by Tami Hoag
“Come now,” Christian insisted. “We should get to know each other, don’t you think?”
The glow in his laser blue eyes made his suggestion seem much more intimate than neighborly. He stood half a step closer than was strictly necessary—close enough to make Alex uncomfortably aware of him, and yet not so close that she had a good excuse to move away. The man was a master and he knew it. The teasing lights in his eyes told Alex he knew exactly what he was doing to her and that he knew she knew. It was all a marvelous game to him, charming women into joining the ranks of his conquests. Everyone was aware up front what the rules and the stakes were—fun, nothing serious; no harm, no foul.
Alex felt herself relaxing and realized it was dangerous. Christian Atherton may not have been threatening, but he was a threat—one she had to nip in the bud. She acknowledged the truth with a frighteningly strong sense of regret. It might have been fun….
“I know all about you,” she said, a wry smile lifting one corner of her wide mouth.
“My reputation has preceded me?” He quirked a brow and looked immensely pleased with himself. It was an expression that changed quickly to a comical scowl when she answered.
“Sure. My mother warned me about men like you when I turned thirteen.”
“Surely you didn’t listen,” Christian chided, his eyes sparkling with good humor.
No, Alex thought, glancing away, her own teasing expression melting into sudden pensiveness, she hadn’t listened. Maybe if she had listened, she would still have been married, would still have been in California, would still have the unqualified, untried support of her family. But she hadn’t listened, and now all of those things were lost to her.
“I prefer the smile,” Christian murmured gently, leaning closer. He didn’t know where she’d gone in those few seconds, but it wasn’t a happy place. She looked haunted and regretful, and he felt a strong desire to put his arms around her in a show of comfort, but he doubted she would have appreciated the gesture. Instead, he reached out and brushed her wild black curls back from her forehead, leaning closer so that when he spoke his voice was just above a whisper, smooth and velvety. “The gold flecks in your eyes light up when you smile.”
For a moment Alex merely stared at him, mesmerized by his gaze, his voice, the gentle concern in his eyes. It felt strange to be so close to him, to be enveloped by the awesome power of his personality. In a way it felt as intimate as anything she had ever encountered, and yet they weren’t even touching. It was intoxicating … and dangerous.
Finally she shook herself out of her brooding reverie and looked up at him, suddenly all business, self-preservation uppermost in her mind. “I might as well tell you straight out to save your charm, Mr. Atherton. It’s wasted on me.”
“Charm is never wasted on a beautiful woman,” Christian argued, lifting his chin up a notch. He planted one hand on the stall door beside her and leaned a millimeter closer.
He’d played this hard-to-get game before. It required determination, but it was always worth the extra effort. There was fire beneath Alexandra Gianni’s ice. He could see it in her amber eyes, in the stubborn set of her chin, in the line of that lush, lush mouth. He wanted to be the one to melt the ice and bring that fire out. He wanted to be the one to feel those flames lick over him and consume him.
It had nothing to do with the wager. He didn’t need the money, nor did his ego need the boost. It had to do with challenge. It had to do with feelings that dated back to the first man and woman, feelings that were a little more primitive than what he was used to feeling. They intrigued him. Alex intrigued him.
“Thank you for the compliment,” Alex murmured, pressing back against the post between her stalls in an unconscious effort to escape not only the man but the force of his personality as well.
Her resolve wavered as she took in the frankly appreciative look Christian was giving her. That warm sliding sensation stirred her insides again as her own gaze settled on his mouth. It was wide and mobile with firm, well-cut lips and a seemingly endless repertoire of sexy smiles.
She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have him kiss her. The thought was unwanted, unwelcome, but it managed to get past her considerable will just the same. It had been so long since she’d had a man kiss her with the kind of tenderness and passion she instinctively knew this one was capable of. She’d been so alone for so long….
He read the message in her eyes unerringly and lowered his head a fraction of an inch in invitation, his lips hovering just a breath above hers. But before she could take him up on his offer, her defenses reasserted themselves and she ducked away, kneeling to dig her gloves out of her gear bag.
