Sequel to Ride-Off
Polo: Book Three
Retired polo players Preston Fawkes and Konrad Schnell have finally found the happiness that eluded them for years. Their stud farm is a big success, and their marriage couldn’t be healthier. Unfortunately, this idyllic life is disrupted by several unexpected sources.
Paloma, Preston’s twenty-one-year-old daughter, is determined to be a 10 goal player before she turns thirty. Bandi, Konrad’s son, dreams of starting a family with his husband, Ned Temple. Paloma offers to surrogate if her father and stepfather come out of retirement and team up with her for one season.
Preston and Konrad would do anything to make their children happy, but they’re confronted with a stumbling block. Trauma specialist Dr. Rayne Carlisle refuses to sign off on the necessary paperwork unless Preston agrees to be his submissive for one week.
Caught between the proverbial rock and hard place, Preston and Konrad deal with disgruntled former lovers, demanding children, and old enemies in this sequel to Ride-Off.
Cover Artist: Anne Cain
Chapter 1
DR. RAYNE CARLISLE watched as the enigmatic man who’d piqued his interest years ago walked across his Persian carpet with purposeful strides. When Preston Fawkes could go no farther, he dropped into the leather chair in front of the antique mahogany desk Rayne had purchased for his new office on Harley Street. Rayne had left his position as head of trauma at Epsom General in favor of a more regulated life as a private practitioner, specializing in spinal cord injuries. After years of patching up members of the polo set in Surrey, he was more than qualified for the job.
“Carlisle,” Preston said, greeting him with a quirk to his lip that always set Rayne’s teeth on edge. It was usually a prelude to another one of the Texan’s outrageous demands.
“Fawkes,” he said stonily. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“I need help.”
Rayne snorted ungraciously. “I’ve been telling you that for years.”
Preston leaned forward. “I’m serious.”
“If it’s Viagra you need, I suggest you make an appointment with a urologist.”
Preston shook his head.
“Is Konrad having more PTSD-related episodes? Or are you men back for a tutorial in the fine art of figging?”
“None of the above,” Preston assured him. “I’d like to get back into competing, and I need a clean bill of health for the insurance.”
Seeking clarification, because the obvious conclusion couldn’t possibly be right, Rayne asked, “Competing at what?”
Preston looked at Rayne in disbelief. “Polo, what else?”
“You’re mad,” Rayne pronounced. “Or you have a death wish.”
“It’s just one season.”
“It takes one second for your neck to snap,” Rayne pointed out.
“Will you stop being so melodramatic?”
Rayne put his hands on the desk, stood, and glared at Preston reprovingly. “You are insane. The last time you had a fall, I warned you that the next one could put you in a wheelchair or worse.”
“That was five years ago, and I recovered without any residual damage. I’ve been riding on the ranch almost every day, and the worst thing that has happened is a mild case of hemorrhoids.”
Rayne sank back down in his chair and shook his head. “You’re disgusting.”
“Hey, I’m telling it like it is.”
“Why do you have this need to put your life in danger again?”
“For Paloma’s sake.”
“Is she one of your exes?”
“She’s my daughter, you bastard!”
“Right… sorry. I can’t keep track of your progeny.”
Preston flipped him the bird, cementing Rayne’s opinion that he was not only disgusting, but rude.
Undeterred, Preston continued. “She’s got this idea that teaming with us will bump up her status lickety-split. She dreams of becoming a 10 goal player before the age of thirty.”
“Is it even a possibility?”
“It’s not improbable with the right team. In that respect, she’s absolutely correct.”
“Who would be on this dream team?” Rayne asked.
“Konrad, Bandi, and me.”
Rayne jeered, “Two has-beens and one wannabe.”
“Now who’s being the asshole?”
“Fawkes, you’re almost fifty and your partner is fifty-five. Correct me if I’m wrong, but Konrad hasn’t played serious polo in over three decades, and his son quit before he even started. What in God’s name could you possibly gain by putting yourself at risk like this?”
“A grandchild.”
“Sorry?”
“Paloma has offered to be a surrogate for Bandi and Ned when the season is over. This child will carry both Konrad’s and my genes. He or she will be a true blood relative.”
“There are countless women out there who could surrogate for them if Paloma can’t be persuaded to drop her outrageous demands. Why not chuck the whole idea and consider adoption? There are thousands of children in need of a good home. Why is having their own child so important?”
“It just is.”
“Because—?”
“That’s what they want, and finding a qualified surrogate isn’t as simple as you might think,” Preston pointed out. “Candidates are screened and tested by qualified doctors and lawyers, but in the end, one takes a chance by investing in a complete stranger. Paloma is family. I trust her not to change her mind at the last minute and break Ned’s and Bandi’s hearts, and as far as we know, she’s healthy. There’s no secret gene lurking in her DNA that’ll result in any kind of disability.”
“Doesn’t she want children of her own?”
“Eventually,” Preston said, “but right now she’s too caught up in polo to think about starting a family.”
“Being pregnant would curtail her activities for several months,” Rayne said. “Or does she think that popping out a baby will simply mean a change of wardrobe?”
“I have no idea what she’s expecting, but the offer was made, and once Kon and I recovered from the shock, we realized it made absolute sense. Neither one of us thought we’d ever have the opportunity to have grandchildren since both our sons are gay. This is a gift you just can’t turn down.”
“It comes with a hefty price tag.”
“Do you have any idea what kind of baby Bandi and Paloma could produce? They’re two of the best-looking people I know, and the odds of breeding another champion are that much better with Kon’s genes in the mix.”
“We’re talking about a human being, Fawkes, not a polo pony.”
“Same difference. Good stock is what matters.”
“My God. You’re absolutely serious, aren’t you?”
“I am. Kon’s already passed his physical with flying colors, and now it’s my turn. He won’t agree to this plan until you’ve worked me over and guarantee I won’t splinter into a million pieces like a Lladró figurine.”
“There’s no way I can promise you won’t suffer a life-threatening injury. I’m a physician, not a psychic.”
“No, but you can scan, poke, and prod these old bones to make sure they can withstand the regular beating that goes on during the course of a game. I realize you’re not infallible—even though you often think you’re God—and can only give us an educated guess; however, Kon seems to think you care enough about me to tell him the truth if you have any doubts about the eventual outcome.”
Rayne glowered. “It’s extremely thoughtless of you to put me in this position. If anything were to happen to you on the field, I would never forgive myself.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if it did.”
“You’re missing the point, Fawkes,” Rayne said frostily. “Despite my best efforts, I’ve come to care for you, and I would never deliberately send you to your death, or worse.”
“What could be worse than death?”
“Becoming a quad- or paraplegic.”
“If that were to happen, I trust you’ll give me a lethal injection and send me on my merry way.”
“Don’t make jokes like that, Fawkes. It gives me chills thinking about it.”
“Rayne,” Preston cajoled, using his first name, a reminder that at one time they were a step away from becoming lovers, “come on… please?”
“No.”
Preston reached across the desk and placed his hand over the one Rayne had resting on his green ink blotter. He made slow circles with his thumb, then lightly gripped his wrist. “Isn’t there anything I can do to change your mind?”
The question bypassed Rayne’s brain and went straight to his cock, causing it to swell against his pants. It was humiliating considering his position, yet he couldn’t deny the fact that he was always tempted whenever Preston turned on the charm.
Nevertheless, Rayne cleared his throat and asked, “Are you bribing me with sex?”