From now on, things had to go back to normal, though what if she couldn’t get back to normal? She tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth. Maybe she’d have to buy a vibrator, or something. Fuck. And she really must stop swearing like this; Toby would be horrified, so would her father. Except they weren’t here to care, were they, so who gave a…?
She turned on the shower and let the water hit her. Forget it. Forget him. Go. Back. To. Normal. Her hands drifted down, soaped between her thighs, and caressed the soft, swollen skin of her pussy. She closed her eyes, remembered the feel of his hands, of his probing fingers easing her lips apart and slipping deep inside…
***
The smell of coffee hit her first. Then the sight of newly showered male. Large male, in a small kitchen. Making it impossible to keep the kind of distance she needed.
“Oh, you’re still here.” That sounded nasty and kind of ungrateful, which she wasn’t normally.
“Sure am. Coffee?” He gave her a lopsided, semiapologetic smile. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’ve got to split in a minute.” He didn’t look the type of man who was ever really sorry about anything. His hair was still damp from his shower and for a moment she wanted to reach out and push a stray curl back into place. Instead, she sat down, firmly on her hands.
“Coffee’s good, thanks. Um, well, it was nice to meet you, Saul.” At least she could remember his name, which was good, wasn’t it? Maybe it would have been better if she’d come down to find him gone, though, because she didn’t know what was supposed to come next.
He raised an eyebrow. “Nice to meet me?”
She shrugged. “What am I supposed to say? Thanks for the shag?” He gave a short laugh that made her feel even more stupid, and only succeeded in getting her back up. Would he have preferred her to say “good pounding”? Did “shag” just nowhere near cover it? “Well, what’s the difference between me saying that and you rushing off to avoid the early morning embarrassment?”
“I wasn’t rushing off to avoid embarrassment.”
“Well, it would help if you were.”
“Sorry?” He looked bemused.
“Hey, forget it.” She took a sip of scalding coffee and winced as it brought tears to her eyes. “Please, can you just…” This was worse than she thought it would be. “I thought you were in a hurry?”
“Fine, if that’s what you want.” He shrugged, picked up his jacket. He was obviously better at this than she was. “If I’m passing by this way again…?”
“I don’t think so, do you?” She had a life to sort out, and this time she was going to do it on her own; any screwups were going to be all her own work. She held the cup of coffee up to hide the way she was sure her lips were wobbling. “It was very nice, though.” From the look he threw her way, that hadn’t been quite the right thing to say. Oh, sod him. He’d not find her again anyway, even if he did “pass this way.” If he thought she was some handy barmaid on tap like the beer, he was wrong. The place was her brother’s, and she’d only stepped in to cover for him because he’d been desperate and she hadn’t really had any reason to say no. And she’d thought a change was as good as a rest, or something like that. Not that she’d had a rest.
She could already feel her thighs heating up at the thought, delicious warmth flooding a pussy that was still swollen from his attentions. And she couldn’t deny it was a nice thought, a repeat performance. She felt her stomach clench, and other parts; more than a nice thought, in fact. But not a sensible thought.
“It was good. Um, thanks.” Did you say thanks after a man had shagged you senseless? Or was that a bit crass?
He was giving her that quizzical look. “Yeah, Roisin.” He’d dropped a tone, was rolling her name on his tongue as though he was eating her. Had gone back briefly to the man she’d seen last night, which wasn’t good. Not good at all. For a moment, he looked like he was going to step closer, touch her, but he must have seen the shuttered look that she knew was on her face. “You’re right, it was good. And thank you too.”
He nodded slowly, his lips tightening, then he shoved his hand into his trouser pocket and was gone, jacket slung over his shoulder, his tie hanging loose. Looking just like he had when he’d walked into the bar last night. Sexy as hell.
The sound of the door snapping shut echoed through the flat. Yeah, it had been good. In fact, it had been good enough to make her forget all about Toby, his women, and the way he’d spent every last penny of their money.
***
Saul had never been into horses. Riding, yes; horses, no. But right now, watching the slim, strong thighs squeezing firmly against the side of the black horse, he had a sudden desire to get into jodhpurs. Big time. He watched for a moment as the pair moved gracefully around the arena, the rider sitting perfectly upright, moving effortlessly in time with the horse. His gaze moved up to the small, perfect, bouncing breasts, the thick, red curls down her back, and suddenly the picture came together. It was the final piece of the jigsaw that sent a jolt of recognition straight through his body. Straight to his cock. Roisin.
She didn’t seem to notice him the first time she cantered past, but then she lost tempo for a moment and the next time around came to a perfect halt feet away, scattering rubber and sand over his feet. And she looked angry. Flushed and angry. That look sent another dart of longing straight to his groin, and it took considerable control to stop himself from dragging her down off that goddamned horse and shagging her right then and there in the dirt.
***
“How did you find me?” Roisin glared at him. Mind-blowing sex was one thing, but was it good or bad when your supposedly once in a lifetime one-night stand turns up again hours later? Though she couldn’t exactly say “You’re my one and only one-night stand, now bugger off and stop spoiling things,” could she? Or could she?
