Stuck With The Four Hotties

I’m not much into sports, but watching my boyfriends ride around in sexy outfits on the backs of beautiful horses is a real treat, particularly because Charlie seems to be enjoying himself, brown eyes shining as he watches the match.

The two teams are fairly evenly matched, with both experienced and inexperienced players (Zayd is a cutie, but he’s kind of useless, as is the security guard that got wrangled into the mix), and the score is close. I could tell that even without Alex explaining it to me.

No, it’s all there in the set of her son’s shoulders, the frown on his face, and the way his eyes lock on Tristan’s from across the field.

There might be other people out here, but they’re having a very personal and private sparring match so far as I can tell.

Tristan smirks, and the expression infuriates the prince even further, causing him to get sloppy and desperate with his moves-just like he warned Creed about during their sword fighting match. When his team loses, and he hops off his horse in a rage, I scramble to my feet.

“Be right back,” I tell Charlie and Alex, running down the steps and out from underneath the covered awning toward the barn. When Windsor York loses, he gets mad. And today, he is pissed.

I manage to get in the building using a side door, just seconds before the prince does.

Windsor storms into the barn, sweaty and furious, flicking his polo stick to the side. Dressed in those tight pants and boots, the hat, and the black jacket, he’s a fucking vision. He really does look like a prince right now; it’d be impossible to think of him as anything else.

He’s panting hard and shaking. His gloved hands curl into fists as he looks down at me.

“What an insufferable brat your friend is,” he says, struggling to control

himself. He hates to lose. Hates it. And he just lost on his home turf to Tristan Vanderbilt of all people. “Maybe it was a mistake on my part to bring him back to Burberry?”

“Is that what you really think?” I ask as Windsor moves up to stand in front of me, and I step back, putting my body against the outside of one of the horse stalls. The soft sound of hooves and whickering filters through to me.

“I think …” Windsor starts, reaching down to unbutton his jacket, carefully undoing each gold button with perfect precision. “He’s important to you, and I just want to give you what you want. There is that.” His jacket comes undone, revealing the sweat-soaked white polo shirt underneath. Wind tosses his jacket aside onto the hay-covered dirt floor.

“You’re working yourself too hard,” I tell him, because I’ve been thinking that for a long time. Windsor York is always one step ahead, and fighting like hell to keep things that way. He needs a break. Even I know that. “You don’t have to be everywhere all the time.”

“Yes, I do,” he says, and then he tosses his black helmet aside, letting it bounce across the stable floor. “I won’t let some spoiled American brats beat

me.”

My lips purse, but I can feel this thread of tension in Windsor that’s snapped. Here’s the bully of bullies I was so worried about before. I always figured if he came unleashed, he could do real damage. Of course, he’s been doing damage all along behind the scenes, but … he seems pretty pissed at Tristan right now.

I move away from the post and walk in a half-circle around him, the short lace dress I donned for the event whispering against my thighs. A breeze whistles down the corridor, and I reach up to keep the straw hat on my head from blowing off.

“Windsor,” I start, but he’s already yanking his polo shirt aside and turning to face me, shirtless and sweaty and beautiful. He watches me with those gorgeous hazel eyes of his, a veritable mosaic of gray, green, gold, and brown flecks. It pairs perfectly with his red hair and the high, sharp lines of his cheekbones. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them back up. “When it comes to you, Marnye Elizabeth Reed, I haven’t the slightest idea. I thought you’d be a fast burn, fun way to pass the time …” He steps forward, that daffodil and leather polish smell of his tickling my nostrils. It’s mixed with that fresh sweat scent that brings to mind all sorts of naughty things we could be doing in the dark. “Instead, you’ve become a slow burn obsession.”

“An obsession, huh?” I whisper, finding it very hard to breathe in the dusky warmth of the barn. Windsor steps up close to me and uses one of his gloves to push the hair off of my forehead. “Are you sure it isn’t just because you don’t want to lose?” I look up into his face, searching for the truth there. Windsor’s a mix of emotions right now, the anger still riding high in his face. “At first, I think you’re right,” he says, his English accent softening a bit at the edges. “You’re bloody right. I didn’t want to lose, not to the other boys,

and not to the Infinity Club bastards. But … it’s not like that anymore.” “Why not?” I’m studying him at the same time as he’s studying me,

drawing his fingers down the side of my face.

“I’ve applied to Bornstead, you know. I’m as hopeless as the rest of those arseholes.” Windsor reaches up and pulls the hat from my head, tossing it aside. “My mother wants me to go to school in England, but I’ve never been interested.”

“Bornstead, huh?” I ask, feeling this happy flush shoot through me. “What will you study there?”

Windsor’s mouth twists into a smile.

“Do you want to kiss me right now, Marnye Reed?” he asks, completely side-stepping the question. “Because I’m dying to kiss you.” Windsor steps forward and curves his fingers gently against the back of my neck, breathing lightly against my lips before he finally closes the dista

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