Holding her bottom in his hands, he took her with sensual, mind blowing thrusts that sent more aftershocks of pleasure spiraling through her. Capturing her bottom lip between his teeth, he came with a throaty growl that reverberated right to her toes.
Seduced by his guttural sounds of pleasure, the hard stroke of his body, another wave of white-hot pleasure pulsed through her, rending her boneless and brainless, sprawled across his chest.
And then there was nothing but a dark, delicious abyss.
* * *
He woke her before dawn. Cupping her breast in his palm, he nudged her thigh forward and slid into her from behind.
“You wanted one night,” he intoned huskily in her ear, “you get more.”
His finger caressed the hard nub at the centre of her with smooth, delicious circles that soothed her sore skin. Rousing her desire all over again, he stroked her flesh until it was wet and pliant beneath his fingertips...until a low moan left her throat and she arched back against him, demanding his deeper possession.
He was in total control in this position. Exquisite and leisurely, as unhurried as the night before had been urgent, he made it last forever. A deep, delicious orgasm sliding over her, she curled back into his arms and slept.
When she woke again, her arms and legs tangled with Colt’s, dawn had arrived. Hating to leave, but knowing she should before her absence was noticed and rumors spread like wildfire, she untangled herself and slipped from the bed.
Dressing in the pink-lit room, feeling like a very different woman than the one who had walked in here the night before, she let herself silently out the door and closed it behind her.
Shoes in her hand, feet soaked by the early morning dew, she ran up the path to the house.
All of a sudden, one night didn’t seem like nearly enough.
* * *
Alejandro woke with a heavy head and a stinging jaw. Hitting the snooze button with the back of his hand, he pried his eyes open to find Cecily gone, the delicate floral scent that clung to the bedding the only evidence she’d even been there.
“Better like this,” he muttered, dragging himself out of bed and into a shower. He made it a practice never to let a woman sleep in his bed, which made awkward goodbyes a non-issue.
Returned to the land of the living with a hot shower, he found a text from Sebastien waiting for him when he got out.
Only a few hours left until you’ve successfully completed your challenge. The jet will be on the tarmac by eight o’clock this evening. You are leaving for personal reasons you must attend to immediately. Looking forward to hearing the debrief.
Santo Deus. He pocketed the phone and headed out the door. He needed out of here and now. Before he did something else he’d regret. Because surely what had happened between him and Cecily last night had been unwise. The problem was, he thought he might do it again if presented with the same situation, because watching that sexy confidence take up residence on her face as they’d blown each other’s brains out in bed had been worth it.
He went about his daily chores, relieved to find Cecily and Dale had driven out of state to look at a horse after Knox Henderson’s abrupt departure this morning. It was better he leave without goodbyes or explanations, because he had none to give.
No matter how real his feelings for Cecily—no matter how unfinished things between them seemed—they could never be. He had nothing to offer a vulnerable woman like her except what he’d just offered—a temporary boost to her ego.
The women in his life were well aware of who he was—knew they were temporary fixtures, to be pampered, enjoyed, then replaced as required. Everybody won. Cecily didn’t fall into that category.
And then there was the fact that he was about to destroy her family’s reputation. He was now convinced Cecily knew nothing of her horse’s origins or the Hargroves’ transgressions. But the crime still had to be punished. As soon as Stavros handed him the proof, he would secure justice for his grandmother just as he’d promised her he would.
Bacchus would be the only exception from the Salazar’s revenge. Because on that point, he refused to break Cecily’s heart.
CHAPTER FIVE
CECILY REACHED FOR the iron control she was famous for as she cantered into the ring in Geneva for her world championship qualifying event. She found herself deluged by nerves instead, her stomach churning like a rollercoaster ride.
Saluting the judges, she breathed in deep, gathered the electric charge of the crowd and used it to propel her around the course in a very fast, clean round—the final in the jump off.
She pulled Bacchus to a dancing halt, her horse sensing he’d been a star today. Staring up at the clock, heart in her mouth, the roar of the crowd echoed the numbers on the screen.
She had finished in third place.
It wasn’t until Dale had pulled her off Bacchus in the collecting ring and engulfed her in a huge hug that it sunk in. She’d done it. Her world championship dream was still alive.
It wouldn’t erase the lackluster year she and Bacchus had had, nothing could do that, but it would go a long way toward convincing the committee she should be in the running for a spot on the team. And right now, that was all she could do.
All due to Colt who’d found the key to her and Bacchus. A low throb pulsed through her as she pulled off her hat to greet the press. Colt who’d been gone when she’d returned from Maryland, a ‘personal matter’ drawing him home.
She’d been worried at first, asking Cliff for his phone number so she could make sure he was okay. But he hadn’t left one. As if what they’d shared had meant nothing to him.
She kept the smile determinedly plastered across her face as she did half a dozen media interviews, wishing he were here. Which was ridiculous. She’d known he would leave. Had prepared herself for that. What had hurt the most was he hadn’t even said goodbye.
Her stomach gave another ominous churn as she finished her last interview. Bile climbing the back of her throat, she barely made it to the washroom before she was violently ill.
