by Suzanne Ruby
“He thinks Adam took them?”
“He was the only other person with a key. I know my husband doesn’t believe it in his heart, but there’s no other explanation.”
“Would such expensive saddles have serial numbers?” Perhaps she could somehow cross-check them against the ones at Adam’s house, although his saddles didn’t appear to be designer.
“Of course,” Trish said.
“Could I have a copy of those? I’d like to look into this further, and I can let you know what I find out. If anything.”
Trish walked over to a filing cabinet, looked through some folders and pulled out a list.
“I’ll make a copy for you and highlight the missing ones,” Trish said, then disappeared into the next room.
While she was gone, Kirby studied the photos on the wall. Adam stood proud next to riders on their decorated horses, or with students in the arena. Other trainers and clients were pictured, as well. Dozens of photos not only filled one wall, but the frames also spilled over to the next one. He looked the same in some ways, yet different. Younger. Leaner. Shorter hair. But still a total knockout.
Even though this place had expelled Adam as a trainer, they hadn’t bothered to take down his picture, which struck her as odd.
Obviously, they still respected him, which on some level meant they still trusted him.
Another thing that stood out: no photos of Madison on the wall. She’d obviously been a short-timer and must have quit soon after the Beckers dismissed Adam. If he were no longer there, why wouldn’t have she continued on? Unless she had something else to hide. This whole chain of reasoning spawned another theory about the missing saddles.
Trish returned, papers in hand.
“Nice photos. Adam is very handsome,” Kirby said.
“He was our best trainer, you know. And he’s as polite as he is handsome.”
“I know,” Kirby said.
Trish cocked her head. “You’ve met him? Well, I suppose you did say you’d come here for personal reasons.”
Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. In retrospect, she shouldn’t have used her real name, either, or stated her affiliation with the media, in case Trish or her husband decided to contact Adam.
“Yes, we’ve met,” Kirby said. “If you talk to him, I hope you won’t mention I was here. He’d never forgive my snooping around, but I’d like to see this resolved. For Adam’s sake.”
“I understand. But I’ll definitely tell Donald about Madison’s confession. Not that it will make a difference until this mystery with the saddles is solved.”
If Kirby’s new hunch regarding the missing saddles was correct, she’d gladly share that information with Trish, as well. On the other hand, if her hunch was wrong and Mr. Becker was right, she’d never trust her instincts, or Adam, again.
10
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND. Why would he cheat? Am I really so horrible?”
Adam’s client rested her head on his shoulder. He resisted the urge to scoot away. Instead, he rubbed her arm and counted down the remaining minutes.
“You deserve better. I think you know that,” he said.
Although it was a stock line, it probably applied in most cases. It also hit home. Liv had cheated. Was he really so horrible? Furthermore, was Kirby seeing someone else? Was that the message buried between the lines of her vague and noncommittal and not-the-tiniest-bit-encouraging text?
More than ever, he felt stuck in this vortex of having to soothe strangers’ emotions, sort out his own, protect Henry’s and decode Kirby’s.
At least the woman didn’t try to kiss him. He’d been dodging kisses from customers since he first kissed Kirby, as if he’d been gladly branded. Like a bull, which was rather fitting, considering this place.
“Go home, take a warm bath and get some rest,” he said as he proceeded to stand. His customer sure wasn’t taking the initiative.
The woman nodded as if he’d prescribed something of value.
His stock line actually sounded damn good at the moment. He should take his own advice and go home, rather than do something stupid such as call Kirby again. But, if this relationship were the Kentucky Derby, Stupid would be leading Common Sense by a furlong.
He escorted his client to the exit but didn’t go outside. He’d only done that with Kirby. Instead, he headed to the foyer to do something even more idiotic.
“Congratulations, my friend. You’re done for the evening,” Fabian said as he tapped at the iPad in front of him.
“Not quite, Fab.”
“Oh, yeah? Did your girlfriend take the ten o’clock without booking through appropriate channels?”
“No. I’m going to her house.”
“Well, this is moving right along. I mean, I definitely see the attraction, but isn’t she on the rebound?’”
The possibility had all but eluded Adam. Now it slammed into him with full force. A rebound situation would explain why she’d backed off.
“Probably,” Adam said. “Which is why I need to see her tonight. But I need your help.”
Fabian shook his head. “Oh, no. Not doing it. Not even for my best friend. If the two of you were so close, she would have given you her address.”
“Come on, Fab. I’m not a stalker and you know it. I want to check on her. Make sure she’s okay.”
“That’s what phones are for, Ride. Call or text her.”
“She isn’t returning my calls or texts.”
“Then take a hint.”
Even for Fabian, that was particularly cruel. It was also particularly logical.
“Her address. Nothing more. I won’t tell a soul.”
And Stupid wins by a furlong.
Fabian seemed to consider, then shook his head with more conviction. “I can’t do it. I need this job. No one else will hire me.”
