Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash

by Bev Pettersen

  But a car swap for an entire week would require some heavy guilt.

  She swept into the bathroom, hesitating over her makeup bag. He’d worked tirelessly for her today and seemed to be trying to apologize the only way he knew. But he’d been so dogmatic yesterday, always thinking he knew best. She hated bullies.

  He was coming down. She could hear his tread on the roof, then the jangle of the ladder. She resolutely grabbed her makeup.

  Two minutes later, she returned to the kitchen and pushed open the screen door. He stood on the porch, mopping his face with his balled up shirt, muscles bunching as he dragged it across his forehead. Her dad had never worked a fraction as hard.

  She paused, trying to gather her resentment but it had drained away with the day.

  “I’ll do Peanut’s roof on the next nice evening,” he said, “then the chicken coop.” His dark eyes swept over her, widening as he noticed her bruised arm.

  She immediately regretted her decision. He looked so appalled, and now she was taking this thing too far. “This bruise isn’t from yesterday,” she said quickly. She dropped on the swing, unbalanced by his stricken gaze.

  The porch creaked beneath the tread of his work boots, and he lowered himself beside her.

  “Really, it’s not from yesterday,” she repeated. “You didn’t grab me that hard. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you think that.” She glanced up and spotted the amused twitch of his lip.

  “Oh, good. You already knew.” She blew out a sigh of relief. He carried his guilt much too heavily, and she already regretted applying the dark makeup to her arm. “How did you know?”

  “I grabbed you by the left arm,” he said. “That bruise is on the right. Makeup?”

  She nodded ruefully.

  “So are we about even now?” he asked.

  She nodded again.

  “Good.” He leaned over, tilting her face with a finger. His mouth dipped, surprising her with a kiss, a kiss so tender she moved her lips, searching, wondering if they were even touching. The sweetest, nicest kiss, a kiss of apology that made her heart dance.

  Her left arm lifted, drifting over that damp, rippled chest, exploring what she had admired all day. He was slick and hard and controlled, and she slid her hand around the back of his neck, feeling his hair damp against her fingers.

  His tongue slipped into her mouth, and she automatically tilted, her nipples hypersensitive against the fabric of her shirt. His kiss deepened, turning hungry, and she pressed against him, wanting to get closer to that sweaty body.

  He pulled back with a frustrated groan and dragged his mouth over her cheek, the cords in his neck taut. “I need a shower, Jenna. But come home with me. Please.”

  “I need to catch Peanut first.”

  “I’ll look after the pony. Just get in the car.”

  “Yes but Peanut is hard to—”

  “Just get in the car, sweetheart.”

  He was being bossy again but in a nice way, so she let him tug her to the car. He turned on the air conditioning and tossed his crumpled shirt in the back. “I’ll be one minute, max,” he said, his voice gruff.

  But she knew he’d be much longer than one minute, and he really should learn to listen to her. She sighed as her shirtless hunk of a man rushed toward Peanut.

  The pony pricked his ears, watching with curious eyes. He looked more energetic after the oxygen and light therapy, almost mischievous. His tail swished and he sniffed the air, hopeful for carrots.

  Burke reached out to grab Peanut’s halter, his forearm as thick as the pony’s leg, but Peanut whirled at the last second. Trotted deeper into the grass, tail lifting, in no hurry to leave his grazing.

  Jenna grinned. Peanut was wily. She’d spent hours chasing the little rascal and it had been a game in itself, playing pony tag. Now she was older, didn’t have so much time, and had learned to just stick some carrots in her pocket and whistle. But, of course, Peanut still loved playing tag. And he was only getting warmed up.

  She could help, of course, but Burke had insisted she remain in the car. He always thought he knew best. His chest glistened, his skin a much darker shade than it had been this morning, and he made another futile rush for her pony.

  It was almost five. The sun was lowering, but it was still hot. He was probably getting irritated. If Peanut were a female, Burke might have better luck but his killer body didn’t impress the gelding—not one little bit.

