The Final Proposal. Robyn Donald
stand by the hoardings, will you? I want to get a horse or two in the background.’
Jan cast a swift glance at the field. Most of the game was taking place in the middle of the paddock, well away from the advertisements that separated the playing ground from the spectators, so she’d be safe enough.
Moving as gracefully as she could in the ridiculous heels, she walked across, obeying Sid’s request to watch the horses.
‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘Try a smile. OK—a sort of faint, yearning one, as though your lover’s out there and you’re going to see him again tonight.’
What lover? Jan thought sardonically. Still, she did her best, keeping the smile pinned in place even when horses and riders suddenly changed direction and thundered towards her. She stepped back at the moment a breeze whipped the ludicrous hat off her head and sent it cartwheeling out into the paddock, straight into the path of one of the horses.
Rigid, Jan watched as the horse reared and tripped, sending its rider to one side as it came down and slid towards her, a huge, squealing mass of gleaming chestnut.
Even as she tottered backward Jan knew she was doomed. Faintly, she was aware of yells. A woman screamed.
Suddenly she was grasped by steel-strong hands and hauled back and to one side, snatched by the sheer force of her rescuer’s momentum into safety. At the same time the horse splintered through the hoardings, then amazingly got to its feet, sweating, shaking its head as its eyes rolled.
Jan was thrust aside and her rescuer, the man with the deadly smile, moved with slow, steady steps towards the trembling horse, talking to it in a voice that was deep and lazy and gentle. Jan couldn’t hear what he was saying above the hammer of her heart, but like everyone else she watched, spellbound.
‘Are you all right?’ Gerry whispered, grabbing her.
Jan nodded, pulling away from her cousin’s hold and clenching her teeth to hold back the shivers that had come abruptly out of nowhere.
A lean, tanned hand caught the horse’s bridle and held it firmly while the other hand stroked up the dripping neck. The man’s voice, textured with a magic as primal and compelling as the partnership between man and beast, crooned the nervous, panting horse into quiescence while the rider, fortunately unhurt by his tumble, approached.
Time got going again. Jan’s rescuer said something to the polo player that made him laugh, and then relinquished his charge and turned back, heading straight for Jan.
‘Are you all right?’ he demanded.
The same words Gerry had used, but where her tone had been anxious his was accusing.
Although that swift, hard embrace had wrenched every bone in her body, Jan said, ‘I’m fine. Is the horse?’
He had amazing eyes, smouldering silver between thick, curly lashes, and he was in a towering rage. ‘If it is, it’s no thanks to you,’ he said, his voice curt as a whiplash. ‘Horses are not props, and that damned hat of yours could have killed both the rider and the horse, as well as you.’
Jan nodded. Her eyes felt huge in her face and she was dry-mouthed, unable to think let alone speak.
‘Get her something to drink,’ he ordered Gerry, without any softening in his manner. ‘Tea, not alcohol, and put plenty of sugar in it.’
Astonishingly Gerry—capable, sensible Gerry—said meekly, ‘Yes, all right,’ and turned away.
‘I’ll go with you,’ Jan croaked.
But her knees shook. When she tried to walk they gave way and she stumbled. To her utter mortification her rescuer picked her up with casual, insulting ease and carried her into the tent, away from the horses and the sun and the whispering crowd.
Her nostrils quivered, sensitised to a particular scent, faint, masculine, so potent that she could feel its effects in every cell in her body. Abnormally conscious of the smooth, coiled power in her rescuer’s strong arms and shoulders, Jan raised her lashes and saw in his bronzed throat the steady pulsing of his heartbeat.
For some reason her eyes filled with tears. Blinking fiercely, she dragged her gaze away and stared straight ahead, more shocked by the exaggerated response of her body than by the danger she had just escaped. Being aware of a man was one thing; this, she thought feverishly, was another and entirely more hazardous reaction. He overloaded her senses.
Inside the tent, he set her on her feet, and the heat of his body was replaced by a chill that struck through to her bones. Shivering, she collapsed into a folding chair that someone pushed towards her, kicking her shoes off. The man who had saved her life looked at her feet, brows climbing.
‘They scarcely look big enough to support an adult,’ he said.
It was not a compliment, but Jan’s bones liquefied.
‘We’re so very grateful for your quick thinking,’ Gerry said, turning her famous, slow smile onto the man.
He responded with a remark and an ironic, knowledgeable smile of his own. A visibly affected Gerry accompanied him from the tent.
‘God,’ the hairdresser said beneath his breath as he handed Jan a mug of tea, ‘I wish I had half his pulling power!’
Jan cupped her hands around the mug, waiting for them to stop trembling. Hearing without understanding the chatter of the crew about her, she sipped the hot liquid, taking exaggerated care not to spill it. She felt bruised and battered, her bones aching. Tomorrow, she thought grimly, she’d have fingermarks imprinted on her skin. Still, if he hadn’t acted with the speed and brute force of a hunting animal she could well have ended up under the horse, and then bruises would have been the least of her worries.
‘How do you feel?’ Gerry asked, approaching her with a frown that didn’t hide the anxiety in her expression.
Jan put the half-empty mug down and got to her feet, wavering slightly but determined. ‘I feel a bit shaky,’ she said, ‘but I’ll be fine. Hadn’t we better get the rest of the shots done?’
‘Are you sure you can manage it?’
‘Positive,’ Jan said. ‘Help me off with this wretched suit, will you?’
It took all of her self-assurance to walk again through the entrance of the tent and into the sun. Even though she’d expected the sudden shift of attention, she was embarrassed by it.
At least the ‘after’ gear suited the occasion perfectly—a honey-coloured shirt and matching skirt in fine cotton. Beneath the shirt was a silk singlet a shade lighter, and instead of the Italian shoes she wore low heels, perfect for picking her way across the grass. The diamond horror was replaced by a thin gold chain wound several times around her small wrist, and she carried a sleek, unadorned parasol.
This time Sid was his normal silent self, and the shoot finished quickly. Posing, looking wistful, smiling, Jan wanted nothing more than to be out of this and safely at home—away from all the eyes, away from the man who had looked at her with such charged antipathy.
Thank heavens he was nowhere in sight.
And she was there as a model, not to search the polo field for a stranger. So she kept her eyes resolutely away from the game and her mind on what she was doing.
However, just before she slipped back into the tent she saw him on a black horse. A primitive, unexpected alertness stirred her senses as she watched the rider reach over and hit the ball, then, with a skilled hand on the reins, gather his steed for a rapid change of direction.
‘Who are you looking at?’ Gerry asked. ‘Oh, him—he’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’ She grinned. ‘Definitely hero material, even though he made me feel like a worm. Too big for you, though—we all know you like smaller men.’
‘I don’t mind big men provided they don’t tread on me,’ Jan said, switching her gaze to a friend who was waving from further along the field. Waving