What was the matter with her, she wondered angrily. Her hands were shaking as she fussed unnecessarily with the big red duffel bag that held all her personal paraphernalia. She knew exactly what Christian Atherton was. He was a rake and a womanizer, and she didn’t have the time or the desire to play his kind of game. Nor would he want to play with her once they had gotten to know each other. Lord knew he would probably set a new sprint record getting away from her once he discovered who she really was.
“Merely stating fact,” Christian drawled, leaning lazily against the narrow post. “If a woman is beautiful, she deserves to be told.”
“And if she’s not?”
He grinned. “Then I tell her anyway.”
He was by nature a flatterer. It was a skill he had perfected as a child. Even at the tender age of four he had known the fairer sex enjoyed praise. He’d filled his piggy bank time and again with the quarters his aunts and his mother’s friends had rewarded him with for his astute observations.
In Alex’s case it was entirely justified. She was very lovely in a sophisticated way. The longer he looked at her, the more he liked what he saw. Hers was a beauty that was at once subtle and exotic, and he realized with a start that she wasn’t wearing a scrap of makeup, not even mascara, nothing to emphasize or draw the eye. He also realized that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with his compliment or his scrutiny. He got the distinct impression she would rather he had not noticed her at all.
He watched with a mixture of confusion and amusement as she busied herself taking items out of her bag and putting them back in. She was rattled, and she clearly didn’t like being rattled. Information worth filing away for future reference, he noted.
“You’re extremely tidy,” he said pleasantly, bending over to peer into her gear bag. When he turned his head toward her, he was again within kissing distance. He smiled lazily. “A quality nearly as priceless as your looks.”
Alex flushed, suddenly hot beneath her proper white cotton blouse and charcoal jacket. “Care to look at my teeth while you’re at it?” she asked dryly.
“I have,” he admitted. “They’re adorable. I like the way the front two on top overlap slightly. Gives you a certain innocent quality.”
“Complimenting women is a hobby of yours.” She said it as if he would be put off by her knowing that about him.
Christian chuckled. “More like a calling, actually.”
“You do it very well,” Alex said, the corners of her mouth cutting upwards as that dangerous relaxation stole through her again. She couldn’t seem to resist the urge to like him. His irreverently charming manner made it difficult to think he could ever be a danger to her.
“Thank you,” he said, straightening only to lean indolently against a stall door once again, as if he found it necessary to reserve his strength for more important things than standing around.
“But you’re wasting your time on me if you think anything will come of it,” Alex warned, struggling once more to resurrect her cool reserve. She pushed herself to her feet and tugged on her thin black leather gloves. “I’ve got a stable to run and a daughter to raise. I’m afraid my schedule doesn’t allow for flirtations.”
His brows lifted in a show of mock surprise and shock. “Doesn’t allow?” He shook his head and sighed dramatically. “My dear g
irl, flirtations are an essential part of life—like good horses and really fine wine.”
Alex looked up at him, frustrated. She was trying to be serious, trying to set things straight between them right off. She couldn’t afford another misunderstanding; the last one had cost her too much. She didn’t want there to be any question in Christian Atherton’s mind about her intentions. And he had the gall to stand there and tease her, looking impossibly handsome and terribly British and damned sexy.
He shot her an infectious, lopsided grin that easily cracked all her barriers as if they had been constructed of eggshells. She shook her head in amazement and managed a weary laugh. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”
“I never give up,” Christian declared, the unmistakable steely glint of determination brightening his eyes and threading through his smooth, pleasant voice. “I am on rare occasions beaten, but I never give up.”
“You’re doomed to defeat this time. I feel it only fair to warn you.”
He clearly didn’t believe her. Of course, she couldn’t have expected him to. Men like Christian Atherton had a boundless belief in their own appeal to women. Most of them came across as arrogant. This one came across as endearing. Alex would have preferred the arrogance; it was much easier to resist.
