While she knew he
was here to research the potential for a polo club, he was not
specific about the details of his private life. Whenever she
pressed him for more information, he turned the conversation back
to her, or went into one story or another that was full of
adventure and intrigue. He told her that, like most polo players,
he was a thrill-seeker; his attitude was that all of life was a
game, one big gamble, there for the playing. When she asked him
how long he thought he would stay, he told her he was not really
sure. All she wanted, she reminded herself continually, was to be
able to keep spending a precious hour or two with him each day
riding. But lately, when she left him after their ride, she had
begun to allow herself a little more; she had now and then found
herself thinking about him during her midmorning bath, or just
staring out the bedroom window, across the treetops and off into
the near distance, at the ranch's gable rooftop. And sometimes,
after a morning ride, she would awaken on her bed, not
remembering having lain down, his face the first image to appear
to her, her mind studying and touching him before opening her
eyes and getting on with the day. Although she relished these
moments in his company, she could hardly wait to be away from him
today, to be alone with him in her secret way.
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