses were on a collision course. Wes reacted on pure instinct. That little boy inside him, the one who remembered Fenn gone all those years, took over. He dug his heels into Nelson’s flanks and the horse leaped forward, closing the distance and Stonecypher’s mount smashed Nelson shoulder to shoulder just as Stonecypher swung his mallet, striking Wes in the solar plexus.
Air whooshed out of his lungs and he went limp. Nelson screamed and reared back. When he thrashed his head, Wes’s weak grip on the reins slackened and the strips of leather slipped free of his hold.
There had only been three other times in his life when a horse had thrown him, but that spark of panic in his chest, the clawing agony of his lungs struggling to breathe and the weightless free fall, were unforgettable. He struck the ground hard, the impact knocking the last bit of air from his lungs before his head snapped back and a sharp pain followed him into darkness.
Chapter 23
A panicked shout and the screaming of hooves jerked Callie’s focus back to the field. Fenn had the ball, but Stonecypher was rushing at him, mallet raised dangerously. Wes was only a yard behind and then in a blink he and his horse were wedged between Fenn and Stonecypher. The mallet swung and Callie leaped to her feet, trying to see what happened. Wes’s horse reared, his muscles gleaming, mouth frothing, as it screamed. Wes slipped off the back of the horse and hit the ground. A sickening fear gripped her in its jaws. The horse stumbled and rolled over Wes before it got back up onto its feet.
“Wes!” Callie screamed and kicked off her heels so she could run across the field faster. All she could think about was getting to him. She had to. Tears blurred her eyes and she choked down sobs. He was only fifty feet away and not moving. Stonecypher, Fenn, and the other riders had dismounted and were on the ground beside him.