Nacho Figueras Presents (6 page)

K
at ran her fingers through her curls, slid a pair of large silver hoops into her ears, and then stood back and surveyed her outfit in the mirror. She was thankful that the friend who had rented her house in L.A. had needed closet space so that Kat had been forced to bring most of her clothes with her. She knew that Wellington nightlife was somewhat formal—there were places that wouldn't let her through the door in her usual L.A. uniform of jeans, flip-flops, and a well-fitted tee, so she had chosen a short, silvery gray tank dress with a plunging back. She looked into her closet for a moment, hesitating between a pair of flat beaded sandals and a pair of red Jimmy Choo cage heels. Happily thinking of the way she'd had to tilt her head up to look into Sebastian's face when he delivered the flowers, she went for the heels. Then a little eyeliner, some mascara, and a slash of red lipstick to match the shoes.

She turned around to check her rear view, liking the way the dress dipped into a dramatic vee down her back, but frowning at the noticeable panty line. She quickly slid her underwear off and fished out a black lace thong from her dresser. She tugged it on, smiling wickedly to herself as she imagined Sebastian pulling up her dress and seeing the low-backed corset she was wearing, the lacy underwear, the look of desire flashing in his moss green eyes as he softly skimmed her body with his hands…

What was she doing?
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and then threw herself down onto her bed, staring at a poster on the ceiling emblazoned with Bette Davis's shrewd little face. Bette would never be so dumb, she thought. Bette would have seen right through this guy.

Kat knew a million men like Sebastian. She'd dated dozens of them over the years. Okay, maybe not quite as good looking, but basically the same. Hollywood was filled with his type—cocky, sexy, rich, and completely unreliable. A one-way ticket to heartbreak. Kat knew better. She had stopped dating altogether in the last year because she had been burned so many times. And yet here she was, back home with her mother and sick father, and the first thing she managed to do was get picked up by the kind of playboy she had learned to avoid at all costs in L.A.

This was ridiculous. He was going to be here any moment. She should just call him and cancel.

Except, of course, she never got his number.

Her mother would have the Del Campo house number, of course. But her mother was at the hospital for the night, and Kat really, really did not want to call her father's sick room and have to explain to her mom why she needed to talk to Sebastian Del Campo.

The doorbell rang and Kat shot up. She hurriedly gave herself one last glance in the mirror and then strode through the house to the front door. She would just tell him in person. Say she wasn't feeling well. Or why not be blunt and simply admit that she had changed her mind? After all, she didn't owe this guy anything. She had just met him.

She threw open the door and was met with an enormous bouquet of flowers—peonies, roses, lilies, and lilacs—even bigger than the one he had brought for her father.

Sebastian peeked over the top. “Delivery for
Señorita
Parker,” he said with a grin.

Oh for God's sake, he was even slicker than she'd imagined.

Her eyes slid over him, taking in his glossy dark hair, the crisp cotton shirt that matched his sea green eyes, the way his perfectly tailored pants were just the right kind of tight. He was also, she thought hopelessly, even better looking than she remembered.

Damn it.

She sighed, and smiled, and took the flowers.

C
an you actually drive with that thing?” asked Kat, eyeing the cast on Sebastian's wrist.

Sebastian winked at her as he put the car in reverse, using just the tips of his fingers on the gearshift. “You'd be surprised at what I can do with only one hand,
linda.
”

As they drove, Sebastian told Kat that they had to make one quick stop at the barn before they went on to dinner. “I just realized that I left my phone there,” he said sheepishly. “I haven't been able to find it since my last match.”

As they pulled up to barn, Kat turned to him with her eyebrows raised. “That's a barn?” she said.

Sebastian shrugged. He knew the barn, with its pillars and enormous windows, was more impressive than most Beverly Hills mansions, but the ponies were everything to the Del Campo family. It only made sense to give them the very best.

It was the end of the day, and the grooms and students were shutting down for the night, throwing in flakes of hay, securing doors, and making sure all the ponies were bedded down safe and sound.

Sebastian dug through the office desk, searching for his phone, while Kat trailed down the hallway, seemingly more interested in the framed pictures of Del Campo family polo players and their ponies than the actual, live horses in the barn. Sebastian watched her, enjoying the contrast of her strappy red stilettos against the barn floor littered with the straw and dust of a working day.

She stopped in front of a black-and-white photo of a young woman with dark eyes, wearing jodhpurs and a polo shirt, and holding a black pony on a lead. “Who's this?” she called back to him.

“
Mi abuela
,” said Sebastian as he triumphantly unearthed his phone from the desk and walked over to join her. “My father's mother. She was very scandalous. Beautiful and hard-headed.”

“Did she play polo?”

