by Tami Hoag
“What do you mean ‘prove it to me’?” he asked with a suspicious look, stopping so abruptly, he nearly overturned his drink.
Walking on toward the grandstand entrance, Maggie ignored his question. She waved to Miss Emma and Mrs. Claiborne. “There they are now.”
“What the hell?” Ry muttered half under his breath, temporarily stunned into forgetting his concern over Maggie’s statement.
Miss Emma was dressed in blue jeans and a leather jacket. She looked like a geriatric motorcycle mama. But it was the other Darlington sister that drew Ry’s attention. A wide-brimmed red straw hat shading her delicate complexion, Mrs. Claiborne stood with Junior in her arms. The little dog was sporting a tartan collar and wore a knitted red sweater against the slight chill in the air. The ensemble matched Mrs. Claiborne’s sweater and plaid skirt.
“Doesn’t Junior get a matching hat?” he wondered aloud. “Ouch!”
Maggie pinched his arm. “Not one smart remark, Rylan Quaid,” she warned in a whisper as they drew within earshot of the ladies. “She loves that little dog to distraction. If she wants to spend her social security money on little outfits for him, that’s her business.”
“I’ll bet you hardly recognized little Junior, did you, Mr. Quaid?” Mrs. Claiborne asked, beaming a smile at Ry.
“Oh…” He choked back a chuckle. Maggie glared at him. “Not hardly.”
The ladies were invited to take seats with Maggie and Ry in the Quaid Farm box where Katie and Nick had already settled in. Nick, a gourmet chef, had packed a fabulous picnic basket. He grimaced at the tray of junk food Ry settled across his knees.
“Are you going to eat that?”
“Well, I’m not going to throw it out into the arena.”
Nick muttered a string of pious-sounding Italian words, shaking his handsome head. “I brought food, Ry. Did you think I wouldn’t bring food?”
“He brought food on our honeymoon,” Katie said, giggling.
Ry watched his brother-in-law lift dish after mouth-watering dish out of the basket. “I didn’t figure you’d bring the whole damn restaurant.”
“Mr. Quaid, your language,” Mrs. Claiborne admonished him as she covered Junior’s ears with her hands.
“Never mind his language, sister,” Miss Emma said, her bright blue eyes glued on a handsome young man who was taking an equally handsome black horse through his paces over the attractive array of fences in the arena. “Take a gander at this hunk. I’ve decided horse shows are the perfect places to cruise for men. Just look at all these gorgeous young studs running around in those slinky, skintight breeches.”
Mrs. Claiborne frowned her disapproval. “Emma, honest to Pete, you’re hot as a mink.”
Miss Emma laughed. “Hot as a mink in Miami!”
Nibbling on a chicken leg, Katie leaned toward Maggie with conspiracy in her gray eyes. “How goes the battle? We noticed you left the festivities early last night.”
“Well—” Maggie glanced over to make sure Ry wasn’t listening. He was busy wolfing down a hot dog while he looked over the program. “There was last night….” The apples of her cheeks blushed a becoming shade of red. Then her mouth turned down in a frown. “…Then there was this morning. You wouldn’t believe what he said to me.”
“Yes, I would. He may have been salutatorian of his high school class, but sometimes I’d swear he doesn’t have a brain in his head.”
“He doesn’t. I can vouch for the fact that his brain definitely resides elsewhere,” she said, making a pained face. She shook her head. “But I love him anyway.”
Katie’s look was sympathetic. “Hang in there, friend.”
Maggie laughed wearily. “Honey, by the time I get him straightened out, I’ll be too exhausted to enjoy him.”
“Mary Margaret,” Ry said, washing his lunch down with soda, “you never answered me. What did you mean you’re going to prove me wrong? What kind of game are you running now?”
“No games, sugar.” She took the show program from him and began paging through it. “We agreed this morning: no more games.”
He eyed her suspiciously, looking poised to bolt away from her. No game? Maggie couldn’t go ten minutes without having some kind of scam spring to life in that active little red-haired head of hers. That was one of the things he lov—found attractive about her. Now she sat there paging through the program, looking as innocent as a kitten. And as soft, and sweet, and—damn, she was wearing that perfume again!
He shifted uncomfortably on his chair, forcing his mind away from memories of the night before by analyzing the performance of the sorrel mare now in the ring. She was a nice, scopey jumper. Excellent form over her fences. She was pretty-headed, with a shiny copper-colored coat and big brown eyes. He faulted her for her short stride and for being a little too well fed, but he wouldn’t have minded having her in his barn. She reminded him of Maggie. Maggie was a little too well fed, but he sure as hell didn’t have any complaints about the ride she’d given him.
“Gosh almighty,” he said through his teeth, settling his cardboard lunch tray more strategically across his lap. What was the matter with him? He couldn’t do something as simple as look at a horse anymore without thinking of Maggie. Brows lowered, he turned his frustration on the cause. “What the hell did you mean then, if you’re not up to some kind of game?”