It wasn’t until she was on the jet flying home that pieces of the puzzle began sorting themselves into dizzying place. In the crush getting ready for Geneva, she hadn’t had her period. She’d attributed it to stress, but oh, my God. Her heart seized as a sea of blue flew past outside the window. It couldn’t be. Colt had worn a condom both times they’d made love.
A trip to her doctor, however, proved the impossible possible. She was pregnant with Colt’s baby, a fact that threw her whole life—her career—into disarray once again.
Few top performing riders ever competed while pregnant. The risk wasn’t worth it. Which meant there would be no world championships for her and Bacchus this year, the last thing she ever would have thought would derail her.
Shock and crushing disappointment consumed her as she fought her way through the next couple of days. What was she going to do? Her single, coherent thought was that Colt needed to know about his child. He might not want her, but it was his right to know they had conceived a baby together.
Finding him a preferable next step than telling her father she was pregnant with Colt’s baby, she hired a private investigator who had tracked a fellow rider’s birth mother down. Forty-eight hours later, Victoria Brown arrived at the coffee shop in town where Cecily had arranged to meet her, a manila folder in her hand.
Cecily lifted her gaze expectantly to the attractive brunette as she sat down, knots tangling her stomach.
“Did you find him?”
Victoria nodded. “There was a slight issue, however. Colt Banyon does not exist.”
Cecily shook her head, confused. “But you just said you found him.”
“I found the man who was posing as Colt Banyon.” Victoria set her gray-blue gaze on Cecily. “There are no Banyons in New Mexico with any conn
ection to the man who worked here. The man who worked for you fabricated his identity. A very sophisticated fabrication I might add.”
Bemusement wrapped her brain in a gray haze. Why would Colt do that? What had he needed to hide? There had to be a logical explanation for it.
“I ran the photo you gave me from the party through my database,” Victoria continued, “minus the facial hair. Colt’s real name is Alejandro Salazar. He—”
The crash of china reverberated through the café, attracting stares from the clientele. Cecily looked down at the broken pieces of her cup littering the floor, then back up at Victoria, her brain frozen. There must be some mistake. It was not possible Colt could be Alejandro Salazar, the billionaire heir of her family’s greatest rival. He could not have been working at Esmerelda.
There was no mistake, Victoria assured her as the girl from the shop came by with a broom to clean up her mess. She’d tracked Alejandro Salazar’s movements during that time. He’d been in Kentucky. Colt was Alejandro.
She sat there in a daze after Victoria left, the world tilting on its axis. She was pregnant with Alejandro Salazar’s baby. It was utterly, completely incomprehensible. She’d seen pictures of him of course, years ago, but he’d been clean shaven at a society event, nothing like the man who’d worked at Esmerelda.
Clasping her fingers around the new cup of tea the shop girl had insisted on bringing her, she fought to make sense of it all. What had Alejandro been doing here? Why had he been posing as a groom?
She’d never understood the ridiculous feud their two families were embroiled in. Had asked her parents about it multiple times only to be told the crazy rumors that Zeus’s line had somehow been stolen from the Salazars were all in Adriana Salazar’s delusional head.
Her heart dropped, fingers curling tight around the cup. Had Alejandro’s presence here had something to do with that? Was he out to hurt her family?
Betrayal, hot and debilitating, slid through her. She’d thought she’d known him. That he’d cared about her. That he’d wanted her for who she was. When was she going to learn?
Davis had convinced her he’d wanted her too. She’d been so sure, so convinced he’d loved her she’d swanned all over town picking out china patterns, sending out rose-embossed wedding invitations, before she’d found out three weeks before the wedding from his drunken best man that her fiancé had a mistress he intended to keep. That instead of being the love of Davis’s life, she had been a politically advantageous match chosen for her name and fortune.
Don’t be so naïve, he’d raged at her when she’d broken things off. Marriages have nothing to do with love. Apparently she had been that naive, because it turned out she was the only one who hadn’t seemed to know about her fiancé’s dalliances.
Her teeth sank into her lip, the salt tang of blood staining her mouth. She’d promised herself she’d never let anyone hurt her that badly again. Use her that way. She’d let Colt—Alejandro—in for the precise reason she’d believed he was different.
Once again, she’d been a fool.
She moved a numb gaze to the manila folder on the table. She should go home right now and tell her father. God knew what Alejandro Salazar’s intentions were. But she couldn’t do that—not with the explosive secret she carried. Not when her entire future depended on finding out what the truth was.
The only place she was going to find that was in New York.
CHAPTER SIX
“I HAVE YOUR PROOF.”
Alejandro unfolded himself from his chair, stood, cell phone pressed to his ear and prowled to the floor-to-ceiling windows of his Manhattan office, a spectacular view of the Hudson River spread out before him.
“How accurate are your results?” he asked Stavros.
“Indisputable.”
Satisfaction warmed his veins. “Courier them to me?”
“Already on the way.” His friend took a sip of what was undoubtedly a double espresso served extra hot by his ever efficient PA. “Does this mean you’ll have more time to devote to your friends now? At this rate it’ll be Sebastien’s thing before I see you.”
