by Kay Hooper
He kept his tone casual. “No, you can’t help that.”
She cleared her throat, looking adorably confused from Shane’s viewpoint and feeling vastly annoyed with her unwary tongue. “Well, anyway, it makes things uncomfortable.”
“I imagine so.” He changed the subject smoothly, asking about forthcoming races, and the talk turned casual until Addie pushed her plate to one side. Shane, watching her more carefully than she knew, said immediately, “You can order something else if you don’t care for that dish.”
Addie shook her head and smiled. “The food’s fine. I’m watching my weight. An extra pound can make a length’s difference at the finish, you know.”
“But you hardly ate anything at all,” he protested, too worried about her not to show it.
“I’m not hungry, really.”
“Liar,” he chided dryly, and his heart stopped again when she grinned suddenly.
“All right, I’ll admit it! I am hungry. I’m always hungry. Most jockeys are. But I have to keep my weight down at least until the Cup.”
“With all the work you do—”
“Shane.”
He backed off somewhat hastily. “All right, all right. But just remember, you need your strength.”
“I’ll remember,” she said serenely.
And the conversation turned casual again.
—
Shane got a room at Addie’s hotel, a small and inexpensive one but quite comfortable. From long habit he carried an overnight bag in any car he drove; it was packed with the essentials for an unexpected overnight stay. He had carried it in with him when they arrived.
He left Addie at her door fairly early, reluctant to part company but also worried by the faint weariness he could see in the darkness of her eyes. They had agreed to meet for breakfast at the crack of dawn—the meal being Shane’s innocent suggestion and her acceptance of it expressed in a tone that fully understood his motives.
Shane confined his instincts tightly and parted from her with no more than a squeeze of her hand. And he would have been surprised again if he had lingered outside her door for a few moments.
Because he would have heard a beautifully soft and enchanting voice swearing with some feeling and with the colorful creativity of long practice.
—
Addie got ready for bed, frowning a little, torn between conflicting worries. She was worried that she had a faceless enemy somewhere with a penchant for putting razor blades in horses’ snacks, and she was worried by the presence of a blond, green-eyed American.
To cope with the first, she could only be on guard, wary. To cope with the second…well, the same really. Yet not the same. If only he had come into her life a few weeks later, she thought futilely, she could have followed her instincts and abandoned herself to personal concerns. Now there were races to be run and won, that awful deadline hanging over her head like the sword of Damocles.
And Shane Marston promised to be a distraction.
Addie turned out her light and pushed Shane firmly to the back of her mind. But she was unnerved to wake once in the night with the distinct feeling that he had entered her dreams with a lazy half smile and green eyes dark with desire….
—
Shane dropped Addie off at the track very early the next morning, but turned back toward Melbourne himself after assuring her that he’d be present to watch her race in the afternoon. As he drove he tried and failed to forget Addie’s face across the breakfast table.
She glowed in the morning, he thought. Her eyes were vividly alive and bright, and her short, gamin-cut red hair seemed a living thing itself, each strand burnished with a light that came from within.
He didn’t have the faintest idea what he’d eaten.
He hoped his sleepless night hadn’t shown on his face. He wasn’t accustomed to losing sleep. He was also—although he was rather startled to realize it—not accustomed to waiting for what he wanted. Had he ever hesitated to reach out for someone or something because of a fear it would flit away or turn out to not be real? No. He had never considered himself a vain man, but he was troubled now to realize just how easy everything in his life had been. In his adult life he had never been rejected by a woman; probably, he thought, because he had always made certain of interest on the woman’s part before revealing his own.
He’d never had to deal with this impatience, this urge to charge blindly forward without counting the possible cost to his pride. It was…unnerving.
He pushed the problem to the back of his mind and drove into the city. It was still early when he chartered a small plane to fly him into New South Wales and to the Justin family station. The family had two planes and Tate was a pilot, but Shane decided not to make use of their planes even though he’d been invited to. It was nearly five hundred miles to the station, and he meant to get there, take formal leave of the family, and return to Melbourne in time to see Addie race.
Tate was preparing his own plane to leave for Melbourne when Shane’s landed, and the younger man left his work to meet his guest. He didn’t seem surprised when Shane explained that he’d be around the Melbourne tracks so much that a hotel was a more practical place to stay.
Knowing what he did, Shane felt even more uncomfortable in Tate’s presence now, especially since there was hostility radiating from him.
“Say hello to Addie for me,” Tate said softly when Shane had started toward the big house.
Shane stopped, turned back. He kept his face expressionless with an effort, looking at Tate as he stood with his hands in his pockets and a faint smile on his face.
“I will.”
“She hates her name,” Tate said abruptly. “Adelaide. It means ‘of noble rank.’ Half the people who know her know only the short version.”
Shane understood, then, the fleeting expressions he’d seen when Tate had introduced her: Tate’s amusement at the hated name, and Addie’s rueful annoyance. He nodded, silent, only half aware that something that might have been compassion had crept into his own expression. It was painfully obvious to Shane that this man was in love with Addie—and hated himself for it.
And Tate saw. His facial muscles tightened, his gray eyes grew bleak. Then he wheeled and strode to his plane, his back stiff.
