by Ward, J. R.
He was totally impressed. She’d muscled Sabbath around those jumps countless times, reeling the stallion in before each fence, pulling him through the corners, fighting to make sure his strides were right. It’d been exhausting just to watch but she’d kept at it. Every time Devlin had commanded her to run through that course, she’d done it, over and over, without a word of complaint. To say he’d been surprised at her grit was an understatement. Spoiled little rich girls didn’t behave like that. Hell, a lot of professional riders wouldn’t have put up with the demands he’d laid on her or the bad behavior of that stallion.
But then, she’d really awed him. Without asking for help, even though she looked ready to pass out from exhaustion, she’d carefully tended to the stallion’s needs as meticulously as if she’d spent a lazy afternoon puttering around the barn. Her time in the ring had been about determination but her behavior outside of it was character.
“I think it’s time to call it a day,” he said, hanging the clipboard back on its nail.
“Let me just check on the tack.”
“I’ll take care of that,” he said. “You need to head home.”
“It’ll just take me a—”
“Go home and get some rest.” He watched as she tried to hide a yawn with the back of her hand. “What time can you be here tomorrow?”
A.J. grimaced.
“What?” he said. “Don’t tell me you want to sleep in here with him. Haven’t you had enough for one day?”
“Actually…”
“You can be sure he’ll be fine here. You want one of those baby monitors?”
“I want your couch.” Her words came out in a rush. “Mind if I bed down in your living room again tonight?”
Devlin looked surprised. “Are you that tired?”
“No.”
He frowned. “Your father’s mansion is big enough to house a small liberal arts college. He suddenly decided to offer classes or is this more fallout from the split with your family?”
“Space is not the problem.”
“This isn’t just for one night, is it?”
“No.”
Devlin’s eyes grew remote and she could see his mind working.
“I can pay you,” she offered.
He rolled his eyes. “Not that again. Like I said, money’s not a big enticement to me.”
“I wouldn’t want to take advantage of your hospitality. I know it’s an imposition.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” he said under his breath. He wasn’t sure he could share a bathroom with someone who made him feel like she did.
This woman moves in, he thought, and he’d be lucky if he didn’t grind his teeth to stumps with sexual frustration. He’d be sucking meals through a straw and mumbling incoherently inside of a week.
Abruptly, Devlin pictured her coming out of his tub, skin flushed from hot water, mist swirling around her like an incantation of ecstasy. He tried to derail the fantasy and failed. With a harsh movement, he stuffed his hands in his pockets to be sure he kept them to himself.
If she stayed here, it would make training easier, an inner voice said. Less commute time for her, more time with the horse.
An argument ensued in his head between his professional responsibilities and his base instincts, a pair of dueling mental banjos that drove him nuts.
Finally, he decided. “If you want to trade in a feather bed for an old couch, it’s okay with me.”
A.J. sagged with relief. “Thanks. I know you don’t have to do this.”
“Right now, I’m thinking of it more as a public service. You don’t look like you should be operating heavy machinery and that includes flashy red convertibles.”
They walked out to the car to get her luggage, both fully aware of the position they were now in. They were two people linked by a powerful attraction they were committed not to give in to. Who were going to cohabitate for two months. Right before one of them faced the most grueling event in the equestrian world.
I can’t believe I’m doing this, A.J. thought, feeling like she could begin giggling with hysteria at any moment. She was going to live with Devlin McCloud.
“Good thing you came prepared,” he said, picking up one of her bags.
“It was either you or the exotic one-star motor lodge, Nero’s Palace.” She took out the other one and then put up the roof.
When they got to the farmhouse, Devlin held the door open for her and she brushed against him as she went inside. She felt a shock from the contact.
“I’ll take care of dinner,” he said, dropping her bag next to the couch. “You know where the shower is.”
A.J. thought he seemed in a big hurry to leave the room. After he left, she put down the luggage she was carrying, hung up her coat and wondered whether she should follow him into the kitchen to help. Looking down at her dirty hands and feeling her hair itch from having been under a helmet for the afternoon overrode her desire to be polite so she headed upstairs.
The bathroom wasn’t big but it had every modern amenity, including a whirlpool bath, which she eyed with naked lust. Cranking on the water, she watched greedily as the deep tub started to fill and the jets began working their magic. She fished through her bag and found some bath salts, which she sprinkled into the frothing water, releasing a delicate lavender scent.
When was the last time she’d taken a bath? Some dim memory from the previous winter came to mind. She’d been sick, if she recalled, with a nose that looked like a clown’s and a honking cough to fill in for her lack of a circus horn. At that time, her submersion had been medicinal.
Now it was going to be pleasurable.
Despite her exhaustion, A.J. shed her clothes with glee and stepped into the undulating, perfumed water. The tub was big enough that she could lie down and be fully immersed while the jets sent pulses of warm water to her aching muscles. When she stepped out much later, pink and glowing, she felt renewed. Toweling off, she slipped into a comfortable pair of khakis and a cream knit sweater. She left her hair to dry in loose waves over her shoulders and headed downstairs feeling more herself.