Alejandro scowled. “It’s his fault I’m so snowed under. If this damn party was anything but his anniversary celebration, I’d be saying thanks but no thanks.”
“Aren’t you even the least bit curious to meet my wife?”
Immeasurably. Meeting the woman who had somehow maneuvered Stavros into marriage was at the top of his personal priority list. Unfortunately, his hellish work schedule was derailing that plan.
“My curiosity will have to wait a couple of weeks.”
“Kala.” His friend took another sip of java. “I have a name to run by you. Guy by the name of Brandon Underwood—an old acquaintance of my wife’s. He’s in the race horse business.”
Alejandro’s lip curled. “Old money. Brandon’s a spoiled rich boy with aspirations to follow in his senator daddy’s footsteps. The Underwoods keep the rug swept so clean, you know there’s dirt underneath.”
“Good to know.”
“You jealous of boy Underwood?”
“Hardly.” Stavros shrugged the inquiry off as he always did anything that went more than surface deep. “You planning on bringing a plus-one to Sebastien’s thing?”
He hadn’t decided that yet. Given he was the only one flying solo, it had been tempting to pick up the phone and call the lawyer he’d met at the gym a few weeks ago, a beautiful brunette who’d made it patently clear she was waiting for his phone call. But he couldn’t seem to do it.
Not even a vision of Brigitte’s chic, chin-length bob, svelte figure and endless legs could strip his head of a certain voluptuous blonde who’d ridden him to within an inch of his life and left him wanting more. His body still seemed programmed for tiny, stacked females with an attitude.
“Might fly solo,” he murmured absentmindedly, as his PA, Deseree, stuck her head in his office and gave him a five-minute signal. “I have a board meeting, I have to go. See you next week.”
Stavros signed off. Pocketing the phone, Alejandro rifled through the papers on his desk. A frown creased his brow. “Des—” he called, walking to the door, “I can’t seem to find that European market report. Can you scare up a—” the words froze in his mouth as he recognized the woman standing in front of his PA’s desk.
Clad in a cream dress made of some soft material that hugged every memorable curve, a sky high pair of stilettos, her honey blonde hair a smooth silk curtain that fell over her shoulders, Cecily looked every bit New York chic. Gorgeous. But it was the icy glitter in her beautiful blue eyes that commanded his attention.
Por amor a Deus. She knew.
Dust in his throat, gravel in his mouth. What the hell was she doing here?
Deseree stared at them with unabashed fascination. He snapped his stunned brain back into working order. He needed to defuse this...fast.
“Tell my father to start the meeting without me.”
Deseree’s jaw dropped. Salazar board meetings were a sacred thing. His father, Estevao Salazar, the Chairman of the Board, was known for his legendary temper tantrums over the tardiness of its members to his strictly laid out quarterly meetings. A true professional, however, Deseree didn’t miss a beat, simply picked up the phone and started dialing.
Alejandro gestured toward his office. “After you.”
Cecily turned on her heel and stalked inside. Her back a band of pure iron, fire sparking from every inch of her tiny frame, her amazing backside set off to perfection in the form fitting dress, she sent a wave of lust coursing through him that defied rationality. Now was not the time.
He closed the door with a soft click. Faced the firebrand in front of him. Hands clenched by her sides, a flush staining her cheeks, she was clearly furious. He thought he might start with an apology.
�
��Eu sinto muito, Cecily,” he murmured, holding her gaze. I’m sorry. “I never intended to hurt you. I tried to take a step back, you know I did.”
Eyes darkening, she lifted her hand and slapped him across the face. Hard.
“I deserved that,” he said evenly, jaw reverberating with the force of it. “I deserve your anger. Now let’s sit down and be rational about this. Let me explain.”
“Rational?” She planted her hands on her hips. “You would like me to be rational? You came to work for my family under false pretenses. You lied to me and everyone else who trusted you, cared about you. You’re lucky I haven’t gone to the police.”
He forced himself not to smile at how cute police came out in her feminine southern drawl. That would not help matters. “I haven’t broken any laws,” he returned smoothly. Well, maybe one or two small ones. “I applied for a job, was accepted and carried out my responsibilities.”
“Why? What were you doing there?”
He leaned a hip against his desk. “Your family stole something from mine. I came to get proof.”
She frowned. “Are you talking about Zeus? Does this have something to do with that crazy rumor you mentioned on our picnic?”
“It’s not a rumor. Your grandfather illegally bred his mare Demeter to Diablo when Diablo was on loan to an American breeder, which means the whole backbone of your showjumping line is based on a lie. I have proof.”
The color drained from her face. “What kind of proof?”
“I had Bacchus’s DNA tested. He is irrefutably of Diablo’s blood, not Nightshade’s.”
“I don’t believe it,” she whispered, skin a chalky white. “My parents told me it wasn’t true.”
“The testing was done in an internationally respected lab. There is no doubt as to its veracity.”
She turned and walked to the window. Palm pressed to the glass, her slight shoulders stooped, body vibrating with emotion, he had to bite back the urge to touch her, to comfort her, because he couldn’t do that anymore. He was the enemy.
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