The Riding Master

by Alexandrea Weis

  “Thanks for the extra pressure, Rebecca. Not only do I have to please Trent, now I have to please you, too.”

  “Yeah, but I only need to be pleased vertically, kiddo,” she chuckled with a wink. “Your man requires a different kind of horizontal pleasure.”

  “Christ, Rebecca. Are you always thinking about sex, or do you just pretend to be?”

  Squinting her brown eyes, Rebecca pondered the question. “No, I’m not pretending. I’m always thinking about sex.”

  Clucking to Bob, Rayne urged him to follow her to the stable entrance. “You should have been born a man.”

  “Maybe in my next life. In the meantime, bring your flea motel to my place before you two head into the city Saturday. I’ll have my grandkids come over and wear his furry hide out.”

  “Frank will like that. He loves kids.” Rayne started down the shed row with Bob.

  “And Rayne?”

  Rayne halted and turned to Rebecca.

  “He won’t hurt you. It’s real obvious he’s crazy about you.”

  Rayne drew in a shaky breath. “Yeah, I’m crazy about him too, Rebecca. That’s what scares me.”

  ***

  The following Saturday night, Rayne was caressing the soft fabric of her dark green gown as Trent opened the passenger door of his car. The empire-waisted, halter design hugged the curves of her hips and accentuated her full breasts, making Rayne feel more self-conscious than attractive.

  “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” Trent articulated as she stepped from his car.

  “No. When you picked me up, your first words were ‘Let’s not go,’ and, ‘Take off that dress.’”

  Trent shut the car door and fidgeted with the black tie of his tuxedo. “I was excited. Any man seeing you in that dress would be excited.”

  “Thank you…I think.” She brushed a speck of lint from the lapel of his black tuxedo jacket. “And you look pretty damned handsome in that.”

  His hand ran around her back and rested on her butt. “I’ll let you strip it off me later.”

  “I’m counting on it,” she taunted, tracing the curve of his clean-shaven jaw with her finger.

  Letting out a ragged breath, Trent took her hand. “You’re going to be the best-looking woman in the place.”

  Rayne cast her eyes to a contemporary one-story, natural stone home nestled on two lush acres. With a myriad of pricey imported cars parked before it, the house seemed out of place and better suited for a Texas ranch rather than a luxury mansion.

  “It’s not what I expected from an oil tycoon,” she admitted, eyeing the array of trimmed white crape myrtle, white birch, and dogwood trees in front of the structure.

  “Just wait.” Trent nodded to the house. “It’s a lot like Tyler Moore; simple on the outside, but very impressive on the inside. He bought it after he married Monique a few months back. But don’t be fooled; he and Monique are really down-to-earth people. Especially Monique. She’s from New Orleans, like you.” He took her elbow and guided her to a walkway that meandered through the trees, leading to the home.

  “You didn’t tell me she was from New Orleans.” Her high black heels clicked on the cement as they strolled along.

  “Her professional name is Monique Delome. She writes romance novels.”

  “The Monique Delome?” She glanced over at Trent. “I can’t believe it. I’ve never read her books, but Lindsey, my friend at work, has.”

  The idea of a party sprinkled with celebrities and the socially well-to-do brought to mind her life with Foster and all the misery she had endured.

  Trent stopped in mid-stride. “You’re shivering. Do you want my jacket?”

  “No, it’s just that…well, this reminds me of my marriage. I feel like I’ve gone back in time; the fancy clothes, fancy cars, expensive homes, and famous guests.”

  “Do you want to leave?”

  “Of course not.” She clasped his hand. “This is your friend, not some business associate or charity event where I have to smile, say nothing, and look like attractive arm candy.”

  “Well, you definitely look like candy to me.” His eyes glided over her outfit. “I’d eat you.”

  “Are you sure you and Rebecca aren’t related in some way?”

  His brow crinkled. “I don’t get it.”

  “Forget it.” She waved off his confusion. “I just hope Frank survives the night with her.”

  “I hope she can sleep through his snoring.” Trent’s troubled eyes inspected her face. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  She started down the walkway, ignoring his concern. “I want to meet your friends. It might give me a little more insight into you.”