He shrugged and looked almost apologetic. “I’m sorry, I know this sounds bad, but I didn’t find you. I, er, wasn’t looking for you.”
He didn’t really look sorry; he was grinning, and from where she stood it looked like his cock was straining at his zipper as though expecting a repeat performance of last night. She felt the heat hit her cheeks, and forced her gaze back up to meet his.
He glanced down at the sheet of paper he was holding. “I’m actually looking for a Mrs. Grant.” The glance turned to a stare, his grin fading. “Mrs.”—he paused—“R. Grant.” The brown, hangdog eyes shot up to meet her dead-on. “Shit, that’s you, isn’t it?”
Chapter 2
“Shit, I guess it is.” Her voice was soft as she swung her leg over the back of the saddle and slid down off the horse. A slim, toned leg, a thigh that Saul could picture all too clearly naked, wrapped around him.
He swore inwardly and grimaced; this wasn’t going the way it was supposed to, which was why he never, ever talked to locals when he was working, and never, ever got involved. “But you live in the town, village, whatever it is.” It couldn’t be her; he didn’t make that type of mistake.
“Nope.” She yanked a stirrup up. “I live here.” And moved to loosen the girth, her perfect, trim bum only a tempting arm’s length away.
If he could only keep his hands to himself this would go fine; he could handle it. Rescue the situation. The sheet of paper started to crumple under his fingers at about the same pace that his balls were tightening. Which wasn’t good, because this whole thing wasn’t good.
“My brother lives in the village, runs the pub. It’s his place.”
“I need to talk to you, Roisin.”
“Talk, then.” She shrugged her small shoulders almost defiantly, still turned away from him. “But don’t expect me to listen until I’ve washed this horse down and put him away. I’ve got a business to run.”
“No, no, I’m sorry but you haven’t.” Which made him feel like shit, but he didn’t know what else to say to get her attention, to stop her fiddl
ing with the bloody horse. “That’s just it, Roisin; you don’t have a business to run anymore.”
***
Ah. Or rather, oh fuck. So that was it. She briefly rested her forehead against the hard saddle and breathed in the familiar, comforting smell of warm horse and leather. She’d half expected this—well, more than half, after everything Toby had done. But not him, never in a million years did she expect someone like him. It was supposed to be a sweaty, middle-aged, pompous fool she could hate. Not a man she could still smell warm on her skin.
Whoever was watching over her sure had a warped sense of humor, sending a sex god to shag her senseless one day and strip the rest of her assets the next. That was really taking the piss, nearly enough to make her forget she was about to be dropped in the brown smelly stuff big time. Nearly enough.
“Roisin? Are you okay?” The soft voice reached out and sounded almost sorry, which really stank, because it was a bit like being asked if you had any last requests by the executioner.
“Fine.” She let go of the leather strap, which was biting into the palm of her hand, and the horse danced to the side. She forced herself to turn her head and look at him. He hadn’t moved a muscle, which spoke a lot for a man in a smart suit who looked as if he thought horses were alien creatures. Most people would have stepped back, away from impatient hooves, but Saul Mathews appeared to have nothing in the way of adrenaline. But plenty of something else; maybe you couldn’t have adrenaline and testosterone in equal measures.
He was way too close, his muscled body only thinly disguised by the soft cotton of his perfectly fitted shirt; except she knew exactly what was under that covering now, which made it impossible to ignore. She’d had her hands on it only hours before, a torso that had every muscle defined and perfect, just like a Greek statue. But he wasn’t lifeless, cold stone. She could still feel the velvet of his skin; still taste him salty in her mouth. She swallowed. He was staring at her, as though he knew exactly what was whizzing through her head, and her whole body started to react. She clenched her fists, and her teeth.
“So what’s that supposed to mean? I haven’t got a business?”
He shifted his feet awkwardly on the manège surface, grinding himself deeper into the rubber chips. “I’m sorry, Roisin, but…”
“For heaven’s sake, stop saying sorry and just spit it out.” This was so unfair, for God’s sake; he still smelled of sex and it was turning her on, even though it so seriously shouldn’t be.
“Your husband used this place as collateral against some hefty loans.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stood feet astride, as though expecting trouble. “Basically, he’d defaulted on the payments and just before he died the largest debt was called in. You must have known; he must have told you what he was doing.”
Nope, he’d not told her when he did it, but yep, she knew she was in trouble. She’d thought they had plenty of money until she’d started to open the letters after Toby had died. She hadn’t believed them at first; not until she’d seen that look on the solicitor’s face, the look he normally reserved for death and divorce. He’d said he’d get back to her once he’d worked out just how bad it was, fixed a figure on all the debts. Worked out which of the many creditors would be knocking on the door first. But it seemed as though someone had saved him the trouble. Which wasn’t a surprise, given the speed he worked at.
She shook her head. “What do you mean the debt was called in?” It might not sound so bad if he spelled it out.
