Lizzie confirmed this. ‘And someone called Lucas, alongside Gabe Ortoya, the Brazilian team captain, who just happens to be world champion at the moment.’
‘Great,’ Danny murmured. ‘Shall we give up now?’
‘No,’ Lizzie said thoughtfully. ‘Let’s call our first team meeting.’
* * *
The internationals rode bareback. Chico rode facing backwards at one point, until Lizzie had a word at the end of the chukka. How dared he patronise her, or her players? They could thrash him without the need for circus tricks on his part.
‘So you’ve found your voice at last, Senhorita Fane?’
Ignoring the shiver of arousal that streaked through her at the sight of Chico in full Gaucho polo rig, which meant he was wearing leather chaps over jeans worn thin in all the wrong places—or right, if she cared to look—along with a top that moulded his pumped-up muscles to perfection, she lifted her chin to give back as good as she got. ‘This isn’t a class, and I’m not your student on the field of play, Senhor Fernandez. We’re captaining opposing teams, and—’ And I don’t know how yet ‘—my team is going to thrash yours.’
‘So you say, Lizzie,’ Chico called after her as she cantered off in her matching ensemble of neatly pressed jeans and clean white polo shirt.
They were completely outplayed, but that was no reason to give up. Lizzie suggested a fair exchange at the end of the next chukka—two professionals in exchange for two from the grooms’ team. She sent her guys over to Chico’s side, selecting Tiago and the good-natured Gabe Ortoya to play on the side of the grooms. Now they had a game worth the name, and the match went down to the wire. It was five goals each when Lizzie snatched a ball from Chico—or maybe he allowed her to think she had—and she slammed it into the goal.
The competition was relentless, the dirty tricks endless—hooking sticks, riding the opponent off, hacking, stabbing, shouting, swearing—Gaucho polo at its best. This was the hottest sport known to man, Lizzie concluded as she watched Chico at full stretch. She had never felt so alive. A change of ends later, with adrenalin racing through her system, Lizzie passed the ball to Danny, but then for some reason—excitement, probably; catching sight of Chico bearing down on her at speed, certainly—she rashly turned towards the play instead of away from it, and managed to collide with Tiago and Gabe, and as her horse plummeted forward she shot over its head, and would have been trampled had it not been for an arm like an iron band snapping around her waist.
‘Acrobatics, Ms Fane?’ Chico’s hot minty breath brushed her cheek. ‘I’m impressed. No harm done,’ he confirmed when she looked at the pony.
The pony was probably in better shape than Lizzie, who was pinned tightly against Chico’s hard chest, and badly winded.
‘You need a fresh mount and then we’ll get on with the game,’ he said, showing her no mercy. He practically threw her onto the new pony. ‘Your team’s honour rests on you, Lizzie.’
That brief, hard blast of contact against Chico’s muscular body must have restored her, Lizzie concluded, throwing him a steely glance. He’d saved her life and she would thank him—she just hadn’t decided how, yet.
* * *
‘You are preparing for the party, aren’t you?’
Danny had just arrived in their room after the match. Lizzie was lying on the bed with her eyes closed, trying to shut out the adrenalin of the match, and her fierce urge to have sex with Chico. Without looking up, she knew Danny was staring around, hunting for some sign that Lizzie was secretly preparing for the party.