Adelaide, the Enchantress

by Kay Hooper

  With no ready answer for him, Addie went on blindly to the changing room and put on another set of colors. Storm said nothing but looked worried, and Addie realized that her tumultuous emotions were obvious. With all the will she could command, she forced herself to calm down.

  And when she carried her saddle out to find Shane waiting, her voice was even and quiet again. “I have five more races today, Shane, with three good chances of winning. So if you don’t want to see me run another race like the last one, you’ll leave me alone.”

  She hadn’t looked at him, and thought fleetingly, unhappily, that he would, in all likelihood, do just that. She wanted to rush back and explain fully, try to make him understand how important the racing was. But she didn’t have time, or have the right to tell him why the racing was so important. It was not her secret alone.

  And if a single kiss could wreck her concentration so utterly, it was for the best, she told herself firmly….And then she pushed the insight and the pain of it to the back of her mind.

  And raced.

  —

  Shane thought a part of him had died in that first race. He had watched Addie’s fury, watched her guide her horse through gaps in the field with a reckless drive and a total unconcern for her own safety. His heart had leaped into his throat and lodged there, remaining even after the race, when he’d seen a new, shuttered look in her dark eyes.

  Remained through five more interminable races while he watched her vital force drain slowly away under the strain of the demands she placed on herself. He watched and hurt, seeing her face grow whiter and her eyes larger after each finish. And it took almost more than he could stand for him to lurk unseen within the crowd and watch her saddle for the sixth and final race. She looked so white and weary, her shoulders slumped.

  But needed strength came from some wellspring within her. The white exhaustion became steady control. And whatever the source of her gift, it remained true; the leggy two-year-old she rode finished with a burst of speed that put him out in front by a nose.

  Shane happened to be standing near the owner at the end of the race and only dimly heard the bewildered man’s gasping reaction.

  “But, he never has anything left at the finish! He couldn’t have—But look at the time! I really—”

  Shane made his way to the winner’s circle, a grinding concern for her blotting out all else. She’d ridden six hard races, winning three, controlling half a ton of temperamental Thoroughbred each time, and he could feel her weakness as if it were his own.

  But he waited quietly throughout the ceremony, watching her almost flinch away from photographers and journalists eager to cover the success of a rare female jockey, watching her weigh out, holding the tiny saddle that was probably unbearably heavy to her now. When she started back for the changing rooms, he fell into step beside her. With other jockeys and people milling all around them, Shane didn’t offer to carry her saddle for her, and he wondered if she could possibly know how badly he wanted to pick her up and carry her.

  He was waiting outside when she came out after showering and dressing in jeans and a blouse. And with the bright cheeriness of her silks gone, she looked so tired and fragile it almost broke his heart.

  “Addie—”

  She hardened her heart against his gentleness and turned toward the stables. “I have to check on Resolute.”

  But Shane wasn’t to be denied. “Addie, it can’t be this important to you! You’re killing yourself with these damned races. I can’t stand by and watch—”

  “No one’s asking you to.” He said nothing more, but remained by her side until they reached the barn. Blindly, more tired than she’d ever been in her life, Addie fumbled open Resolute’s stable door and went in. She only vaguely heard Sebastian grumble as his seat moved beneath him. Resting her forehead against the pale horse’s glossy neck, she closed her eyes and tried to control trembling muscles.

  “What’s that?”

  Addie heard Shane’s sharp query, and looked back over her shoulder for a moment before coming out of the stall and locking the door behind her.

  Bevan was coming toward them—he’d obviously been nearby—and he was holding a bridle. Addressing himself grimly to Addie, he said, “I heard someone out by the jeep about an hour ago. There was no one there, but your equipment trunk had been opened. I found this.”

  She took the bridle and examined it closely, very much aware that Shane had stepped nearer to look as well. They both saw it, and Shane swore violently. Addie fingered the picked-at stitching on Resolute’s bridle, realizing a bit numbly that if Bevan hadn’t caught this, her horse would have lost his bridle halfway through his next race, and she would have lost all control of him.

  “I can’t—” She couldn’t think, couldn’t make her mind work coherently.

  “Can you stay tonight?” Shane asked Bevan.

  “Yes, sir, of course.”

  “Thanks.”

  He hadn’t any right, she thought distantly, to thank Bevan on her behalf. She felt the bridle rising from her fingers and saw it handed back to her trainer. Then Shane had an arm around her and was leading her toward his distantly parked car.

  He put her into it without a word, and started off toward the city. Addie slumped in the comfortable seat and spoke in what was barely a murmur.

  “I’m not usually this tired.”

  “No?”

  She roused herself to respond to that brief, hard disbelief. “No, I’m not. You don’t understand. I had to work twice as hard today because of—distraction. I had to make myself concentrate, make myself think about the races.”

  “And that’s my fault?” He laughed a little, unamused. “You can’t walk away now, Addie. So let’s hear the answer.”

  “It’s not anybody’s fault.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve never…never felt like that before. And it isn’t wrong, Shane; it’s just the wrong time.”

  “Because you have to race.”

  “Yes. Because I have to race.”

  “I want you.”