  She twisted, watching out the back window as the bright-eyed pony waited until Burke’s hand was an inch from the halter. Peanut made another truly devious move, leaving Burke empty-handed once again.

  Wow, Peanut was moving great. He looked like he was ten again. She reached for her door handle then paused. Best to wait until Burke asked for help. Maybe next time he wouldn’t be quite so authoritative. Besides she was in no hurry for him to have a shower. He looked good out of a suit, all rumpled and sweaty…more like the folks she was used to.

  But Burke had already turned away and walked to the edge of the gravel. He reached in his pocket, clearly distracted. Was his phone ringing? Obviously something had made him forget about catching Peanut, forget that they were supposedly in a hurry to get to his house. To his bedroom.

  She wiggled impatiently. He’d seemed so eager. Hell, she was eager. Curious even. Guys with such ripped bodies often turned out to be duds in bed. Emily blamed it on steroids, but Burke didn’t seem a steroid kind-of-guy. Didn’t matter now as he appeared to have forgotten she was waiting; he was totally engrossed with whatever was in his hand.

  Even Peanut was curious. He turned and followed Burke with pricked ears. Sidled closer. Paused. Another two steps. He reached out and nudged Burke’s pocket.

  A big arm flashed. Incredible! Burke had single-handedly caught Peanut.

  She wasn’t needed after all. She turned and pressed her shoulders against the seat, staring straight ahead while Burke led the captured pony to the kennel.

  A minute later, the door opened. Burke slipped into the driver’s seat, carrying the smell of male sweat and impatience. “That pony is the devil.” He reached over and gave her hand a rueful squeeze. “Just like you. Too damn smart.”

  “How did you catch him?” she asked.

  “Thought the crinkle of plastic might trick him into thinking it was candy.”

  “Candy? You have candy and you didn’t share?”

  “Oh, I’ll share.” He tossed an open condom package on her lap.

  She fingered the black package, shaking her head. “You used a condom to catch my pony? That doesn’t seem proper. No doubt, you shocked him.” She sniffed. “I hope you have another. There’s grass on this one.”

  He grabbed her hand, circling his thumb over her sensitive palm, and stepped on the accelerator. Didn’t speak and at the speed the car was going, she was rather relieved.

  The stroking of that big thumb was turning her all dewy, and she leaned back, staring at the road as rocks pelted the undercarriage. He was going rather fast with his luxury car. The road wasn’t even paved, and earlier she’d driven much slower. His hand moved along her inner wrist. Her nipples tightened and she stopped thinking about gravel and cars. Couldn’t deny her attraction to him. He’d affected her from the very first day.

  It wasn’t a long drive. The Three Brooks’ house was only a half mile away; heck, they were already there. The imposing white mansion loomed dead ahead. Burke’s hand drifted possessively, and she suddenly wished the drive were much longer. She could feel his raw need but her heart was hammering now, her stomach doing nervous little flips. She’d made a very rash decision in the heat of a kiss.

  The car slowed in front of a four-car garage and the door lifted. In they sped. Dark coolness now. Her skin prickled and she glanced sideways, thinking he must be cold without a shirt, but no, he looked totally at ease. She could see the ripped abs, the corded muscle. She gulped.

  “The entrance is through there.” He leaned over and opened her door. “Have you been h
ere before?”

  “A couple times. The Canadians had staff barbecues.”

  “I see.” His expression was enigmatic and he released her hand, stepped out of the car and guided her into the house. They walked down a hall with odd Japanese art and into a marbled foyer. Ah, yes, she remembered the white marble, the high ceiling, the horse pictures.

  “I’m going to have a quick shower,” he said. “But first, what can I get you?”

  She stared past him, awed by the vast room. It looked so much larger without people in it. Seemed like the previous owners had left almost everything, even the win picture from last year’s steeplechase. They’d loved that picture. Had promised to hang it in an honored spot, which they did. Front and center in the huge foyer. She hoped Burke had given them a chance to grab some of their possessions, but guessed he probably hadn’t.

  “What about a Singapore Sling?” he asked.