  He came alongside her and hooked her arm through his. “You already know everything about me.”

  His comment ricocheted about in her heart, reawakening her uncertainty. “I don’t know everything, Trent.”

  “Well, you know a lot, Rayne. And just tell me if tonight gets to be too much. We can sneak out and head over to the hotel.”

  “I will.” Rayne took in a fortifying breath when she spotted the flowing gowns and tuxedos of the other guests heading toward the entrance of the home.

  “Promise? I don’t want you putting up with something that makes you uncomfortable for my sake, Rayne.”

  A little stunned, Rayne gave him a perplexed side-glance. “That’s a first.”

  “What is?”

  “Being with a man who cares more about my feelings than his.”

  He patted her hand as they came to the edge of the gardens on the side of the portico. “That’s the way it should be.”

  They made their way under a wide porch to a pair of open dark red double doors with circular, bright brass knockers. As they waited for guests ahead of them to trickle inside, Rayne rolled Trent’s words over in her mind. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be with a man. Never before had she known such contentment and such happiness. As long as Rayne lived, she would treasure this moment; that nanosecond where long-wished-for dreams merged with the reality of one’s life, making everything seem absolutely…perfect.

  Chapter 19

  After wading through the crowds at the entrance and passing a bottleneck of colorful gowns, shimmering jewels, and varying cuts of black tuxedos, Rayne and Trent managed to squeeze their way into the home. They meandered along a narrow corridor with gray marble floors and thick glass windows on one side. Glancing out the windows, Rayne slowed, awestruck by the view.

  A center patio, edged with thick green shrubbery and gray slate, surrounded an I-shaped pool and spa that was lit with ethereal blue and green lights. On either side of the pool, twenty-foot high walls of glass and thick wood beams allowed a clear view of symmetrical living rooms and fireplaces.

  “It’s stunning,” Rayne remarked.

  “The home backs to Turtle Creek and was designed by an old friend of mine, architect Hayden Parr of Parr and Associates. Behind the house are wandering paths of gardens, stone walls, and ponds that lead to the creek.” Trent urged her further into the home. “Let’s find our hosts.”

  Guiding her past a drawing room of high peaked ceilings, hardwood floors, and another wall of windows, Rayne took in the airy use of space and light around her. But when they stepped into one of the living rooms, her eyes grew round with astonishment.

  Rectangular in shape with a fire pit fireplace at one end topped by a colossal tarnished metal hood, the living room had an iridescent pearl-covered bar with an elongated fish tank built into the wall behind it. Soft taupe leather sofas and chairs complemented the pale paneling on the walls, while metal and glass tables sat atop a muted beige Berber carpet. Guests were seated at high backed leather stools about the bar, where a black-tied bartender was serving drinks. Others were taking in the serene views of the gardens and grounds through the windows that made up two of the twenty-foot high walls in the room.

  “I don’t see them.” Trent swept the room with his eyes. “Let’s try the kitchen.�
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  Taking her arm, he escorted her back into the narrow hallway and passed doors of opaque glass with veins of metal that looked like sticks of wood embedded in them. Rayne browsed a few black and white framed photographs of New Orleans landmarks on the walls, and wanted to stop and study the pictures in detail, but Trent encouraged her onward. Soon, Rayne was standing at the entrance to one of the most spacious rooms she had ever seen.

  One long, rectangular room was comprised of a family room, kitchen, and dining area. There were no walls or partitions between sections, only two oval islands of oak cabinets topped with black granite were set in the center, designating the kitchen area. Three of the walls were inlaid with windows, overlooking gardens bathed in amber and yellow light. The remaining wall was covered from floor to ceiling with oak cabinets and inlaid niches for knickknacks and family photos. In the kitchen, the cabinets were broken up by black granite countertops, and then a Viking cooktop, double oven, and built-in glass refrigerator created a shiny centerpiece.

  The crowds were thickest in this room, hovering over silver chaffing dishes set out on the two kitchen islands, and clustered in groups as black tie wait staff served hors d’oeuvres on silver platters.

