Riding High

by Zara Stoneley

  “Them doing what? Oh, don’t give me that look, Saul, exactly what did you see them doing? Think about it, don’t say it. I don’t give a shit what that crazy cow was actually doing, but ask yourself this: have you ever seen James let anyone touch him? Yeah, he touches and he’s so fucking good at it he could make a nun beg, but no one touches him back. He’s got issues you wouldn’t want to even go near. You didn’t see anything; whatever it was you thought you saw, it was just her playing mind games.”

  “You can’t know.”

  “I know. Trust me.”

  He watched the coffee drain down Dan’s throat in one long gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  “She was just using him as a tool against you.”

  “Then why did he let her?”

  “’Cause that’s what he does. James doesn’t give a shit about anyone and what they think. He knew he wasn’t doing anything wrong; it was all her, all in your mind, and I guess he figured that was between the two of you. It was up to you what you let yourself believe. Think about it, Saul. You just think about exactly what you saw.”

  “I think I’ve done enough thinking.” His throat had tightened so much he could hear it in his voice.

  “So why have you done this, if you really don’t want her? Why not just throw her out on the street and make a killing on this place? I’ve seen you do it before, man, so I know you can.”

  “Oh, I want her, but it doesn’t change the way things are.”

  “Try and kid me if you want, mate, but you can’t kid yourself. And you want some advice?”

  “Not really, but I can see that’s not going to stop you.” He stood up, suddenly tired with the way this was going. There were too many thoughts in his head that he didn’t want to analyze.

  “Don’t screw around with her head, Saul; she doesn’t deserve it and you won’t forgive yourself if you do.”

  “Well, you look after her, then. I’ve got to go.”

  “Oh yeah, so where are you running off to hide now?”

  “Fuck off. Dad called, said it was urgent, and you know I haven’t got a choice when he does that. I don’t want him doing what he did last time.”

  “Sure.” He was being assessed, he could feel it. Then Dan shrugged and gave a half smile. “Your choice. I’ll look after her, for now, this time. But then it’s up to you.”

  ***

  Roisin was hanging over the gate, watching him, as he started the engine. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go. It’s urgent.”

  “Sure.”

  It would have made him feel better if she’d been riled, or disappointed in him, or anything. But all she could say was “sure.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can, honest.” He didn’t have to say it, but he wanted to. Which was new, and made the nerves flutter in his stomach. And was honest.

  “Saul.” He stopped the window halfway up. “I know, I trust you.” And the grin she flashed made him even more worried. Now was probably the time to hang about, face up to things, but he couldn’t. Not this time. He glanced down again at his phone, which was flashing yet another message from his dad. They never spoke unless they had to. When he got a message like this it meant that trouble was on its way. Big trouble.

  Chapter 10

  “Well, I can see the attractions of this place.” If she had hackles capable of rising, Roisin was sure hers would be right now. The drawl in his voice was enough to make her skin crawl, but the leer of a look in his eyes set her red-haired temper toggle straight to “on.” Not that she agreed with all that fiery red hair stuff; after all, everyone had to blow their top once in a while, didn’t they, when the steam buildup threatened to become too much?

  And she had gotten better as she’d gotten older. Much better. Apart from when she met slimeballs like this, who gave you the once-over in a way that said “I can have you anytime I want, if I can be bothered, darling.” Ergh. And what really got her goat was it was always the type of man who one look told you arm’s length was just never going to be far enough away from. “Wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole” was the phrase that came to mind. Which helped, because she couldn’t rise to the bait when she had that image in her head.

  “Yeah, I think I just discovered why you horsy types have a certain appeal.”

  Fuck, though, she wished she was the queen of snarky put-downs, just once. But she wasn’t. Holding a pitchfork with a load of horse manure on it probably wasn’t too bad as runner-up prizes went, though.

  “All you need is the whip and spurs to make the perfect picture.” Oh yeah, all she needed was a whip and she’d put the creep off riding for life.