Shane swore softly and went on to the house. He couldn’t help wondering if some other man on some other day would see the same bleakness in his face…and for the same reason.
The house was quiet, and he went up to pack his things without encountering anyone. But when he came down, Marshall Justin was walking out of his study.
“Leaving us?”
While Shane explained, he considered Tate’s father. Not quite as tall as his son, he was silver-haired and blue-eyed. Stocky and sun-browned, he had a quietly cheerful manner that usually hid a somewhat explosive temper. He was proud of his racing horses, and his ambition was to win the Melbourne Cup; he had a young horse entered for the race, and only Resolute, Shane had heard, posed a threat to the stallion.
Justin accepted Shane’s explanation and thanks, politely walking him back out to his plane. Tate was gone, and they stood on the runway talking for a few moments. A little curious, Shane mentioned Resolute.
“Stupid of me to let the animal go,” Marshall Justin said, “but there’s no remedy at this point. Addie’s done a fine job with him, her and that old trainer she found.”
“I’ve heard he’ll win the Cup,” Shane ventured.
The older man smiled. “The race isn’t over till it’s over, you know. And I think Nightshade will give him a race.” Nightshade was his hopeful contender. He smiled more widely. “We’ll see, Shane. We’ll see.” Then he waved and turned away, adding that he’d doubtless see Shane at the track.
The flight to Melbourne was uneventful, and Shane took his luggage to the hotel before heading back to Flemington. It was a little before noon when he made his way to the stables, looking for Addie. He found Resolute peacefully munching hay in his stable, with Sebastian parked o
n the Dutch door again. The koala opened an eye and peered at him somewhat balefully, then closed it and seemed to go to sleep again.
Grinning a little, Shane began wandering around the area, confident that Addie was somewhere near. He heard her before he saw her, and what he heard stopped him in his tracks with a definite jolt.
In her soft and enchanting voice, Addie was delivering a definitely bawdy invitation for some unseen person to either bet or fold—but the words chosen were indecorous to the point of vulgarity. A chorus of male laughter followed, then a single voice protested against her impatience in equally earthy terms.
Addie then made a somewhat pointed reference to ancestors obviously lacking in courage. Except that she didn’t say courage. She used a term Shane was quite familiar with, since he’d grown up around stables.
It occurred to him then that the lady had spent some time around stables herself.
Shane peered around the feed room door, finding a small group of men leaning against feed sacks with playing cards thrown down before them. Addie sat cross-legged, holding her cards and gazing expectantly at the one man still holding his. A small pile of money lay on the floor between them.
She looked at the door briefly, said, “Hello, Shane,” and returned her gaze to her opponent. The other men glanced up, nodded in a friendly manner, and watched Pat—Shane recognized the groom from the day before—try to decide if Addie was bluffing.
“Oh, hell,” he said finally, flinging his cards facedown.
Addie grinned and gently waved two sixes at him. “I was bluffing.”
He called her a rude name as she raked in the money, and Addie cheerfully returned the favor.
Involuntarily, Shane said, “I didn’t know you could swear,” and blinked in surprise when the men obviously found this hilarious.
Addie got up gracefully, stuffing money into the pockets of her jeans, and came toward him looking surprised. “Whyever not?”
Shane looked at the laughing men and then at her, sighing finally. “I can’t imagine. Your voice, maybe.”
The men were leaving the feed room, and one of them responded before she could. “Sounds like peaches and cream, don’t she?” He was still laughing. “Just don’t play poker with her, lad. And don’t get her mad at you; you’ll have the hide flayed off you and you’ll never hear the lash!”
“He’s exaggerating,” Addie offered, looking after them and then at Shane.
After a moment he said carefully, “You look and sound as if a harsh word would either scare you to death or break you.”
“Break me?” Startled, she laughed. “Shane, I grew up with two sisters on a sheep station, and I’ve been around stables for years.” Then she looked a little uncertain. “But if it bothers you—”
“No.” He smiled slowly. “It’s just unexpected, that’s all. Don’t, for heaven’s sake, guard your tongue around me.” His smile became a grin. “It’s worth the shock to hear that magic voice of yours cursing like a sailor.”
“Oh.” Addie would have asked him what he meant by calling her voice magic, but a glance at her watch surprised her. “Oh, damn, I’ve got to—Shane, I have to try on a new pair of silks and Bevan isn’t here to watch Resolute. Could you stay near his stable until I can get back?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“It’ll take just a few minutes….” The last words were left hanging in the air as Addie raced away toward the changing room.
Shane’s first thoughts were somewhat occupied with this new vision of Addie. In his experience, no one who was frail of spirit found it necessary—or easy—to cheerfully spit out earthy curses. And he already knew she was physically stronger than she looked or had any right to be.
He wondered then at the power of her unconscious sorcery. She looked frail and she sounded magically gentle, her voice taming the savagery in animals. But she used a hammer in her work, bending metal to her will, and she rode half a ton of wired Thoroughbred at upward of thirty miles an hour…and there was that hair. That passionate red hair.