  Even as weary as she was, Addie felt her pulse leap, felt an inner throbbing that caught at her breath. And she didn’t flinch from that blunt statement or from the naked desire in his low voice. She turned her head to look at him, seeing his face gripped in a masklike control, seeing whitened fingers grasping the steering wheel.

  “I want you too,” she responded simply.

  A muscle moved strongly in his jaw; he didn’t look at her. “But not yet. Because you have to race.”

  She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture before letting them drop again to her lap. “I have to race.”

  “So. Racing is more important to you than—” He stopped, wouldn’t say it.

  “Not more important.” She was tired almost beyond bearing, and half angry that he was pushing. “Just more imperative.”

  Shane swore very softly—but at himself, it seemed. “I’m sorry, Addie. Look, we’ll talk about it later, all right? When we get to the hotel, why don’t you go up and rest for a few hours. Then we’ll have a late dinner together. You’re too tired to eat anything unless you rest first.”

  “Shane—”

  “Please, Addie.”

  She wasn’t certain if he was pleading for her to rest or for them to have dinner together. But she gave in to both because she was just too tired to worry about it then.

  —

  Shane saw her to her room and then went to his own, restless and feeling as if all his nerves were stretched to the breaking point. He knew he’d been unfair, deliberately pushing Addie when all her defenses had lain around her feet in splinters. But his own defenses were down and he felt nakedly vulnerable. That first race had frightened him half out of his mind.

  It hardly seemed possible that he’d known her only two brief days. His initial fascination with her had rapidly grown to include raw desire, and her response to that had very nearly shattered his control; he was walking a fine, thin edge of ragged emotion now, and he knew it.
r />   And his fear for the risks she ran had altered during that first race. Uneasiness had become alarm, followed by a leaden, smothering sense of dread.

  Somehow, because he had been so conscious of his conflicting impressions of her—frailty versus strength—he had failed to examine his own emotions. Fascination was obvious, as was sexual desire. But until that horror had stabbed his heart, until he had felt fear clawing at his throat like a living thing, he hadn’t realized just how much she had so swiftly come to mean to him.

  And when he had tried to tell her what he felt, only angry words and fierce, implied demands had emerged from his lips. He had pushed her, had bitten out flat, harsh words of physical need when that wasn’t a tenth of what he really felt.

  And in the barn…Shane silently damned his arrogant male pride as he paced, remembering his own gloating triumph at her response, hating what had been a conscious certainty that a physical conquest would be easy.

  Easy! There was nothing easy about his feelings or, he hoped, hers. Nothing to be neatly pigeonholed under the safe surface label of sexual desire. And nothing at all simple between them.

  She had to race. He didn’t know why. She had to race in spite of dangers inherent to the sport—and the more nebulous but far more sinister danger in the growing certainty that someone was trying to stop her, Resolute—or both—from racing. She had to race.

  He knew only that when all her defenses had been down, when she had been too weary to argue or protest or resist, the racing had been more…imperative to her.

  Shane knew as surely as he knew his own name that if he asked her to choose, she would turn her back on him and race. He had no weapon to use against that unyielding determination—except possibly his own desperate fear for her, and that was a kind of emotional blackmail that would tear them both to shreds.

  If she cared enough—and he was an arrogant fool to believe she might—it was possible that coerced by his fear she would choose him. But how would he live with himself knowing he had forced her to relinquish something for him? He despised emotional blackmail, and had long ago vowed that he would never make use of so degrading a weapon.

  And he wouldn’t now.

  He would, God help him, watch her race. And if the violent passion between them interfered with her racing, he would do everything he could to make that easier for her. Except leave her.

  Not for either of their sakes could he leave her.

  Chapter 3

  “Can we talk about it now?”

  Addie pushed her plate to one side, very aware that Shane had been watching her. It was fairly late and they had the hotel restaurant almost to themselves; only a few other guests—all couples—sat in the dimness and talked in low tones. She and Shane had said little since he had called her an hour before, and neither had managed to eat very much.

  She felt better after a few hours sleep, stronger. But she wanted to say no to his question. “All right.”

  Shane pushed his own plate away, waiting until a hovering waiter had carried both away and they had refused dessert. He looked across the table at her, trying to keep his mind on what he had to say and not on her glowing hair and great, fathomless eyes. “You have to race.”

  “Yes.”

  “Addie, I’ve watched you race.” God, how he had watched! “You ride to win, but I get the feeling that racing itself isn’t that important to you. Are you…will this be a career for you?”

  She shook her head a little. “No. I started racing only because we discovered that no one else could ride Resolute. The best jockeys we could find were all thrown, or else he flatly refused to run for them. So I became an apprentice, and then an amateur.” She remembered the promise to her father, but shook the memory away. “And then, a few weeks ago, a professional.”

  “But it isn’t a career?”

  Addie hesitated, wondering how much she could tell him without breaking yet another promise. “No. I’ll race only until the Cup. Only a few more weeks. After that…well, after that, I’ll either retire Resolute—or sell him.”

  Shane heard the stark heartache in those last three words, and frowned as he gazed at her. “What do you mean?”