  Not that he’d notice; she’d just realized that he wasn’t really aware of most of her at all. His eyeballs seemed to be fixed in a slightly spooky way on her breasts, twitching in a weird way as they rose and fell. Her breasts, that was, not his eyes. She’d been working fast, trying to clear the stable, and she knew she was breathing hard, which just gave him more to look at. For a second, she was tempted to jog on the spot, just to see if she could make them pop out of his head. Which was childish and asking for trouble, even if she was the one holding the pitchfork.

  He finally managed to stop staring at her boobs and started to mentally nuzzle her thighs, which meant he’d gone too far. Even if she’d given up being disgusted with him and had moved on to deciding he was pathetic. Which was always better.

  Damn, though, there was something tugging at the back of her brain that said she should know him, but she didn’t. He was in a suit, which meant he wasn’t local, but he looked more second-hand car salesman than city slicker, which meant he just couldn’t be another of Toby’s creditors. Unless this thing had gotten a whole lot seedier than she’d realized, which, given the solicitor’s frown and everything she’d learned in the past few weeks, was a distinct possibility.

  But she’d thought Saul had sorted all that out. Saul. Shit. All of a sudden, it hit her. This toe rag reminded her of Saul in some strange, none-too-complimentary way. “I take it you’re not here to look at the horses?”

  He gave a gruff laugh that said she was deranged. “Correct, darling. Martin Mathews.” His eyes flicked to her face, for what she was sure was the first time since he’d stepped in the yard, and she guessed he was looking for an appropriate reaction. Which he wasn’t going to get. “And I guess you, my darling, are my son’s latest victory shag. Mrs. Rosie Grant, I presume?”

  She could kick him where it hurt, or empty a barrow load of what a horse did best over him. Or practice yogic breathing and pray for karma. Which could be messy, if karma in his case meant what she hoped it meant.

  “Sorry?” What was it they said about being able to pick your friends and not your family? She’d thought her father had been bad enough, but Saul, it seemed, had picked more than the short straw. Some gene pools were murkier than others.

  “Oh, don’t be sorry.” He was doing it again, mentally stripping her; obviously eye contact wasn’t his thing at all. “I came to find out what the holdup is. He should be back sorting out the next deal, not dipping his wick, but I suppose I can see why he was tempted to draw this one out.”

  “You, he, what the—? Dipping his what?” It was a joke, he was a joke, and she must be dreaming or hallucinating or something.

  “Saul always did like the perks of the job; must be his way of sealing the deal. Leaving his mark on the place—or in the place, should I say?” He was obviously pleased with that one by the resulting guffaw and the way he turned a darker shade of puce, which would have made her nervous once, before the last few surreal weeks. Now she just felt damn angry. “Though I must admit you’re not his normal type. Bianca was a real glamour-puss, all long nails and a good pair of tits. Proper posh totty, if you know what I mean.”

  Which was her definition of something a long way from posh. “I’m afraid I don’t, no.” Shit, this was Toby all over a
gain. She felt her throat closing up. Toby’s taste had definitely run to talons and tits, and not hers. And so, it seemed, did Saul’s.

  “I suppose a change is as good as a rest. Maybe he just fancied a roll in the hay, rough with the smooth and all that.” He leaned farther over the stable door to get a last good eyeful, then moved back a fraction and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Well, whatever story he told you to get into your panties I’m here to tell you the party is over, love. It’s time to pack your cases.”

  The tone of his voice had shifted, and suddenly this wasn’t the faintest bit funny anymore. “Pack?” She felt a stab of something cold and unwelcome in the pit of her stomach and had a sudden pang for the return of leering and unwelcome advances. Those she could deal with. “Look, I haven’t the foggiest what all this has got to do with you even if you are Saul’s dad, but I want you to go.” She was glad she hadn’t put the fork down because it was something to hang on to and was helping contain the tremble she could feel in her hands, a tremble she didn’t want to spread to the rest of her body.