“Idiot,” Shane said aloud, and Resolute snorted agreement. Shane looked at him, then at Sebastian, who rubbed a tufted ear against the post without opening his eyes. Then Shane leaned back against the front of Resolute’s stable and waited for Addie.
She returned some ten minutes later, a little breathless, wearing gold and green silks over white pants. “I thought I might as well,” she explained, halting before him. “I’ll have to weigh in before long anyway. At least they fit; we weren’t sure they would.”
“Yes, they fit.” He looked at the picture of her, slender and colorful, the silky material over her breasts rising and falling with each quick breath, and he cleared his throat. “How old are you, Addie?”
She blinked. “Twenty-five. Why?”
“Just curious.” He pulled his hands from the pockets of his dark slacks. “There’s something very fragile about you, something almost childlike. Innocent. Enough to scare a man to death.”
Addie could literally feel something shift between them, feel the change from simple acquaintance to vital physical awareness, and her knees went weak. It was difficult to breathe suddenly, and she couldn’t think of anything to say. She could only stare into green eyes darkening in a way that was familiar because she’d seen it in a dream.
His hands rose to her shoulders, drawing her slowly closer, and she saw her own hands lift to his chest; she could feel powerful muscles beneath his white shirt, and strength in the thighs touching her own.
“I don’t want to rush you,” he whispered, his head bending toward her. “But I have to do this. I have to—”
Addie forgot everything when his lips met hers. She forgot the lurking, nameless danger facing Resolute. Forgot the desperate importance of these next weeks. Forgot the race she would shortly have to ride. Nothing mattered but Shane.
She could feel her entire body melt and flow bonelessly into his, her fingers sliding up his chest and around his neck to twine in the silky thickness of his hair. Her mouth opened instantly, responding without thought or hesitation.
The first tentative touch altered, grew demanding, and Shane’s lips slanted over hers with an explosive, vibrant need. He could feel her body against him, in his arms, and his own body told him he was holding a dynamic force clothed deceptively in gentle, guileless colors. There was nothing frail or timid in her response, nothing fearful or overpowered.
Shane’s hands slid over her silk-clad back and down to the tiny waist, pulling her more firmly against him, and when she rose on tiptoe, he nearly groaned aloud.
Addie felt a hot ache swell within her, and all her muscles unconsciously tautened. She experienced an odd, panicky sensation, as if her mind were urgently trying to curb her rising feelings. But then she felt the hard heat of his desire pressing against her lower body, and her own melted all over again.
When his head lifted at last, she could feel his harsh breathing, feel his chest rising and falling against her own unsteady breasts. Dazed, astonished, she could only stare up into jade eyes and wonder what on earth had happened to her.
“Do I—stir your blood?” he asked.
She swallowed hard. “I think you know you do.” Incurably honest, she couldn’t lie about this.
“And you stir mine. God—you set me on fire.” He kissed her again, quickly, hard, and there was something triumphant in his eyes and in his smile, something indescribably male.
Addie wanted to say something, explain something to him, but she couldn’t seem to grasp the elusive thought. And then she heard the first call for jockeys. “The race! I have to—”
“Damn the race. Addie—”
She backed away from him, shaking her head, still feeling dazed and boneless. “No. No, I have to go. Wait, please wait until Bevan comes to watch Resolute.” Ignoring, with a wrench, the hand he held out to her almost unconsciously, she turned and quickly left the barn.
She almost ran into Tate outside the jockeys’ changing rooms, feeling he
rself flush inexplicably when he looked her up and down with sardonic eyes.
“Fast worker, our American friend.”
Dear heaven, does it show? Addie wondered, but she brushed past him without a word, going hurriedly into the changing room for her whip, helmet, and saddle.
“You’re late!” Storm said, then took a second look. “Addie, what on earth—”
Addie grabbed her things and literally bolted, feeling too unsettled to talk about it. She weighed in and went to the saddling paddocks, trying to concentrate on what the trainer of her mount was telling her. But it was difficult; everything seemed to be moving too fast and she was breathless.
But when the horses shot forward on the track to begin the race, Addie woke up with a vengeance. The horse she rode, the favorite, was left almost literally standing, and nearly lost his rider at the first leap forward.
She remembered, then, what she had wanted to tell Shane, what she’d wanted to warn him about. Racing. She had to race; it came first until the Cup. And nothing could be allowed to interfere with that.
Not even he.
Grim, Addie settled down to ride her horse. She pushed both the animal and herself furiously to make up lost ground, taking chances, pointing him at every opening in the pounding, thrusting crowd of horses, however narrow and dangerous the opening was. But the late start had doomed them, and her horse finished second by a neck.
Ten minutes later she was carrying her saddle swiftly back to the changing room to don a fresh pair of silks, and found Shane by her side.
“Addie, you’ll be killed riding like that!”
She whirled to face him, aware that his anger stemmed from anxiety, because hers did. “I rode like that because I didn’t have my mind on the damned race and got left behind! I should have won that race.” She tried to calm her thudding heart, but despair was audible even to her in her voice. “I can’t—can’t—ride like that! I can’t afford to lose my concentration, Shane!”
“Are you blaming me for that?” His question was taut, and there was something abruptly wary and apprehensive in his eyes.