Adam exhaled. “You’re probably right.”
Truth was, Adam did understand. As much as he wanted to see Kirby tonight, he didn’t want to jeopardize his friend’s job. Even if the friend was being a major asshole.
“I’ve got to run to the men’s room,” Fabian said. “Will you man my post for a few minutes?”
Adam massaged his temples. “Yeah. Sure. Even though you refuse to help me, I’ll help you. Jeez.”
“Pocket the attitude.” Fabian pointed at the designated spot behind the podium and disappeared beyond the scrim.
Adam reluctantly assumed the appropriate place and checked the iPad to see if any clients were likely to show up in Fabian’s absence.
There, on the screen, was Kirby’s entire confidential dossier.
Address and all.
* * *
ADAM LOOKED UP at the Elysian Lofts in midtown, trying to guesstimate which window on the third level would be hers.
He really had turned into a stalker, and not even a good one. Although the Stetson had seemed like a good idea, Houston proper wasn’t anything like his little slice of the pie outside the city, or inside Deep in the Heart.
He removed the hat and summoned the nerve to slip past someone who had exited the locked front entrance.
Inside, the concierge flirted with one of the guests or perhaps one of the residents.
Adam took advantage of the distraction and walked right by as if he knew where the hell he was going. He followed the unmistakable ping of the elevators and slipped inside. So much for security.
The third-floor hallway was as poorly marked as the lobby. No directional plaques anywhere. He looked to the left and then to the right, and chose the right.
Wrong.
He tiptoed back in the other direction. Yet, his boots still slapped against the polished concrete hallway. Yep. He made for a lousy stalker in his Luccheses.
Just his luck,
Unit 332 happened to be at the far end of a long hall. Instead of knocking, he stood outside the door for a reflective moment. What if she weren’t alone? What if she got royally pissed off over him showing up unannounced when she hadn’t even given out her address?
What if you knock on the damn door and find out?
After a few more moments of worthless contemplation, he gave in to his inner voice.
The frantic barks of that crazy-faced, floppy-eared puppy were unmistakable. Baby was going berserk on the other side. Had the puppy somehow recognized his knock?
He didn’t hear Kirby’s footsteps, but the door swung open and there she stood. Barefoot and beautiful. And wrapped in a cozy white blanket.
The look propelled his thoughts back to the two of them wrapped together in a thick blanket, walking down the hall from his bedroom to the great room and settling in for the night in front of the fireplace.
“Hello. How, exactly, did you find out where I live? I’m pretty sure I didn’t tell you,” she said.
“You talk in your sleep,” he lied.
She squinted. “I do not. Do I?”
He simply nodded. No way he’d disclose his source. He owed Fabian that much.
“I warned you I’m not the type of stalker to hide behind lettuce displays. I wanted to make sure you’re okay. Are you?” he asked.
Instead of slamming the door in his face, she eased into his arms.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” he said.
Her blanket dropped to the ground. She felt like pure satin in his embrace.
No wonder. She stood drenched in an apricot-colored satin tank top and matching pajama bottoms.
Immediately, his brain calculated the most efficient way to remove each of the items.
She picked up her blanket, pulled him inside and closed the door behind them.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t return your call or text. My head’s been pretty messed up lately.” Her words were chased by what sounded like an ironic laugh.
Yep. Coming here wasn’t his brightest idea.
“Not because of me, I hope.”
She seemed to think about it for a moment, then shook her gorgeous head.
“No. Of course not. I got a terrible migraine. So I came home, took a long bath and tried to sleep.”
Her hair was beautifully disheveled, as if she’d been lying on a beach somewhere, the wind tousling her long brown strands.
Or, the same way she had looked in front of his fireplace after their night of sex.
As before, she wore very little makeup. Yet her dark brows, thick lashes and pink lips didn’t need any embellishment. She looked sexy as hell in a just-rolled-out-of-bed sort of way.
“Can I get you anything? A soda? Some ice cream?” he asked.
She wrapped the blanket tight around herself.
“No, thanks. Migraines make me nauseated and my stomach is finally getting back to normal. Don’t want to push it. I’m sorry about my text. I wasn’t myself.”
“No apology necessary. Sit down. Let me burn you a bowl of soup or something,” he said.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know. I have an ulterior motive for doing it, so don’t feel guilty about accepting.”
He ventured into the kitchen area, taking in his surroundings along the way. Multitone brick walls, exposed piping overhead on the tall ceilings, plenty of windows but no greenery beyond them. Only the face of other buildings and the street below.
Felt a bit like a prison. Although he wouldn’t mind being locked up in here with her.
“Okay. I found a saucepan. Where’s your soup?” he asked.
“Cabinet on the far left. If there’s even any in there.”
She wasn’t kidding. Only one can. If broth even qualified as soup.