  “There they are,” Trent pronounced to be heard over the noise of the other guests, and then began pulling Rayne toward one of the kitchen islands.

  Rayne’s eyes settled on an attractive older gentleman standing next to the counter with his arm around the waist of a very petite woman with an upswept coif of dirty-blonde hair.

  The woman had pale, almost translucent skin, an oval face, rosy cheeks, and sleek cheekbones that complemented her small pink mouth and daintily curved jaw. Her pleated light red gown reminded Rayne of a Greek statue. It attached at one shoulder, clung to her trim waist, and fanned out into a cascade of sweeping material that gathered behind her in a small train. The thick gold bead and diamond choker about her slender neck made Rayne raise her hand to her woefully inadequate emerald and diamond necklace. It was one of the few expensive pieces Foster had given her for their fifth wedding anniversary.

  The handsome man beside the elegant blonde laughed at something one of his guests had said, and then discretely rubbed his hand over his chin, attempting to hide his cocky grin. When his eyes pivoted about the room, he spotted Trent, and his grin spread into a sincere smile.

  “Trent,” he shouted in a friendly tone.

  “Tyler Moore,” Trent whispered to Rayne.

  Attired in a black Armani tuxedo that shimmered beneath the recessed lights above, Tyler Moore’s fit body screamed of grace, sophistication, and long hours at the gym. Black, wavy hair tinged at the sides with gray outlined his chiseled cheekbones, determined, square jaw, and high forehead. As his deep-set, dark eyes lingered over Rayne’s dress, her stomach tied into a thousand knots.

  “Finally, you made it.” Tyler Moore held out a tapering hand to Trent.

  Trent gripped his hand. “Yeah, we had to drop Frank off at his babysitters.”

  “Frank’s the dog that snores, right?” Tyler turned to Rayne. “Trent has told me quite a few entertaining stories about your dog, Ms. Greer.”

  Rayne extended her hand, a little awestruck that such an important man would be bothered remembering stories about Frank. “Please, call me Rayne, and thank you for having me tonight. You have a beautiful home.”

  “Thank you, Rayne.” Tyler tapped the shoulder of the woman beside him. “Moe, Trent and Rayne are here.”

  Shady gray eyes turned to Rayne, surprising her with their intensity. Up close the woman’s beauty was even more breathtaking, and at the same time unexpectedly fragile. In that instant, Rayne was reminded of her sister Jaime. She had shared the woman’s coloring and captivating beauty.

  “Rayne, I’m Monique Delome.” She offered a delicate hand to Rayne. “Trent has told us so much about you.”

  Rayne shook Monique’s hand and immediately knew she liked this woman. Her warm, welcoming manner had completely erased the knots created by her husband’s disturbing eyes.

  “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Delome. I must say I have a friend that simply adores your books.”

  “You must call me Monique.” Her attention shifted to Trent. “You have a very good eye, my friend.” She kissed his cheek.

  “You don’t have a drink.” Tyler pointed to their empty hands. “Come with me.” He patted Trent on the shoulder. “I’ll take you to the bar.

  Trent’s fingers caressed Rayne’s hand. “What would you like?”

  “Wine is good.”

  “Champagne,” Monique proposed. “You must have champagne. We have two cases of Bollinger RD for tonight.”

  Rayne bowed her head graciously. “That is my favorite champagne.”

  “See?” Monique waved at Rayne. “She is already fitting in.”

  Trent displayed a proud smile. “I’ll get you champagne then.”

  As Trent and Tyler walked away, Rayne could not help but watch their lean bodies sway beneath their tuxedos. Almost the exact same height, both men cut an impressive figure from behind, but Trent’s body boasted a thicker set of shoulders and much better butt.

  “Good-looking men, aren’t they?” Monique spoke out behind her.

  Rayne blushed slightly as she turned around, embarrassed that she had been caught staring. “I’m sorry, I was just admiring the—”

  “Don’t worry about it. You wouldn’t be female if you didn’t look.” Monique’s grey eyes skimmed over Rayne’s features. “Trent told me you’re from New Orleans. What part of the city are you from?”