  “Oh, I’m not going anywhere; we spent months putting this deal together so I’m not dropping it for anyone or anything, love.”

  “What deal? You didn’t, I know you didn’t…”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “Spend months doing anything. Saul just spotted the opportunity, then came in and bought off the debt.”

  “Is that what he told you?” The mirthless laugh sent a warning curdle of something unpleasant straight to the pit of her stomach. “Well, kudos to him; he knows exactly how to get what he wants. Sorry to burst the bubble, love, but we watched those debts pile up, we were just waiting for the right time, and if I’d had my way you would have been out before the ink on that death certificate had dried. Too soft by half, he is. You make opportunities, not wait for them in this game.”

  “What do you mean, make opportunities?”

  “You ask, Saul, love. I’m sure he’ll oblige.”

  She could feel a chill start to spread through her. So she’d been had. Well and truly had. She’d known there was something that didn’t ring true, had put it down to the feeling between them, the strange business, everything but what it really was. She’d blanked off that instinct, the feeling in her gut. All because she couldn’t keep her hands off him. Except… “We’ve got an agreement. I’ve signed an agreement.” She’d signed; it was done, agreed. Whatever role his father played in all this, surely he couldn’t alter that fact. “Ask him.”

  “What agreement?” His eyes had narrowed, but at least he’d stopped leering. “What do you mean, an agreement? He’s got no right to agree anything with you.”

  “I’ve got every right.” She couldn’t have ignored that voice if her life had depended on it, couldn’t have stopped her nipples tingling with awareness. Couldn’t help the way every single erogenous zone on her body seemed to ooze to attention.

  Mathews didn’t even turn around, but she couldn’t help it. Not that it mattered what she did; he wouldn’t have noticed if she’d stripped naked and done a jig, his whole attention was on his father. Though she hardly wanted to strip, or jig, not now she’d just found out that he’d been playing some kind of game with her. She definitely didn’t want to, not at all.

  “I was just telling the happy hooker here how you can’t resist trying out the goods every time.”

  That man was so fucking unpleasant.

  “Dad.” The low growl was a warning. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Business. I’m here sorting out your business, Saul, because you’re letting your bloody dick lead the way again.” He turned around to face his son then, and Roisin suddenly felt her stomach tighten, not sure whether she was worried or excited about the tension in the air. “I came to finish off the job that you can’t.”

  “Stop talking bollocks.”

  “Bollocks yourself. You just can’t resist these posh birds, can you? Knowing what your fucking whore of a mother did to us wasn’t enough for you, was it? Oh no, you think you’re better than me, but Bianca knew just what you were, didn’t she? Took you for a ride, and now you’re letting another one do it. Don’t you ever learn?”

  Roisin couldn’t help but stare at Saul, at the taut line of his jaw, the muscle that twitched just under the surface. His arms were tense—hell, his whole body was tense—but he just stood there. When he could be taking a swing. Not that she approved of that type of thing, but boy, was she tempted to offer him the pitchfork.

  “Finished? Right, this is my business decision to make and I’ve made it.” He took a step forward and Roisin moved back involuntarily. Shit, she was getting scared even if his dad wasn’t. It was a bit like watching a bad horror film, when you know it’s not that scary but you can’t help but jump. “I never knew why my mother left, but you know what? I’m suddenly starting to wonder, and Bianca? Yeah, when the hell did you start to worry about me and Bianca?”

  “Since she made you look a dick.” The man really did need a wider vocabulary.

  “Is that what you’re worried about? How I look?” Saul gave a short laugh, and shook his head. “Are you sure it wasn’t all that money disappearing that bothered you? Or was it the fact she hated you anyway? Eh? What was it, really? What scares you most, Dad—the fact that I might look a fool, or the fact that I might actually work things out better than you did?”

  “Grow up. Pussy has only one purpose, son, and the sooner you work that one out the better.”

