In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,72

The thing is, it helps him eat, and it keeps his pain levels manageable. Once, when Mrs. Fleming brought over some of her special hand-rolled joints, and Dad smoked one on the front porch, the neighbor across the street stormed over to scream how on a federal level, marijuana was still a schedule one narcotic.

I went all the way off on him about how the plant is medicinal, far safer than opiates, and frankly none of his damn business. He hasn’t been over since. Nobody will take Charlie’s pain management away on my watch.

“This should be fun,” he says, leaning back in the cushioned seat and smiling as I sit down next to him and fold my dress under my thighs. Apparently the game is broken up into segments called chukkas … or maybe chukkers? It’s hard to tell with Windsor’s accent sometimes.

Princess Alexandra talks incessantly after the game starts, pointing out the better players—Windsor and, unsurprisingly, Tristan—and telling us all about how she once met the man of her dreams stomping divots at the Portsea Polo Match in Australia. Apparently, Wind’s dad was quite the athlete.

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