  She crossed her arms, still staring numbly at the pictures. “I’ll just wait until you’re finished your shower,” she murmured. Only a half mile from home but it seemed as though she’d entered a foreign country. She’d half expected him to tug her into the first bedroom in the hall. Wally had said there were eleven. I shouldn’t have come here.

  “Maybe we’ll go out back first,” Burke said. His firm hand wrapped around her elbow and they pushed on, through an elegant dining room with a ridiculously long table, into a kitchen gleaming with spotless steel, and onto a small brick patio.

  He circled to a portable bar, reached down and returned with two frosty Corona, no glasses. Snapped off the cap with an effortless twist and passed one to her. “I’ll be in that little shower.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Three minutes max.”

  He padded around the corner. She heard spraying water and when he returned his head was slickly wet. He wore a light sleeveless shirt and smelled of sandalwood.

  He lowered himself into an adjacent chair, picked up his beer and pointed up the hill. “Your place is just up there. Sometimes I can see the glow of your lights. If the trees weren’t there, you’d look down on me.”

  Despite her discomfort, she couldn’t help but smile. Her little trailer had the million dollar view. She glanced around the manicured yard, rich with bright flowers and strategically placed shrubbery, but sadly lacking warmth. “Do you like this type of house?” she asked impulsively.

  He shrugged. “I move so much, I don’t notice houses. It’s part of the Three Brooks’ property, a convenient place to sleep. We’ll put it up for sale soon. The private road was a plus because I’m rather antisocial.”

  He stated it as irrefutable fact and she didn’t argue, even though it wasn’t quite true. The scowl and dark eyes could be intimidating but he was also extremely friendly when he chose. And he did have that very charming lip twitch. When she was alone with him, it was easy to forget he was of a different world. An elite world.

  She stretched out her legs and loosened her tight arms, determined to relax.

  “Your shoulder bothering you?” he asked.

  “No, not anymore.” Not since she’d been accompanying Peanut under the lights. She took another nervous sip of beer and pretended interest in some bright flowers, wondering when he’d pull her upstairs. Maybe they’d have a couple more drinks and then go up, or maybe they’d do it right here. Or maybe he took his women in a Jacuzzi.

  There was a hot tub by the pool, she recalled, although this side of the house was unfamiliar. The tiny secret alcove seemed built for kitchen staff. She could feel his scrutiny. Wished she’d grabbed her sunglasses, even though their chairs were shaded. Maybe if it was dark, maybe if the house weren’t so imposing, maybe if she had a lot more to drink. Shit, she shouldn’t have come here. Not yet.

  She jumped when he abruptly leaned forward and picked up a deck of cards. “I think a wild woman like you needs a little excitement,” he said.

  Wild? He thought she was wild? But cards were good. Cards might get rid of that queasy feeling in her stomach, the sick feeling that always hit when she knew she was going to do something foolhardy. Maybe if they played a couple hands, drank a bunch of beer, then by the time they moved to the bedroom she wouldn’t feel like she was making such a bone-headed mistake.

  She forced a smile, watching the cards blur between his deft fingers. “What are we playing for?” Her voice squeaked, so she drank another inch of beer.

  He fanned the deck over the table. “One card, ace high. If you lose, you take off your clothes, put them on the chair and walk upstairs. First bedroom on the right.”

  “And if I lose,” he said, not looking at her, “I give you a back rub and cook you dinner. Then drive you home.”

  Shit. She gulped, knowing she needed to win, needed a graceful way to escape. She uncrossed her legs and edged forward, staring at the cards. Peeked up. Checked his mouth. Not a whisper of a smile, only an odd expression on his face—uncertain maybe, although she doubted a man like him was ever uncertain.

  She stared back at the cards, fingering them, forgetting her nervousness. She’d always been lucky at cards. She trailed her finger over the table, not sure now what she wanted. An ace? Slowly flipped it over. A four. Her breath leaked out in a whoosh. Part dismay, part anticipation.

  He studied the remaining cards for a pregnant moment, his hand hovering over the end then purposefully moved past and selected the second card in. She held her breath, silently admitting she did want to sleep with him. But it would be humiliating to take her clothes off and climb upstairs naked. And her pride made it impossible to admit they’d made a mistake, and now she just wanted to go home.