  “Uptown,” Rayne replied. “My parents had a house on Second Street just off Prytania.”

  “I’ve got a house on Prytania. Ty keeps bugging me to put it up for sale, but I just can’t make myself.”

  “Do you get back often?”

  “Not so much anymore,” Monique conceded. “Since our daughter, Eva, was born, I’ve been staying close to home.”

  “Your daughter? How old is she?”

  “Six months.” Monique gazed about the crowded room. “I was going to sneak away to check on her, if you would care to join me.”

  Rayne heartily nodded, excited at the prospect. “I would love to meet your little girl.”

  “Come on, but don’t tell Ty. He’ll just scold me for taking you away from Trent.” Monique crooked her finger at Rayne and then slinked away from the kitchen island, carrying the train of her light red dress in her hand.

  She led Rayne down a hallway away from the kitchen, and as they went along, the noise of the party dimmed behind them. On the walls, Rayne noticed more old photographs of New Orleans.

  “I love these pictures,” Rayne told her.

  Monique lovingly smiled. “I collect old photographs of New Orleans. Keeps home in my heart.”

  They came to an ash-stained door at the end of the corridor, and Monique pushed down on the long silver handle. As the door opened, pink light seeped into the hallway. The room beyond was awash in the soothing light, coming from a single lamp set beside a pink crib with a turning mobile of pink and white angels above it. On the walls were painted white, wooly lambs, small pink piglets, doves, and creamy ponies, and amid the animals, chubby cherubs were tying slender red ribbons on the tails of each and every creature. White shelves on a far wall were packed with stuffed toys and assorted bottles of lotions, creams, and powders.

  “Is she still sleeping, Trisha?” Monique inquired, turning to an older woman in a white scrub suit.

  “She’s been sleeping soundly, Mrs. Moore.” Trisha stood from the chair she had set up in a corner of the room. “She hasn’t made a peep.”

  Monique motioned for Trisha to return to her seat. “I just wanted to check on her.” She glanced about the room. “Where is he?”

  Trisha pointed to a pink pillow on the floor to the side of the crib. Rayne lowered her eyes to the pillow to see a small dog with patchy white fur sleeping on his back as his pink tongue hung from the side of his mouth.

/>   “Bart, my dog,” Monique explained. “He never leaves Eva’s room.”

  Gentle snores could be heard coming from Bart, making Rayne smile. “I’ve got a snorer, too. Mine is named Frank.”

  Trisha returned to her chair as Rayne and Monique crept up to the crib. The aroma of baby powder blended with sweet honeysuckle floated by Rayne’s nose as she peeked over the railing of the crib. Inside, a very small head with faint, wispy yellow hair was jutting out from beneath a pink blanket. The infant had her thumb in her mouth, but her eyes were closed and she appeared as peaceful as anything Rayne had ever seen.

  “She’s been so good.” Monique stroked the child’s head. “Tyler keeps claiming that she can’t possibly be ours.”

  “She is adorable.” Rayne regarded the baby with awe. “She’s so tiny.”

  “She was early. Took us both by surprise. We had just gotten married a few days before I went into labor.”

  The infant yawned and squirmed in the crib, then went right back to sleep.

  “We’d better not wake her.” Monique directed her eyes to the nursery door.

  After they had stepped back into the hall, Monique regarded Rayne. “Trent told me you two met at the stables where he works.”

  “Yes, he’s the riding master there and I teach the children’s classes.”

  “He’s quite something, isn’t he?”

  Bewildered by the question, Rayne asked, “Who? Trent?”

  “Yes, Trent.” Monique grinned, entertained by her response. “I met him when I married Tyler, but he has become a good friend to both of us.” She gestured down the hall, indicating for them to return to the party. “I may not have known Trent very long, but I have never seen him so confounded by anyone.” She gathered up her train.

  Rayne fell in step beside her. “Confounded?”

  “Yes. From the moment he first mentioned you, it has been obvious how he feels.”

  “Has it?” Rayne shook her head, convinced otherwise. If anything, she was more confused than ever by the man.