“
Sí.
She was quite good.”

“I didn't know women could play.”

“Well, back then they really didn't. She was the exception. But more and more play now.”

Kat nodded, peering closer at the picture.

Suddenly a voice echoed down the hall. “Katy? Katy Ann?”

Kat turned, and her face split into a grin. “Oh my God, Camelia Montalvo!”

One of the grooms, a curvy and muscular woman in a red shirt and jeans, threw her shovel aside and ran over to hug Kat, her long, dark brown braid flying behind her.

“Katy Ann, holy shit! What in the world are you doing here?”

“Camelia, I can't believe it!”

Sebastian looked at them jumping up and down in each other's arms. “I take it that introductions are unnecessary, then?”

Kat turned to him. “Camelia and I went to high school together.”

“And middle school! And grade school!” interjected Camelia. “That was before Katy ran off to be a hot-shot Hollywood director, though.”

Sebastian turned his head toward Kat, surprised. “Wait, you're a director?”

“Are you kidding, Seb?” said Camelia. “Katy is probably more famous than you are.”

Kat shook her head. “Definitely not.”

“Oh, come on,” said Camelia. “She was only nominated for an Oscar for the first film she ever made.”

Seb blinked. “What was the film?”

“It was called
Winter's Passing
,” muttered Kat. “I'm sure you've never seen it.”

Sebastian laughed. “I certainly have. Twice. And I cried like a little girl both times.”

Kat blushed and looked pleased.

“And then she made that big comic book movie,” said Camelia. “You know the one—with the girl in the bikini—what was it called?
Black Hawk
?”

Sebastian choked. “
Red Hawk
?”

“Yeah, that's right,” enthused Camelia. “Big film!”

Kat raised her eyebrows at Sebastian. “Amazing coincidence, eh?”

Sebastian didn't know whether to laugh or apologize. “But I thought you cleaned houses,” he finally said.

“And I thought you delivered flowers.”

He laughed. “I did say that there were parts I liked, didn't I?”

“Oh no, hey, listen. You were right. It's a terrible movie.”

“It is not!” said Camelia indignantly. “It was a great film. Super good.”

Kat shook her head and put her arm back around Camelia. “And what about you? Last time we talked, you were heading to the Olympic trials.”

The smile on Camelia's face dimmed. “Oh well, that didn't exactly work out. Finances fell through.

“What happened?” said Kat.

She shrugged. “It's not even worth telling. How long are you in town? Can we have a lunch date?”

Sebastian rubbed the nose of the nearest pony and watched the women make plans. The horse nuzzled his neck as he checked the time.

“I'm sorry to break up such a lovely reunion, but if we are to make our reservation, we should probably go.”

Camelia looked at them, her eyes wide. “Wait, you guys are together?”

“Just dinner,” said Kat hurriedly.

“A first date,” said Sebastian. “But who knows where that will lead?”

Kat rolled her eyes. “Dessert, if I'm lucky.”

As they walked out of the barn, Sebastian looked over at Kat and noted the way her dress dipped in the back and exposed a swath of her smooth, bronzed skin. For a moment, he vividly imagined reaching out to run his fingers over that flesh and then dipping even farther down, beneath the fabric, to cup the curve of her shapely bottom. He felt himself quicken at the thought of what she would feel like under his hands.

She stumbled in her heels, and he took the excuse to reach over and place his hand on her arm. His breath caught in his throat as he felt her tense under his fingers, but she did not move away. He kept his hand in place, just barely touching her, until they reached the car. When he finally removed his hand so he could open the door for her, he was surprised to feel a sharp pang of deprivation, as if he'd lost something he did not want to be without.

He shut the door behind her and then stood for a moment, feeling slightly shaken. There was something about this woman, he thought, something
different
. And he was not sure he entirely understood or liked what that meant.

K
at knew that offering Sebastian a bite of her pie was the right thing to do, but she really didn't want to do it.

She had watched, amazed, as he plowed through his dessert—a piece of molten chocolate cake almost as big as his plate—in no time at all, and then let his gaze rest hungrily upon her key lime pie. She felt, based upon the way he had devoured his own dessert, that if she offered him a bite, he might simply eat the whole thing, and frankly, she very much liked pie and didn't particularly want to give it up.

Still, she supposed she should show some measure of generosity. After all, he had taken her to this beautiful restaurant, right on the beach, and ordered a ridiculously nice bottle of wine and a delicious dinner of paella and lobster, and then proceeded to charm the pants off her (not literally, at least not yet) with funny and thrilling stories about polo, and Argentina, and his family. And not only that, he had been careful to ask her questions about her own life as well, her work and her family, and really did seem interested in her answers. Plus, he kept smiling at her, and every time he smiled at her, she felt herself get just a little more hot and bothered, as if he was incrementally turning up the temperature underneath her seat bit by excruciating bit.

