He got that right. This dressing room closet might be enormous, but being surrounded by personal things made the whole experience kind of intimate. No doubt the guy’s silk, gold-plated boxer briefs were lined up in that drawer over there. Get a grip, Zakowsky.
Lindsey held the jacket, and Seth shrugged into it. He shot the cuffs of his dress shirt out of the sleeves.
Lindsey pressed a hand to his own cheek. “My. Perfect, if I do say so myself.” He stepped closer. “Before you look, let me fuss a bit.” He walked to a drawer and pulled out what looked like a woman’s silk scarf. Gold and green, mostly. He pulled it around Seth’s neck and tied it. Hell, the guy was almost exactly Seth’s height. He looked so damned fragile, but he was actually pretty big. Lindsey admired his creation. “Good. Now, your hair.”
“What about it?” Seth patted a hand against the tightly bound ponytail he’d created so he could ride without hair in his mouth. Of course, the damned stuff wouldn’t stay bound.
Lindsey flicked his fingers against the loose curls that had escaped around Seth’s head. The guy’s warm, minty breath blew against Seth’s face, and he shivered.
“Your hair is extraordinary. I think we should use it to advantage.” In one move, Lindsey reached behind Seth’s neck and yanked the rubber band from his hair.
“Ow!” The mass of curly mane flew around Seth’s head.
“Oh my yes, much better.” He reached out with both hands and ran them through Seth’s curls. Well, crap. He wanted to close his eyes and just let the guy play. Stu-pid. He pulled his head away.
Lindsey’s eyes widened; then he smiled. “Okay, look at yourself.”
Seth walked to a full-length mirror on the side wall. Well, holy crap. He still looked tough, but— “I look like a sow’s ear you’re trying to turn into a silk purse, as my mama used to say.”
Lindsey walked up behind him. Amazing. Those long legs matched his own, but slimmer. The guy put his long-fingered hands on Seth’s very well-dressed shoulders. “No, darling, you don’t. You look like a very expensive silk purse that anyone would love to tuck under their arm.” He laughed, and the vibrations tingled through Seth’s chest.
Chapter Four
She-it! Seth fell back a step under the umbrellas as eight horses thundered toward him across the grass.
“Don’t worry. For some amazing reason, they almost never ride into the crowd.” The handsome, gray-haired man who wore a lot of cologne stuck out his hand. “Don’t think we’ve met. I’m Hanson Westerberg.”
Seth shook but his eyes flicked back to the horses. “Seth Zakowsky. I’m actually more concerned about those poor humans clinging to the backs of large, four-footed beasts running at top speed.”
Westerberg laughed. “Not a horseman, I gather.”
“A horse might as well be something in a zoo where I come from. At least we had one of those in the Bronx.”
Westerberg nodded. He gave Seth a quick but thorough once-over. “I see. Self-made man.”
Okay, maintain the mystery. “In a sense.” He smiled and looked back at the huge grass field in front of him.
“You’re a guest of Lindsey Vanessen, I believe.”
“Yes.”
“Brilliant polo player. Are you a friend of the family?”
This guy had an agenda, big time. “No, not really. Just of Lindsey’s.”
The horses pounded toward them again across the field. Lindsey rode his horse hard against the other team’s player, leaned down, and smashed the ball with his mallet thing right into the line of fire of one of his teammates. Woosh. The guy hit it toward the end zone. Just like that. Goal. People cheered politely and clapped their gloved hands.
“Lindsey pretty much set that up, right? He gets the assist?”
Westerberg laughed. “In a manner of speaking. Lindsey is the Number Three. Generally, the Number Three is the lead tactical position, and the best player on the team wielding the highest handicap. And yes, he performed a brilliant ride-off and fed the ball to his Number One for goal.”
“That’s what I thought, thanks.” No idea what the guy had said, but Seth sure understood how strong those thighs had to be to keep Lindsey on that horse. Lucky horse. A bell rang. He glanced at the man—Westerberg?
“Thirty seconds until the end of the chukker. Actually, we’re up to halftime.”
“Do they bring out the cheerleaders?” He grinned.
Westerberg’s eyebrows rose; then he seemed to get that Seth was kidding. “Oh yes, uh, no, they get a five minute rest instead of three.”
Seth shook his head. “Man, this is a killer sport.”
“Yes, they say men who ride horses, like jockeys, for instance, are among the fittest athletes in the world.”
“People.”
“Excuse me?”
“Two of those players are women. You said men.”
A slight crease appeared between his brows. “Oh yes, I misspoke. People.” He looked across the crowd toward the entrance. “Good meeting you. I’m expecting my son any moment, so please excuse me.”
“Sure.”
Westerberg smiled, but it came nowhere near his eyes. “He’s a friend of Lindsey’s.” The man walked away. Seth never quite got what his story was. He’d seemed pretty interested in where Seth came from. And who the fuck was his son?
A speeding body came to rest beside him. “Hi.” Lindsey shining with sweat was quite a picture.
“Hi. You’re one helluva player, man.”
He struck one of those damned drag queen poses of his. “Player? I trust you mean on the field, darling.”
“Yeah, of course.” Jesus, he hated flaming guys, but Lindsey wouldn’t stay one thing long enough for Seth to settle on an opinion. One minute queen, one minute wise counselor, and the next fantastic athlete. Confusing.
Lindsey dropped the act. “How are you getting on? I only have a minute. I need to check my ponies.”
“Ponies? Those beasts look pretty full grown to me.”
“Yes, it’s just an expression. Mine are mostly thoroughbreds.”
“Yours? You telling me you own those horses?”
“Of course. Only professional players ride other people’s horses.”
“Shit, man, this is one weird world.”
Lindsey smiled. “You have no idea.” Their eyes met and held, and then Lindsey blinked. “We have another forty or so minutes to play. Can you amuse yourself?”
“Uh, sure. I met one guy. Named Westerberg?”
Lindsey’s eyes widened. “Bruce?”
“No. I think he said Hanson or something like that.”
“Ah, good.” Did he look relieved? “All right, I have to run. Ta, darling. Go stomp some divots.”
“What?”
“The guests push the divots of dirt and grass from the horse’s hooves back down with their feet.” He pointed to all the elegant men and ladies and the kids from the charity this event supported walking around the field. “But beware of the steaming divots.” He laughed, turned, and ran across the field.
Seth walked back to the bar and got a mineral water. No alcohol. On duty, more or less. He circulated through the crowd until he heard an older woman talking about the kidnappings with a younger couple.