He fished around in the drawers and located a manual can opener. A few minutes on medium-high heat and... “Voilà! Dinner is served.”
Chicken broth, heated to perfection. No burned edges.
He poured some of the murky liquid in a mug and joined Kirby on the sofa.
She took a sip and licked her lips. It took all his willpower to not lean over and steal a kiss.
“So, what else did I say in my sleep?” She raised the mug to her lips, her eyes never deviating from his.
Talk about an opportunity.
“You described all the things you want to do with me. All the things you’re going to let me do to you.”
She nearly choked on a sip.
That confirmed it. She’d at least thought about a few things. Maybe the same few things he’d imagined.
“I think I see what’s happening,” she said. “This is a booty call.”
He eased the cup from her hand and tasted the brew. Not bad.
Not much of a dinner, but he wasn’t about to offer to cook anything more complicated. He’d burn something for sure, because the apricot satin that clung to certain curves of her body was simply too distracting for words. In fact, he wouldn’t mind another glimpse.
“I’d never use you for a booty call. Especially when you’re not feeling well. But I’m still getting more than a little turned on. Is that wrong?”
He rubbed his hand along her back and shoulders, then tugged at the blanket, revealing the satin loveliness of her pajama top.
She set down her cup, leaned into him and buried her face in the crook of his neck.
Not quite the move he hoped for, but a good start.
He put an arm around her and caressed her. Unlike with the customer earlier, he wanted to pull Kirby even closer.
“How was your day, or do I want to know?” she asked.
“It started out really good. I woke up in front of my fireplace, next to this gorgeous woman.”
“Really? And it went downhill from there?”
“Straight to the bowels of hell.”
“Did it have anything to do with your meeting?”
“As a matter of fact, it did.”
“Anything I should know about. As a client?”
The c word felt like a kick to the gut.
“About that. I’m ending the working part of our relationship, effective immediately. Apparently, things are happening at the club that I can’t even repeat.”
“Let me guess. The guys are sleeping with their clients.”
He neither confirmed nor denied. He was too busy kicking himself for even bringing it up, especially after the bombshell Lydia dropped at the meeting. Make that multiple bombs. She’d given new meaning to “shock and awe.”
“Your refusal to answer could be interpreted as an admission. Care to set the record straight?” Kirby asked.
The timing of her questions couldn’t have been worse. It rubbed him the wrong way, and just when everything else about her was rubbing him the right way.
Like the way she planted a tender, slow-motion kiss on his lips.
“Wouldn’t you rather know how a certain beautiful woman’s refusal to return my call or texts affected me?” he said.
“Can you ever forgive her?”
Adam kissed the top of her head. “Maybe. If she’s willing to convince me that she wants to see me now.”
Kirby bit her luscious bottom lip. “And how might she accomplish such a thing?”
Adam slipped the blanket from the rest of her body, then eased her on top of him until she was sitting on his lap, facing him.
Straddling him.
His erection began to strain against his jeans as she took the lead in kissing him while unbuttoning his shirt.
He rested his hands on her hips as she moved tentatively.
The satin glided easily against him.
He took control of her movement and guided her back and fort
h, more firmly. As her beautiful eyes closed, her moan indicated he’d hit the magic spot. He focused on that spot, daring to dream how it would feel and taste against his lips, his tongue.
As the thought consumed him, he threw his head back. “What are you doing to me?”
She planted a soft, warm kiss on the side of his exposed neck, and it delivered an electric jolt to his already energized loins.
“I’m trying to convince you. Are you convinced?” she said.
“I’m getting close.”
“Maybe this will help.” She eased the silk top over her head.
It nearly put him over the edge to see her soft breasts in so much light. Damn, she was perfect.
As she continued her easy movements, he steadied her upper body, leaned in and ran his tongue in lazy circles around one of her hardened nipples, then the other, before tugging ever so gently with his teeth until she groaned. But there was something else he hungered for even more.
“Stand,” he said.
She obeyed.
“Good girl.” He slipped her satin pajama bottoms down and let them pool around her feet.
“Did you really say ‘good girl’? You have to know that’s exactly what I’m determined not to be. In fact...”
Before he could do what he really wanted to do, she kneeled between his legs and proceeded to lower his zipper, unleashing his erection from his pants, and kiss the length of him with his underwear still on.
He wanted it so bad, but he craved something else even more.
It took all his strength and willpower to urge her onto the couch, onto her back, where he was determined to pleasure her first.
“No,” she said as she pressed against his shoulders.
“Yes,” he countered, as he peeled her hands away and gave them a tender squeeze.
They remained locked in a stare. He wasn’t going to back down this time.
She gave a single nod, rested her head on the pillow and covered her eyes with both hands. She allowed him the honor, and pleasure, of parting her thighs. Yet another image for his dream file.
With each kiss up the length of her legs, all the way to the sweet juncture, she seemed to simultaneously tense and relax.