Considering all this, she sighed in defeat and pushed her pie over to him. “Would you like a bite?”

His eyes lit up, and he dug in with his fork and broke off a large piece.

She snatched her plate back before he could go in for a second time. “Good lord, I said a bite,” she laughed, “not the whole thing.”

He innocently held up his broken wrist. “I can't help it. I am eating left handed. I cannot control the fork. Plus,” he added, and grinned slyly, “I have a most terrible sweet tooth.”

Kat felt her temperature rise again. He had a tiny smudge of cream on his mouth, and it was all she could do not to lean over the table and kiss it off right then and there. But then he licked his lip and the cream disappeared, and Kat sighed again, ruing the lost opportunity.

He looked at her questioningly.

She quickly brought up a new topic. “Tell me more about your grandmother,” she said. “The one in the picture.”

“Ah,” he said. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, what was her name, to start with?”

“Victoria Del Campo. But we just called her
Abuelita
.”

“That's beautiful.”

“My father named the Del Campo team after her. La Victoria.
Abuelita
was
una viuda
—a widow, like
mi mamá
—but her husband died very young and left her with my father to raise.”

“That must have been hard. Did she ever marry again?'

“No, no. Not that she didn't have many opportunities. She was rich, and charming, and a great beauty. My half sister, Antonia, looks very much like her actually. But she never fell out of love with my grandfather. Certainly,
Abuelita
was never without male attention, and I think she had many affairs after he died. But nothing serious. She always said that it was not her destiny to marry again, that one great love was enough for anyone.”

Kat smiled. “Do you think that's true?”

Sebastian met her gaze. “I think that what they had was real, but rare,” he said softly.

Kat lowered her eyes, suddenly self-conscious. “And she played polo. You said she was good?”

“Well, yes. She was on a team—all men except for her, of course. And she was position number three—which is like
el capitán
. Even now, not many women play that position. And you know, she taught my father to play, and my father, well, he taught Alejandro and me.”

“And you two are decent, I guess?”

Sebastian laughed. “You really don't know much about polo, do you?”

Kat shook her head. “Not a thing. You said your grandmother was scandalous, though. Why—because she played?”

“
Sí.
She played, of course, which was quite shocking for a woman of her time, but she was also a bit of a libertine, you know? A free thinker.”

Kat smiled. “Sounds like someone I know.”

Sebastian laughed. “No, no, she was far more wild than I could ever hope to be. There is one story that I love about how she had a dinner at her country estate in England with her team and King George, and she showed up to the table wearing nothing but her jodhpurs, diamonds, riding boots, and a smile.”

Kat felt her eyes widen. “Topless with royalty? Oh my God, that's fantastic! But why?”

“She liked to shock, you know? And she said that she had to put up with these men doubting her abilities on the field, she had to put up with everyone trying to tell her how to live her life, how to raise her son. And she wanted to show them that no one told her what to do. That she was her own woman. And of course, she was very proud of her rather magnificent breasts apparently. She said that old George had a very hard time looking her in the eyes while trying to make polite conversation.”

Kat laughed. She could just picture the scene. An elegant manor house. A formal dining room, lit with candles and perfectly set. The men would all be sexy and dashing and wearing evening clothes. The liveried servants would come and go, bringing course after extravagant course. Everyone would drink champagne, and Victoria would stride in and take her place at the table, straight backed and beautiful, looking like a queen and daring anyone to say anything…

Suddenly Kat's heart beat a little faster. “Sebastian,” she said urgently, “do you know any other stories about your grandmother?”

Sebastian cocked his head, “Oh,
sí
. Hundreds of them. And actually, I think
Mamá
has all her journals somewhere.
Abuelita
kept a diary for most of her life.”

Kat's felt a thrill of excitement. “Do you think your mother would let me see them?”

“But why?” He laughed. “Are you going to make a movie about my grandmother?”

Kat looked at him for a moment. “Maybe. If your family is willing.”

He blinked. “Seriously?”

“I mean, I don't know. Let's not jump the gun. It's just that sometimes”—she ran her finger along the edge of her plate, a little embarrassed—“sometimes I read about something, or hear a story, and I get this feeling—something inside of me just kind of blooms, if that makes sense? Like, I can just
see
the story, you know? Hear the voices…” She shook her head. “Sometimes it's nothing. In fact, most of the time it's usually nothing. But I would love to hear more about Victoria if you're willing.”

She felt a little shiver of pleasure as Sebastian reached across the table and took her hand. “I would be more than happy to tell you every story I know,
linda
,” he said softly. “Let's take a walk.”