Things only got better when A.J. hit the ground floor. Some heavenly smell was drifting out of the kitchen and her stomach grumbled with appreciation as she walked into the room. Devlin was at the stove, stirring the contents of a pot. On the table, there were two deep bowls flanked by man-sized spoons on neatly folded dish towels. The only other things on the rugged surface were wooden salt and pepper shakers and a basket of bread.
“Take a seat and I’ll dish it up,” Devlin said.
“Smells wonderful.”
All the obvious attractions and talents and he cooks, she thought as she sat down and spread the gingham towel across her lap.
When Devlin reached over to pick up her bowl and returned it filled with a hearty beef and vegetable stew, she smiled. The meal was a far cry from the sparse gourmet food served on delicate china that she got at the mansion. The menu that came out of Regina’s kitchen was restricted to skeletal pieces of meat or fish that were accessorized with flamboyant but insubstantial vegetables. For someone whose only exercise was admiring herself, it was a fine diet, A.J. had always thought. It was far from sufficient for an athlete, however, and she’d long before learned to tuck a spare sandwich under her arm on the way to bed.
But this is what I call dinner, she marveled, looking down at the food.
“You can stop staring at it,” Devlin said, sitting down with his own hefty portion. “I know it’s not lobster Newburg but it won’t poison you, I promise.”
“I was just thinking how grateful I am. I’m tired of dinners that are heavy on preparation and light on the plate. If I never see another damned crepe or something with a garnish of endive, it’ll be too soon.”
“Well, you’re safe here.” He laughed. “I’m a meat-and-potatoes kind of man.”
Devlin watched as she sampled the stew, thinking what a tangle of contradictions she was. A wealthy dilettante who cleaned her
own tack and wanted to sleep on his couch instead of in a castle. A driven competitor who was looking too fragile to have fought the stallion all afternoon. A seductress who made his blood pound but seemed totally clueless about how beautiful she was. A woman who was raised on gourmet food who was now eating his stew like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.
Maybe I’m not attracted to her, he thought. I’m just confused.
When she took another mouthful of the stew and sighed with contentment, her eyes flashed up at him. “And to think I used to believe laundry fresh out of the dryer was the pinnacle of bliss.”
“I’m sure you’ve had better,” he said, trying not to drown in the blue he found so captivating.
“Well, I’ve certainly had smaller. What I usually get could fit on the head of a pin and is more art than edible.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
“Regina’s cook likes to express himself in three dimensions. He’s great at color, texture and presentation. The man’s less strong on calories.”
“Regina’s the wicked stepmother?”
“More like all-pervasive,” A.J. replied between mouthfuls. “For a short woman, she has a way of taking up a lot of space.”
“Personality can add inches where high heels fail.”
“You got that right. My father really loves her, though, and he seems happy, so who am I to judge? I just sneak a sandwich or two on the way upstairs. Like he does.”
“Where’s your mother?”
There was a subtle hesitation before she responded. “She’s been gone a long time now. She died when I was young.”
The words were measured, giving away nothing but fact. She’d spoken them for as long as she could remember, as much a part of what she regularly revealed to people as her address or her phone number. Any real sense of loss she kept to herself.
“I’m sorry.”
A.J. shrugged off the concern, as she always did. “I was very young and I didn’t really know her.”
“It’s still a tremendous loss.”
“I try not to dwell on it.”
“You don’t miss her?”
“Of course I do but she isn’t in the forefront of my mind.”
“You don’t think about what it would be like if she was around?”
“I’ve never known any other way. The normal things people do with their mothers are all hypotheticals to me. It’s hard to miss something you’ve never had.”
“You’re a very strong woman.”
She looked up at him, feeling a respect coming across the table that she reveled in. He was touching her deeply with his steady regard.
“I don’t know if it is strength. I just don’t like getting lost in a period of my life I can never return to and probably don’t remember clearly anyway. A resurrected patchwork of childhood fantasies can be a warm quilt to snuggle up to but it’s no substitute for real life.”
“How can you let go so easily?” There was an edge to his words.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” she said softly. “I guess I’ve come to peace with the loss. The idea that everyone is going to live forever and nothing will ever change is just an illusion.”
His eyes bored into hers. “I’m still working on the coming-to-peace part. I’ve been finding that illusion is just as hard to bury as the dead.”
Devlin looked away, wishing for the days back when he believed nothing could ever take him down, that he would go on winning forever. Back when all he worried about was when the next challenge was coming.
“It gets better, you know,” she told him. “It really does. I’ve had a lot longer to get used to my loss than you have. My mother’s been gone a lot longer than Mercy has.”
She watched Devlin’s face shut down and wasn’t surprised when he changed the subject. For the rest of the meal, they talked easily about Sabbath’s training but after they cleaned up the dishes, he got a serious look on his face again. He was standing at the door of the kitchen, fingers on the light switch, when she walked past him. His hand on her arm stopped her.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly. “I like having you around.”
Surprised and thrilled by his admission, her eyes searched his face. “I imagine it must have been lonely here by yourself. I find it’s helpful to be around people when I’m hurting.”
“It’s not just people. It feels good to have you here.”
