Polo: Book Two
Sequel to Fire Horse
Finally reunited, Preston Fawkes and Konrad Schnell put family and obligations aside, preferring to remain in seclusion on Ned’s estate to get reacquainted. Unfortunately, reality can only be held off for so long, and they return to Texas to reclaim the life they put on pause. Trying to strike the right balance between business, family, and romance requires ongoing effort, and the challenges begin shortly after they arrive.
At the top of the list is Bandi, Konrad’s son, and his desire to play polo. A close second is Conrad “Sasha” Fawkes, Preston’s actor son who’s struggling to succeed on Broadway. And last, but certainly not least, is Paloma, the fiery Argentinean beauty Preston sired after a passionate tango.
Blending the interests and needs of three grown children is difficult at best and almost impossible when agendas collide and old secrets are unearthed. The situation comes to a head when the family gathers in San Antonio for Thanksgiving, throwing Preston and Konrad into a maelstrom they must weather as best they can, or they’ll face a major ride-off that could throw the game before it even starts.
Cover Artist: Anne Cain
Prologue
THE naked light bulb illuminating the dingy men’s room was a far cry from the black lights I’d envisioned as the background for my first sexual encounter. Likewise the asshole who’d crowded me into the miniscule stall. He was a crappy substitute for the beautiful man I’d been dreaming about for months.
When his booted foot made contact with my ribcage, I jerked, curling into a ball instinctively, like one of the chiggy-wigs that plagued Mom’s garden. The defensive stance didn’t save me from the succeeding kick, which was lower this time, closer to the targeted area he’d been trying to breech with invasive fingers. I grunted as the pain blossomed and spread throughout my lower extremities. The sound of the jeering voice I’d found so alluring earlier in the evening intruded, and I cringed, waiting for the next hit.
“Here’s a little something you can take away from this experiment,” my hookup snarled. The pungent odor of fresh urine invaded my nostrils as the warm liquid splashed over my face and neck in a steady stream. I wanted to scream in protest and lash out at the bastard, but I cowered instead, completely intimidated by his rage. Impatiently, he patted me down, and I whimpered rather than fighting back, adding to my humiliation. The guy lifted my phone and wallet from their usual spots in my back pockets and whooped in triumph when he found the two hundred dollars I’d brought along for the evening.
“Consider this payback for the money I wasted on you tonight,” he said dispassionately, tossing the wallet away. It landed in the puddle of piss near my head. “I’m keeping your phone so you can’t call for help. By the time they find you, I’ll be long gone. See you around, sunshine.”
The clicking of horseshoe taps echoed loudly as he exited the washroom, followed by a loud bang when the door swung shut. The abrupt silence was broken by a leaky faucet and my thumping heartbeats. The main door swung open again, slamming against the wall and making me jump. Sweat broke out on my forehead and dripped down my face, mixing with the blood, snot, and piss. I began to hyperventilate, terrified that he’d had second thoughts and was back to finish what he started. I hauled myself up to a sitting position and scooted into the tight space between the wall and the toilet, hunching over to protect my groin. He’d have to work harder if he intended to get in my pants tonight. A toilet flushed and a stall door opened. I could see feet through the gap, and I reached out to grab someone’s ankle.
“Dude,” the stranger yelped, startled by my clawing hand. He stuck his head through the narrow space and cursed when he saw me. “What the fuck happened, man?”
“Help me,” I begged. I wanted to get up and find my way back to the car before security discovered me, but I was in too much pain. My nose was throbbing and so was my asshole. I put my head down on my raised knees and drifted off.
Chapter One
CONRAD FAWKES reclined on one of the leather sofas in his father’s study, pressing a cool drink to his forehead while trying to talk himself out of the rotten mood that was weighing him down like a chorus girl’s headdress. The sounds of a party in full swing filtered in from the outside terrace, past the double pane windows and the droning of the old-fashioned air conditioning wall unit, which was providing some relief on this hot summer day. He’d been braced for temperatures in the nineties, having grown up on this ranch, but living on the East Coast for the last four years had altered his memories somewhat. He’d forgotten how god-awful it was in San Antonio in mid-August.
The door opened suddenly and his new cousin walked in and headed straight for the air conditioner. András, or Bandi as he was affectionately called by almost everyone, was three years older than Conrad and ruggedly handsome. He put down the longneck he’d been guzzling and unfastened the buttons of his shirt, which was plastered to his torso. Conrad could appreciate the loud sigh of relief, having experienced the same remission from a sweat-drenched shirt about an hour ago. The cooler air would provide a momentary reprieve. The Hungarian thought he was alone, and Conrad remained silent, seizing the opportunity to observe this recent addition to his small family. Bandi stood over six feet tall on a pair of legs that seemed to go on forever. From this angle, Conrad soaked up the sight of the broad shoulders and narrow waist and could only imagine that his cousin would be just as magnificent when viewed up front. Conrad coughed to announce his presence.
Bandi spun around and then exclaimed in surprise. “Hey! I didn’t know you were in here.”
The creamy white shirt hung open and Conrad caught a glimpse of dark chest hairs before Bandi hastily buttoned up. Olive skin and a richly shadowed jaw offset the feminine beauty of the heavily lashed blue eyes, a dominant Schnell trait they both shared. Unlike Conrad, and the rest of his father’s relatives, Bandi was a brunet. His cocoa-tinted hair curled in soft wisps around his forehead and neckline.
Conrad tore his eyes away from Bandi’s open collar and replied, “It’s the coolest spot in the house.”
“You don’t like the heat?”
“Not so much.”
“I do,” Bandi said, “but I needed a break.”
“Didn’t it get hot back where you came from?”
“Sure, but it’s way more humid over here.”
They continued to study each other blatantly. Conrad hadn’t quite come to terms with this new relative, and he assumed Bandi was just as confused by the sudden change in his status. The resurrection of his long-lost uncle Konrad, whom he’d been named after, had been a shock of epic proportions. The man had been presumed dead until he had emerged on Ned Temple’s estate almost two years ago, a scarred replica of the fresh-faced young boy who’d enlisted in the Air Force in 1983. Monica Schnell-Fawkes, Conrad’s mother, almost had a nervous breakdown after being informed that her only brother was very much alive. The fallout had escalated when his uncle admitted that he and his best friend, who also happened to be Conrad’s father, had been lovers before he’d disappeared without a trace.