“We’ll see,” he said absently. “You have a daughter. Can I assume you’re divorced? I’d hate to discover I’ve set my sights on a married lady. That is my one absolutely unbreakable rule—no married ladies.”
“It’s nice to know you have at least one scruple,” Alex reflected dryly. “Yes, I’m divorced.”
There didn’t seem to be any harm in revealing that much about her background. The alternative—letting people believe Isabella had been born out of wedlock—went too strongly against her grain. Her daughter had in fact been born after her divorce from Michael DeGrazia, but she had been conceived in love, regardless of what Michael chose to think. It wasn’t Isabella’s fault her parents’ marriage hadn’t been able to withstand the pressure inflicted on it by forces both from the outside and from within.
“Recently divorced?”
She gave Christian an apologetic look and moved to the door of Terminator’s stall. “I’d love to stand around here and play This Is Your Life, but I have a competition to get ready for.”
“After then? Over dinner?” he said with another of his smiles. “There’s an excellent Italian restaurant in Briarwood. The owner is a friend of mine.”
“Then maybe she’ll eat with you,” Alex suggested sweetly. “I have chores to do and a baby to take care of.”
“All right,” Christian said on a good-humored sigh. He bowed slightly. “I concede round one to you, Ms. Gianni. What competition are you getting ready for?”
“Open Jumper.”
She swung the stall door open and let Christian get his first good look at her mount. His eyes widened in horror.
“Oh my Lord, it can’t be,” he muttered, staring. But there was no mistaking the big, rawboned, washy chestnut gelding with the distinctive crooked white stripe running down his face. “I thought they’d shot him.”
“Not yet,” Alex said through her teeth. It was one thing for her to think nasty things of the horses she trained—and she had plenty about this one—but having a fellow trainer express those same thoughts aloud was another thing altogether. It rankled.
Christian turned away from the horse and gave her an incredulous look as a riot of unfamiliar feelings tore loose inside him. There was a strangely urgent note in his voice when he said, “You can’t be serious about riding this beast.”
“It’s what I get paid to do,” she said stiffly, shoving her helmet down on her head and buckling the chin strap.
“There isn’t enough money in the commonwealth of Virginia to make it worth your while.”
Your opinion, Alex thought darkly. It would be easy for him to refuse horses like Terminator. Quaid Farm, the stable Christian rode for, had paddocks full of top-quality, beautifully bred, beautifully behaved animals. Christian also reportedly had enough money of his own to make riding strictly a hobby. She, on the other hand, had to charge bargain rates, beg for mounts, and be grateful even for evil-tempered jugheads like Terminator.
“I’m serious, Alex,” Christian said, and indeed he was. The corners of his handsome mouth were turning down. A line of disapproval etched itself between his eyebrows. He looked as serious as a banker. “I’ve never had the misfortune of riding Terminator myself, but I am well aware of the horse’s reputation. It actually frightens me to think of you climbing up on that animal’s back. You can’t weigh much more than seven stone, and you don’t look particularly strong. That beast is as big as a freight train with a mouth like granite and a disturbed, diabolical mind.”
As if to illustrate the point Terminator struck out at him with a front foot as he was led from the stall, and Christian had to jump back out of the way or lose a kneecap. Eyes flashing, ears pinned, the gelding danced restlessly in the aisle while Alex snugged up the girth on her saddle.
“You’re new around here,” Christian said, planting his hands on his slim hips. “That’s the only way anyone ever gets on this brute. I saw him in a point-to-point race at Oatlands before he began his show career. He went berserk at the ninth fence and ran himself into a tree. Pity he wasn’t killed,” he muttered, shaking his head. “That was when it was decided that he would be better off confined to jumping in an arena.” He eyed the gelding with open dislike. “He’s changed hands more times than a bad used car. Who owns him now?”
“Tully Haskell.”
“Bloody hell.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to give Alex his undiluted opinion of the man she was riding for, but she had her hands full trying to get Terminator out of the barn without incident. Muttering under his breath about men who take advantage of innocent women, Christian nudged Alex aside, took the recalcitrant animal by the bridle, and coerced him out into the bright April sunshine.