With a swift movement, he bent down and put his lips against hers. She gasped in surprise and he swallowed her breath, taking her into him. His mouth moved over hers and her hands found his chest, lingering on the lapels of his shirt. Instantly, she was ready to have him closer. Time slowed, then stopped.
Then, with a hiss of frustration, Devlin pulled back as he realized what he’d done. Looking into her eyes, he wanted to offer an explanation but knew he had to leave quickly before he kissed her again.
As he rounded the corner and started up the stairs, he caught a glance of the couch. Six cushions, two armrests and fifteen yards of blue fabric, but it was so much more than a place to sit now because that was where she was going to sleep.
What had he let into his house? he wondered as his heart thudded in his chest. Something dangerous had come inside with that woman, he realized, something tight on her heels, so at first he hadn’t noticed its presence. Now he felt a threat everywhere around him. From her coat hanging next to his to her barn boots tucked beside the door, her shadow seemed to be across every object that, having once been familiar to him, was now foreign.
What had he done, he thought, going upstairs and walking into the bathroom like a zombie. Immediately, he caught the lingering smell of lavender in the air and cursed under his breath. Like crumbs of a feast, it mocked him and sharpened the hunger in his gut. He imagined her body unfurled in scented water with nothing to shield her from his eyes. At the vision, his body responded in a rush of heat as blood thundered in his veins and forced him to reassess what he thought of as unbearable.
Wrenching a hand through his hair, he went to the sink and stared at his reflection. He looked like a man who was out of air, and that was how he felt. His chest was tight and his head was spinning. The only things he knew for certain were the passion in his body and the pain in his heart.
Instead of giving in to either, he tossed some water on his face and gritted his teeth.
Get a grip.
After putting his toothbrush to vigorous use, he went to his bedroom, where he stripped naked and got into bed. Staring at the ceiling in the dim light, he saw only what he imagined her body would look like, laid out to his eyes and his mouth, its textures and contours his to learn.
Turning restlessly, he punched a pillow hard and looked at his bedside table.
That book on baseball legends wasn’t going to do the trick tonight, he thought. He was going to need something more along the lines of a ball-peen hammer to put him out. And it was a damn shame the thing was out in the barn.
5
A.J. PASSED the time while waiting to hear Devlin’s bedroom door shut by making up the couch and changing into a clean T-shirt. The stiffness in her arms made the simple tasks a study in soreness but her mind was elsewhere. She was going through the motions, moving through the room in a disconnected daze, and it was only after she knocked herself a good one walking into the coffee table that she cradled her shin and sat down.
Keeping their relationship on a business level was absolutely the right thing to do. It had been hard to concentrate on her training after she’d been in his arms and felt his tongue against hers. It was worse now that he’d kissed her good night, because she was reminded there was more than passion between them, more than the heat, pounding blood, electric feelings of lust….
A.J. shook her head.
It was worse now because that kiss had also been about their emotions. About him telling her how much he liked her in his house and her feeling as if he was opening up to her, little by little.
She had to remember she was
with him to train for the Qualifier, she told herself sternly. Not to fall in love.
A.J. shuddered at the implications of the L-word.
Her heart pounded in fear and she worried she might be reading too much into their conversation over dinner. Even though he’d said something to the contrary, maybe he’d just reached out to her because he was in the mood for confidences.
The question became, did he know himself?
And thinking of the kisses they’d shared only made her more dismayed. Devlin McCloud was a man with powerful urges. Clearly. She thought again that maybe the fire between them wasn’t unusual for him, even if it was a revelation to her.
In A.J.’s experience, she wasn’t really the kind of woman men would break down a door to get to. Well, maybe if a house was on fire and they were a Good Samaritan with an ax and an air mask. But she’d never found that they’d do it out of romance.
It wasn’t that she didn’t have male colleagues. Back at Sutherland’s, she was always included in think-tank sessions on show strategy, vet consults and team dynamics. But she wasn’t someone who got asked to go out to the local watering hole to shoot pool and drink lukewarm beer with the others.
And as for dates? If A.J. thought it’d been a long time since she’d sat in a tub, the last time she’d been out with a man was back in the Stone Age. Sharing the warmth of someone else’s body, exchanging furtive kisses, experiencing a mutual longing that would shut out the world, none of that had happened in a long time.
Try, more like never.
It was like she had some missing parts and men knew it. The problem was, until she met Devlin, she’d never felt broken. The horses and the competing had been enough. Her days had always been full, and the nights…The nights had been for rest, not romance, but that had been okay with her.
So what was it about Devlin McCloud that made her think clean living was so underrated? With only two kisses, he’d managed to make her think the life of a harlot had some real potential.
Unnerved, A.J.’s mind leapt away from further thoughts about their attraction, only to latch onto feelings she’d had while she talked with him about her past. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken of her mother. It was a topic she kept to herself and she was unnerved by how far she’d let Devlin into the deepest part of herself. Sitting at that table with him, in the midst of sharing their pain, her admissions had seemed only natural, but now, as she sat alone, she was torn. Between the kiss and the revelations, she’d allowed herself to become vulnerable physically and emotionally during a time when she needed her strength the most. She wasn’t going to make it through the Qualifier unless she could keep control of herself.