Nicola Marsh - Undressed by the Boss

Riding at full stretch, he leaned over the neck of his pony and with infinite precision swung his mallet to secure another goal. Realising she was biting her knuckles, Casey made herself sit back. This was the time to relax, while the teams changed ends—which they did after every goal.

How she wished for a world in which she and the ruler of A’Qaban were not at odds, Casey reflected, aching with tension as the air horn sounded. Raffa had a handicap of ten, which was the highest possible ranking in the game, and she had read that only one man in the world could match him. For all that, she was still gripped by a prescient dread that something would go wrong today. She must feel that way, Casey reasoned, because Raffa would never back down, however tough a fight became.

Thankfully, half time arrived without incident, though Casey shrank back in her chair as everyone from the marquee hurried outside. The end of the half was the cue for spectators to either head over to the paddock, where the polo players were gathered, or onto the field to stamp the divots down. Casey chose the latter, selecting a small patch of ground in front of the marquee on which to exercise her frustration at drawing so many wrong conclusions where Raffa was concerned.

The tip-tap of iron on the paved yard alerted her to fresh ponies being led round by the stable lads. A bell rang, signalling it was time for the riders to mount up and for everyone else to clear the field. As she watched the teams prepare, Casey offered up a silent plea that Raffa would remain unharmed in the second half. He sprang into the saddle, ignoring the attempt of a beautiful young girl to hold his stirrup for him, preferring to adjust his own equipment, Casey noticed with relief.

And there was rather a lot of equipment to adjust, Casey also noticed, beginning to wish she hadn’t looked.

Raffa flashed a glance her way, emphasising how closely tuned they were. It was a disturbing moment for Casey, as well as a reminder to keep her head clear of questionable thoughts for the remaining three chukkas.

Raffa was gone in a rattle of hooves, leaving Casey too agitated to watch the second half from her seat in the shade. She approached the fence bordering the field of play and leaned over it. She didn’t like failure any more than Raffa, she accepted, flinching back as Raffa thundered past to steal a ball, but were they too far apart in the things that mattered for them ever to work successfully together?

In Raffa’s world, she concluded, money talked. Whereas in her world it paid bills. He had thrown colossal sums of money at the auction while she had been hoping for some small personal gesture, she realised now.

She couldn’t knock him, what he’d done was great, but she had always been a romantic dreamer. But why should Raffa change any more than she could change her own frigid ways?

Casey was still mulling this over when she heard a shout. Starting back in alarm, she realised Raffa’s horse was galloping straight for her—and it was him shouting at her to get out of the way.

Raffa was almost flat on his horse’s neck as he pressed it to the limit, but as the drumming hooves beat a deadly tattoo Casey’s legs remained wooden and unresponsive. Raffa was trying to ride another man off the field, she saw in horror.

No, the other man’s horse was out of control, and Raffa was trying to push it off course because it was bolting straight for her.

Shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, Raffa and the other polo player bore down on her. She was certain they were going to ride straight over her when Raffa swerved at the last minute, somehow avoiding a collision with the fence. The other rider didn’t possess half his skill, and she screamed soundlessly as horse, rider and fence hurtled towards her.

CASEY barely registered what happened next. One moment she was watching the impending disaster play out, feet refusing to budge and brain refusing to compute what was happening, and the next she was high off the ground and safe in Raffa’s arms. ‘You saved my life,’ she managed weakly as he settled her on the saddle in front of him.

Grim-faced, Raffa remained silent as he tightened his grip around her waist.

Strength gone, she folded into him. ‘Is the other horse okay?’

‘And the rider,’ he informed her tersely. ‘The fence didn’t make it.’

She turned her head. The sight of Raffa’s strong white teeth gritted behind his face guard brought back every second of the drama in heart-stopping slow motion—the fierce cry from his throat and the blaze of his eyes as he raced to sweep her out of danger.

‘Thank you …’ It was so inadequate.

‘Please try to remain still until I have you checked over.’ Raffa urged his polo pony towards the first aid tent. ‘You little fool,’ he murmured in a low-pitched voice stretched tight with tension. ‘Why did you put yourself in danger?’

Because I was watching you, worrying about you … caring about you …

She knew Raffa didn’t expect an answer—not that she was incapable of giving him one. She could do more than rest against him like a newborn baby, with all her strength gone and no will of her own.

Shock, Casey registered groggily, willing it to pass quickly.

‘I get you out of the sun only for you to decide it’s time to hug a fence. Can’t I leave you alone for a minute?’

Once again, no answer was required, Casey registered as Raffa’s rough cheek accidentally brushed her face. She sensed he held himself responsible for the accident, and was going to remain in this severe mood for some time. ‘It wasn’t your fault. It was all my fault.’

‘We’ll discuss your part in this later.’

‘Did we win?’

‘We survived,’ he said dryly. Reining in by the first aid tent, he tossed the reins to a waiting stable lad. Swinging down from the saddle, he reached up. ‘Come,’ he said in a suddenly much kinder voice, ‘lean on me …’

He lowered her with infinite care, but as she reached the ground her knees buckled. ‘Watch out!’ Raffa exclaimed, catching hold of her.

‘Sorry …’ She was still faint with shock—but not so faint she didn’t know when the ruler of A’Qaban had swung her into his arms and was carrying her safely the rest of the way.

The nurse pronounced Casey fit and well; Raffa pronounced her fate.

‘As I can’t leave you alone for a minute,’ he said, ‘I’m going to keep you with me while you’re in A’Qaban.’

It was all she had ever wanted to hear, but Raffa made it sound like a punishment. Still, when you were confidently expecting an airline ticket home, anything else was a reprieve, Casey reminded herself, brushing her clothes down as they left the first aid tent together.

‘I’ll be travelling into the interior after the trophy for this match has been awarded.’

As she exclaimed with pleasure he dampened her enthusiasm. ‘I can make no allowances for the accident, Casey. You do understand that, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said tensely.

‘The interior of A’Qaban is dangerous territory where shocks are commonplace—’

‘I understand.’ More dangerous than a polo field?

‘Your powers of recovery from this are crucial. If an accident happens in the desert you can’t waste time, you must think immediately: what next?’

That was exactly what she was thinking.

‘So, are you up for it?’

‘You won’t be disappointed. I’ll do everything you expect me to and more.’

‘But …?’ Raffa’s eyes narrowed, sensing there was something else she wanted to say.

Casey drew a deep breath. ‘But I came to apologise … for last night. I read the papers this morning, and—’