  She forced a smile. “If we win, I’ll retire him. If we lose, I’ll sell him.”

  “You don’t want to sell him?”

  “No.”

  Having a good idea of how she felt about her horse, Shane could only believe that if she sold him, it would be because she needed money badly. Yet he knew she made a very good living in her blacksmith work, and also knew that she earned a percentage of the purse in every race she won. In short, she was making quite a bit of money day to day. So why would she need to earn an enormous sum of money within a few weeks?

  “I don’t suppose you’d tell me—” He didn’t have to finish the question.

  “No. I’m sorry, Shane, but I can’t tell you why I’m doing this. I made a promise not to tell anyone, and I won’t break it.”

  He respected her for that, even though it hurt a little. “I see. You have to go on racing until the Cup. And you’ll ride in as many races as possible before then.”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded slowly. “What about the fact that someone seems to be trying to stop you—or Resolute?”

  Addie thought about the sabotaged bridle. Who? Who was trying to stop them? She didn’t know, couldn’t guess. “I don’t know. I can’t believe that.”

  “You have to believe it. Twice in two days; first the apple and then the bridle. Both were deliberate, Addie, and you know it. You believe it. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “I can’t do anything about it,” she said, tacitly confirming what he said. “Except be on guard and watch Resolute.”

  “You can report it to the authorities.”

  “No!” That, at least, she had to tell him—or he would report it himself, and she’d become front-page news. “No, I can’t do that, Shane. I have to avoid publicity whenever I can. My father has a bad heart. If he heard something like this was going on…”

  “All right.” Shane sensed more than saw her anxiety. “But Addie, there are a hundred ways someone could get to Resolute. And if they want to get to you, they could hire an unscrupulous jockey to bump you during a race. Or maneuver you into riding a really bad horse. Most of your mounts are completely unfamiliar to you when you race them, aren’t they?”

  “Most of them.”

  “And it’s widely known you’ll ride whatever you’re offered?”

  She nodded. “But I’d hear from the other jockeys if a horse was bad; you can’t keep a thing like that a secret.”

  “You can keep drugs a secret,” he said, “at least until after a race, and even then if the horse isn’t tested.” He heard the growing intensity of his own voice and hoped dimly that she couldn’t hear his fear. “And they don’t even have to be that drastic. You could be offered a race on a horse that hates a whip and you’re told to use it. Or a horse that’s always run with blinders—except when you get on him. My God, Addie! We both know that Thoroughbreds are a thousand pounds of bundled nerves and raw power; it doesn’t take anything to make one go nuts!”

  “I have to race,” she said softly.

  Shane ran a hand through his hair and tried to get a grip on himself. “You have to race. All right, then, if that’s the way it is.” He looked at her, wondering if he had imagined her response during that interlude today. “But what about us, Addie?”

  Addie wanted to look away from those intense green eyes, but everything inside her rebelled. She tried to keep her mind on words, and away from the desire he could somehow ignite with a glance. “Shane…a race is like a chess match. You concentrate and plan, and if your opponent makes a mistake, you take advantage of it. But you have to keep your mind on the game.”

  “And what’s between us makes that impossible?”

  “It did today. During the first race. And it made the other races harder.” It had never happened to Addie before, and she wondered in confusi
on if it was unfulfilled desire that had wrecked her concentration; would she be able to keep her mind on riding if she and Shane were lovers?

  Shane drew a deep breath, his eyes searching her delicate features and then dropping to the V neckline of her blouse, where he could see creamy flesh and the hint of a silver chain she wore around her neck. And he felt the sudden hot pulsing of his need for her tightening his muscles painfully. He jerked his gaze away. “Addie, I can’t—can’t leave you. I’m not even sure I can leave you alone.” He laughed a little.

  “Shane—”

  “I have to touch you, don’t you understand that?” His voice was rough, hurried; he stared down at his wineglass because he was afraid to look at her and lose what little control he could claim. “It wouldn’t have been so hard to not touch you if today hadn’t happened. If you hadn’t felt something too. Before, I could have gone on telling myself you were just a little bit unreal. Something lovely and magical I could look at but not touch. But not after today. After today I’ll look at your beautiful red hair…and remember the passion in you.”

  Just as it had been in the car, Addie could feel his low voice moving her, stirring her to restless excitement. And she didn’t know what to say except what was in her mind, tantalizing her with its promise. “I don’t have to race again until Saturday.”

  His eyes lifted to meet hers quickly, hope flaring in the depths like green fire. But he said only, “And then you’ll put me out of your mind?”

  Too honest to pretend, she said, “I don’t know which will be more difficult: trying to concentrate as things are now, or trying with something more between us.”

  His mouth twisted in a curious self-mocking smile, and he said, “Maybe if we scratch the itch, it’ll go away and not bother us anymore.”

  “Do you believe that?” She didn’t think that he did, but his instant denial nonetheless reassured her.

  “Hell, no. I think I’ll be lucky to get out of Australia without turning into a raving madman because of you.”

  It reassured her and startled her—and reminded her painfully—that he was a visitor in her country with a home of his own thousands of miles away.