“This place isn’t yours anymore. It was sold to my company. As a goodwill gesture we’d agreed that Toby could rent it for a period.” His eyes were fixed on her like a hawk, as though he was waiting to see what she would do next. “That period ended just before he died.”
Or it could sound worse. “I don’t believe you. How could it be before he died? I’d know, wouldn’t I?” Maybe if she kept denying it the whole thing would go away.
He shrugged, his lips narrowing in an uncompromising line. “We have written, several times in fact. We’ve rung him to point out that he is—sorry, was—in breach of our agreement.” He sounded stilted, looked awkward. But unrelenting. “He knew, he must have told you.”
“It’s not mine?” He couldn’t really mean what he was saying. This was her home, her business. It couldn’t just disappear from under her nose, even if there had been letters. Lots and lots of letters. He was shaking his head slowly, standing waiting for it to sink in, for her to stop blathering on like the village idiot. Her stomach dipped and this time it was nothing to do with lust. “But you can’t mean…”
“I’m so—” He stopped the words just in time.
“You’re saying it’s not mine?”
“It’s not yours.”
“But I live here.”
“Illegally, I’m afraid.” His voice was soft.
“My solicitor—”
“It’s too late for solicitors; we’ve gotten past that point.”
“I can carry on renting it like Toby agreed with you.” Maybe she’d been living in denial; she’d known there was no money left, but she hadn’t gotten her head around the fact that this could happen. At least, not yet.
“That was for a finite time, Roisin.” He sighed. “It was just a gesture to give your husband some extra time while we assessed the business.”
“Assessed it? You mean you’re intending to sell it again?” His eyes were guarded. “Oh, I get it, you mean bulldoze it. Is that it? I’m right, aren’t I?”
***
Saul didn’t want to lie to her. She’d obviously had a belly full of that. “I’m not sure yet what the plan is, but yes, maybe this place will be knocked down.” His job was straightforward: he took on a business cheap, identified the saleable assets, then sold the profitable parts to the highest bidder. And sometimes those bits were bulldozed. Or not. “But it’s not as if you can afford the rent anyway, can you? I mean, you’re not making much money; just pennies.”
She was glaring, her whole body tensed for a fight, but he knew she believed him deep down. She knew. “And what was last night about, then? A time filler, or does it turn you on shagging the person you’re just about to”—she paused—“shaft in another way?”
“Phew, that’s below the belt. That’s not fair, and you know it.”
“Do I? What do I know, Saul? It seems like you’re the one with all the answers.”
“Last night was just—it just happened, but believe me if I’d known who you were I would never have even stopped for a drink. It was just bad timing, or good timing if you like.” He could feel the corner of his mouth tip and suddenly she looked like she might hit him.
“Oh, fuck off.” She flicked the horse’s reins over its head and it shied away, almost bumping into him. Which he couldn’t blame her for.
“Look, I’m really sorry about this, but I’m not sorry about last night.” He stepped up closer, met her glare, because it seemed important that she believed him. Last night hadn’t been about business. Last night had been—something else.
“Stop saying you’re bloody sorry, unless it’s going to change anything.”
“It’s not going to change anything.”
Her eyes were bright and she was gnawing at her lip, but not in the “come and shag me” manner of last night. Which made him feel like shit. Again. “Look, I’ll go through the documents with you. That’s why I’m here. And if you can come up with some kind of proposal to pay a proper rent on the place then I’ll listen.”
“I need to sort my horse.” She flicked behind the horse with the whip; it stepped forward automatically, brushing past him, leaving a fine coating of sweat-covered hair on his arm. Fine, so she was spoiling for a fight. But he didn’t want to fight. Not this time.
He followed slowly behind as she walked toward the stables, studying the property on autopilot. Assessing was something that was second nature to
him, even if now it didn’t seem right. When he’d pulled into the yard he’d only had time for a quick look around, taking in the tidy but tired air of the place, the look that said it would cost a fortune to update. He grimaced; there was a good-sized house, which he was sure would be in a state, but there were plenty of people around with money who wanted the genuine article, a country estate. Chic, not shabby. The riding stables didn’t have much going for them as a business proposition, but the property, the land, did. Which was why he’d bought it. At a knockdown price that he’d thought had meant he couldn’t go wrong.
His gaze drifted back to the pert bum and he had a horrible feeling that something, or someone, was about to screw up his plans.
***
Roisin grabbed a bucket of water angrily. Fuck, he must have known who she was, whatever he said. So she hadn’t been just a bed for the night; he’d been weighing her up, softening her up, whatever his tactics were. And she was pissed off. Seriously pissed with him, and even more with herself. She’d fallen straight into the trap he’d set and now he thought it would be simple to waltz in, wave some papers under her nose, and throw her out.
She pulled the saddle off the horse, and dropped it abruptly over the stable door, forcing him to move away. Except he just moved straight back, leaning on the worn leather so that he could watch.
“Frightened I’ll run off?”
“Not really. It’s just a nice view.”
Riding High Page 3