Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter #2) - Melanie Martins Page 0,55
formal, icy tone is enough to make a flood of emotion erupt inside me and a dark desire in my pussy ache to come out.
Jeez, I feel soft like a marshmallow when she is around, and I’m pretty sure this bitch knows it. “Hey, Yara,” I reply casually, trying to feign indifference to her charms.
“Where should I put the bags, Miss?” the chauffeur asks me. And judging by his tense shoulders, they seem pretty heavy.
“Oh sure, this way, please.” I lead them to the changing room beside the stables. Yara enters first and takes a quick glance around at the modern and spacious design of the place, while her chauffeur is already headed toward the bench that sits in the center to put the bags there. Curiously enough, I notice she smirks once her eyes alight on my brand-new polo apparel resting on a chair beside the Italian shower, and I wonder what she’s thinking.
“Thanks,” Yara says as the chauffeur leaves. My breath quickens at the realization that there is only the two of us in the changing room. Fuck, I’m with Yara Van Lawick, alone in my changing room. Thank God for that engagement party. As I see Yara opening the first bag, I ask, “Um, what did you bring?”
She turns to face me, and as our eyes lock, she says, “Everything we need to have fun.”
I let out a quick chuckle at her serious statement, but not her. Yara opens the first bag wide and takes out two polo sticks, two mallets, two pair of gloves, two helmets…
“Helmets?” I ask, nearly in outrage. “I’ve never fallen from a horse before. This is ridiculous.” But I take my words back upon seeing her turn again, her squinted eyes dangerously censuring me as she holds a long leather whip.
“There are whips in polo?” I ask, my voice slightly shaky. I must sound like a dumbass right now, but my heartbeat is speeding up like crazy. And I can’t seem to look away from the instrument between her hands.
“Yes,” she says simply. “Don’t you have riding crops in your stables?”
“I guess I do.” The truth is, for the sake of horseback riding, I’ve never thought about using it. And I don’t remember Petra using one either.
Yara is checking me out from top to bottom with a resting bitch face. “Get dressed. You have five minutes.” And then she leaves the changing room, her order hanging in the air.
What? Bitch, no one tells me how long I have to get dressed! But at this point, I’m just batting my eyelids at the door she just crossed through. Well, she seems just as authoritative as her older brother. Must run in the family. My thoughts then go to her poor kids who have to deal with a mother like her.
I take my clothes off and put on the polo shirt, beige breeches, and brown boots I bought yesterday, while cursing under my breath at her attitude and praising my parents for being her precise opposite.
Stepping outside, I see Yara smoking a cigarette as she waits for me. Enjoying one without me? I huff at how rude that is.
“Ready,” I snap.
She throws the cigarette away, not even bothering to ask me if I want one. My face is as angry as it gets, but she gives me a polite smile and brushes past me, returning to get her gear.
And I thought I was a spoiled brat—damn, this woman is the worst! Since I still have some manners, I ask, “Need some help?”
“Yes, please, you may put your helmet on, and get your gloves and polo stick.”
Since she said “please” for once, I swallow my bitterness, put the idiotic helmet on, and follow her to the stables. Wait—why is she even leading the way in my house? “Do you know the way?” I ask her.
“I know where the entrance to the stables is, thanks.”
“Your left thigh is not tightening enough in the saddle. That’s why you can’t turn properly and miss your offside shot,” Yara explains right after my failed attempt to hit the ball at twenty yards. It seemed so easy though! Fuck, we’ve been here for at least thirty minutes, and I haven’t been able to hit the ball once! Meanwhile, Mrs. Van Lawick did some gracious demonstrations of what an offside and nearside shot look like. Well, at least I had the pleasure of admiring her sculpted body in action.
“This is way harder than I thought,” I say in my defense.