  Roisin could almost feel her toes curl up; she held her breath, just waiting for the explosion. But it never came. Instead there was a soft, low laugh that was dangerous enough to tickle the hairs on the back of her neck.

  “If you could only hear yourself. You know what? I felt sorry for you, but I’ve just realized what a stupid twat I’ve been. I’ve made a deal with Roisin and there’s fuck all you can do about it now, so just do what she said and bugger off before I forget you’re just a sad old man and flatten you.” He took a step nearer, and the older man finally took a half step back. “And Dad, don’t you ever”—he held his mobile up, tapped it—“pull a stunt like that again, or that’s it.”

  “That’s it? That’s what, Saul? Face it, you need me.”

  “Oh yeah? Or is it you that needs me, Dad? Piss off. Please? Just go before one of us does something we regret and don’t you ever come back here. Never, you hear me?”

  Martin Mathews appeared more disgruntled than worried, and he was glaring at her breasts again, which she reckoned were probably heaving, with hard nipples thrown in for good measure. She was sure he was about to make some crude comment, but something changed his mind and, after a brief stare in her direction, he stomped off, leaving her with his son. The man she’d trusted, the man she didn’t mind ogling her, and undressing her more than mentally. The man who’d taken her to be an idiot, which would have been okay if she hadn’t been one.

  ***

  He pulled the stable door open, the safe barrier that had stood between her and his father, and she suddenly felt exposed. “I thought that was who you’d had to rush off to meet, your dad?”

  “So did I. It was a trick.” He was rocking slightly on his heels, watching her as though he expected her to make a bolt for the door.

  “But you said it was urgent, you said he’d rung and you had to go.” She was trying to stay calm, trying not to launch into attack mode, but her heart was hammering in her ears and she felt like someone had wound her up and pointed her in the right direction. Which they had.

  “He had rung, and it was urgent.” He glared as though she was missing something. “Then he sent a text for good measure too, which should have warned me something was up. The bastard said he’d been arrested again.” She raised an eyebrow; “again” made it sound like a bad habit. “Don’t give me that look; from where I’m standing your family aren’t exactly angels either.”
>
  “They don’t get arrested; well, not as far as I know.” But what did she know? She swallowed away the dryness in her throat; maybe he knew more about her family than he was letting on. No, she was being paranoid. It was a throwaway comment, that was all.

  “Yeah, well, last time he’d threatened a client and they called the police. I’m sure the idiot thinks he’s England’s answer to the mafia sometimes, but he’s living in a bloody seventies cop show if you ask me.” She tried not to smile at the rasp in his voice. And then he looked up at her. Dark, angry eyes that seemed to be mirroring a frustration she hadn’t a hope in hell of understanding. “The whole fiasco lost us a huge contract; it took months to put things back on an even keel.” He shrugged, as though trying to dismiss the heavy frown. “He rang to tell me he’d done it again. He knew it was the one way of getting me to rush away from here.”

  “So you fell for it.”

  “I got twenty miles down the road and something just felt wrong, so I rang our solicitor who didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. So—”

  “So you came back?”

  “I figured he was up to something, I just didn’t know what.”

  “Why does he want me out?”

  “You want a list? Let’s see, you’re one of them—” He counted off on his fingers. “Inherited wealth, and he hates that; you’re a woman, which makes you manipulative and greedy; you’ve roots and so you must be sneering at self-made people like us; and you’re stopping me getting on with making the maximum money I can out of this place. Enough to be going on with?”

  “And you never told him about our deal?”

  “He’s not my keeper.”

  “And you lied to me about Toby?” She’d tried to keep her tone on the same conversational note, but she could hear the slight crack as she let the pitchfork drop with a metallic clank into the wheelbarrow. He’d lied. Whatever he said now, he’d lied.

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t lie.” He shifted his weight. “Okay, I might not have told you everything, but I didn’t lie.”