  She’d have to face him in the office too. When he was dressed in an intimidating suit, sitting in his big chair, wielding all that power. This had been so rash, especially since he wasn’t leaving for at least another week. Her throat was desert dry, and her stomach flipped panicky summersaults.

  He turned his card over. A two. Oh, my God, a two!

  “Aw, shucks. You win,” he said. “Come get your massage, sweetheart.” He opened his arms, and she leaped onto his lap, hiding her tiny twinge of regret.

  He draped her against him, his sure hand moving over her back. “Who taught you to love cards?”

  “My father. He took me around with him. Let me join their poker games as long as I didn’t drop my cards. That made him really mad.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Eight,” she admitted. Usually she didn’t speak of her father but with her cheek tucked against Burke’s solid shoulder, she felt separated from her sketchy childhood.

  “No wonder you have a mean shuffle,” he said.

  And that was his only reaction—no shock, no disgust, not even a slight recoil. Her tension slowly eased and she let her fingers trail over his arm. After seeing him work all day, his body was like an old friend, familiar yet fascinating. Free to touch without any commitment, only a massage and dinner. Perfect. She slid her hand beneath his shirt and skimmed her fingers over his chest.

  “You worked awfully hard today,” she whispered. “And I appreciate it. I’m rather shocked you were able to finish the entire roof.”

  “When I was nine, I built a two-story tree house with a tile roof and a very cool rope ladder.” His mouth curved in memory.

  She didn’t know why people thought he scowled when it was obvious he smiled all the time. “Your parents must have been very proud,” she said.

  “They were horrified. Sent me to private school so I could learn proper skills.”

  “Parents can be so stupid.” She reached up and pressed an impulsive kiss against his cheek. Didn’t like to think about him being hurt and didn’t want to talk about parents. Not any longer. She just wanted to snuggle in and savor his closeness.

  He seemed to understand. He tucked her head back under his chin and continued his gentle massage.

  ***

  “And this is where the game ends.” Jenna leaned over her cue stick, lined up her last shot and sank the eight ball wi
th authority. She smiled mischievously and pocketed his twenty-dollar bill.

  “You hustled me!” Burke shook his head in disbelief. Cards, ping pong, darts, now pool. He hadn’t stepped foot in the games room until tonight. Couldn’t remember the last time he had so much fun.

  But she’d misrepresented her skill with a cue stick, hidden it even, and that definitely warranted punishment. He circled the table, planted his arms and pinned her against the wall. She was still laughing, her beautiful face flushed with victory, but graciously tilted her mouth, accepting his quick congratulatory kiss.

  And he had to keep it quick. The evening had been an exercise in restraint but definitely exhilarating. Yet it would pay off in spades. She was no longer jumpy, accepted his touch almost everywhere. He purposely brushed his knuckles over her breast as he reached over and extracted the cue stick from her hand, then flattened his palm over her rear and tugged her closer.

  She pressed in willingly, even wrapped her arms around his neck and gave the nicest hug. He loved her hugs, the sweet way she had of pressing her face against his chest. So affectionate, like a spooky kitten just learning to trust. It would be impossible to sleep beside her and not make love, but she wasn’t ready. Not quite yet.

  Something wasn’t right. He could sense it, a whisper of reserve—as though she were holding back. It pricked at him, like a missed business detail that seemed unimportant but ended up as the deal buster.

  He raised his thumb to palm her breast, heard her sleepy sigh and quickly adjusted his arms. “It’s almost midnight,” he said. “I’ll drive you home. The Ridgeman people are coming tomorrow. You still okay to help with the tour?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up. But you’ll have to get up earlier than usual. I’ll be by at six.”

  “Really?” She paused, wetting her lower lip. “Well then, maybe we could do something a little different.”

  Her smile was slightly wicked and heat shot to his groin. She was going to stay overnight after all. Thank God. He wanted this woman, badly. Wanted to spread her legs, leave his mark, possess her.