Alex slapped her crop against her boot and fumed, her ready temper rising to the surface. Who did he think he was, telling her what horeses she should or should not ride, what owners she should or should not do business with? Who did he think he was, charming her off her feet one minute, then belittling her judgment and her ability the next?
“I’ll take my horse now, Mr. Atherton,” she said, deftly avoiding Terminator’s teeth as she reached for his reins.
Christian refused to let go of the horse’s head. He gave Alex a grave look that would have done his stuffier relatives proud. “If you have any sense, you’ll send both this rogue and his owner packing. They’re nothing but trouble, the pair of them.”
“Thank you for sharing your opinion with me,” she said with a sneer. Leaving the reins to him, she went to the horse’s side and vaulted quickly into the saddle. Terminator danced, shaking his head violently against Christian’s hold. Alex gathered up the reins and settled her feet firmly in the irons. She looked down at Christian with golden fire snapping in her eyes. “I don’t have the luxury of picking and choosing my clients, Mr. Atherton. This horse can jump, and I can ride him. It’s not always fun, but it’s what I get paid to do, and since I don’t have a family fortune to fall back on, I do it without complaint.”
Christian winced at the dressing-down. He’d obviously struck a nerve. Dammit, it wasn’t like him to go spouting off that way, telling other people what to do. His brothers had made careers of it, but he had always adhered to a strict laissez-faire policy. It was none of his business what other people did with their lives. Why he had suddenly deviated from that philosophy, he didn’t know. It was clear, however, that Alex hadn’t appreciated it.
“Alex, I’m sorry—” he started.
“Tell someone who cares,” she said, her concentration on her horse. Terminator’s muscles were bunched and trembling beneath her. It was like sitting on a volcano that was ready to blow. Already there were dark stains of sweat on his neck and foam edging his mouth.
/> She shot Christian a glance, the genuine apology and concern in his eyes going straight to her heart. She gave him a lopsided smile. “You can wish me luck.”
“Yes.” He nodded, letting go of the bridle and waving her off.
The big gelding bounded away, struggling furiously for control of the bit for five strides before giving in and settling into a strong, ground-eating canter.
Christian sighed and shifted his weight from foot to foot, physically uncomfortable with his sudden overwhelming concern for another person. He thought of himself as the consummate bachelor, concerned with only his own needs, responsible for no one but himself. That was the way he had lived his entire life.
As the fourth son of the Earl of Westly, he was far down the line when it came to looking after the family business. His stiff-necked older brothers had taken up those reins of responsibility, leaving him to take up reins of another kind.
He had signed on as trainer at Quaid Farm because he hadn’t wanted the responsibility of running his own place. He had remained single because he had never wanted the responsibility of a wife. And now he stood watching Alexandra Gianni fighting with that devil of a horse, feeling responsible because he hadn’t convinced her to stay off the ruddy beast!
Gads. What would Uncle Dicky have said?
“Losing your touch, your lordship?” a sardonic voice drawled from beside him.
Christian dragged his attention away from Alex, who had taken Terminator across the field to work off his initial burst of hatefulness, and turned toward the source of the amused drawl. Robert Braddock stood beside him, idly paging through the catalog of a pricey tack shop. Braddock was just his equal in height, but stockier and swarthy. In another era he could have been a pirate or a Gypsy. The beginnings of laughter twitched the corners of his lips and sent lines fanning out beside his dark eyes.
“What do you want?” Christian asked irritably. He had no doubt Robert had ferreted out every detail of the undignified greeting he’d received from Alex in the alleyway of the stable. It wouldn’t have surprised him had Braddock somehow managed to produce a videotape of his humiliation. Robert took great pride in being the first on the show circuit to know everything about anything that was going on. It was a trait Christian had always found irksome; he generally considered gossip beneath his dignity. He narrowed his eyes now and tried to think of the most conspicuous, frivolous, insulting way he could spend his friend’s money once he won the bet.