“Nothing. You think I can’t prove you wrong without making a big production of it? You think I’m going to hire a plane and have it written in the sky that I love you and know that you can love me too?”
“Hush!” he said, glancing around to see who else had heard her statement.
“I will not hush, Rylan Quaid. I love you, and I don’t care who knows it.”
“Jeepers cripes, Mary Margaret.” His gaze went heavenward, and he waited for the sound of an airplane engine. A sky writer was exactly the kind of thing he expected from this little vixen. A hundred other equally embarrassing ideas sprang from his imagination. They were all vintage McSwain. Hell, he’d had to go and fall for a woman who had a flair for the dramatic.
Fall for? He felt his cheeks pale as he turned back toward the arena. He hadn’t fallen for her. He had chosen her. He had chosen her because she suited him. Visions of the previous night swam through his head. Lord have mercy, did she suit him!
“Hell and damnation.” The words were said through clenched teeth as he shifted positions and squared one leg across the other.
Maggie was oblivious to Ry’s discomfort. She was busy absorbing the information in the show program, reading everything from descriptions of the various classes to advertisements for some of the participating stables. The ad for Quaid Farm showed some of the new facilities under construction. There was, of course, a photograph of Rough Cut sailing over a fence, and an invitation for horse people to attend the open house in two weeks.
Maggie had heard the event mentioned several times at the party. Now she sat back and gave it considerable thought as the grounds crew entered the ring and began tearing down jumps so the arena could be dragged and the course set up for the grand prix. The next weeks would be busy ones for Ry, but they could also provide her with the perfect opportunity to get close to him and to prove to him not only that she would fit into his life but that he would love having her there.
“Where do you plan to receive guests at the open house next month?” she asked.
“Huh? I don’t know. I figured they’d just come on inside the main barn.”
She frowned at him. “That seems rather vague. You don’t want your guests to be ill at ease, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“And how will you keep track of who you’ve spoken with, of who’s seen what? Where will you serve refreshments?”
“Refreshments?”
“Haven’t you decided what you’re going to serve yet? Hors d’oeuvres or cookies, wine, coffee, or hot cider?”
He scowled. “Shoot, Mary Margaret, I’m trying to get buildings finished and fences pain
ted. When am I supposed to think about reception areas and whether to have smoked pheasant or Fig Newtons?”
The Cheshire cat couldn’t have come up with a better smile. “When, indeed. What you need is someone to take care of all those details for you, sugar.”
“Well, I—”
Maggie turned toward her partner. “Katie, darlin’, we’re not so awfully busy at the store right now, are we?”
“No.”
“And when was the last time I had a vacation?”
“March. You spent two weeks with your sister Lisa Jane in Boca Raton.”
Maggie frowned at her friend. “That hardly counts. That was family. Surely you wouldn’t object to me taking a couple of weeks off to help Rylan, would you?”
Katie smiled too sweetly. “Not at all, darlin’, but if Mrs. Pruitt comes in and demands to have her bathrooms redone again, you are going to owe me in a big way.”
“Deal.” She swung back toward Ry. “Yes, sugar, I can get free to help you prepare for the open house.”
“Thank you,” he said automatically, then sat back, bewildered. He wasn’t quite sure how she’d done it, but Maggie had managed to place herself in his company for the next two weeks, had managed to make him think it had been his idea, and even had him feeling grateful. He sighed and shook his head. “You’re a wonder, Mary Margaret.”
“Oh, look,” Maggie said, sitting up in her seat, her face glowing. “It’s time for the class to start.”
Maggie watched with her heart in her throat as each horse and rider negotiated the demanding course. Many failed the test in the first round. Front or hind legs knocked rails from their cups, adding costly faults to a rider’s performance. A miscalculation of distance resulted in a fall of both horse and rider that had Katie Leone white. She had nearly lost her life in a similar accident.
A field of thirty was gradually whittled to eight. That was the number of horses that had made it around the arena without a single fault. Rough Cut was one of those to make the second round.
Marissa McLaughlin, riding Debutante, was the first to ride, scoring a clean round and setting a sizzling pace. Her performance held up throughout the round. Then Christian and Rough Cut entered the ring.
Maggie was so nervous, she almost fell off her chair. She grabbed Ry’s hand as soon as the whistle sounded and hung on for dear life. The stallion attacked the course, galloping to each fence with his ears pinned, and sailing over with inches to spare. Christian held nothing back, asking the big bay for everything he had. Rough Cut gave it all and then some. He cut one turn so sharply that Atherton lost a stirrup just a stride before the highest jump on the course. Maggie gasped as she saw him come up out of the saddle on the way over the fence. But the Englishman had earned his reputation as one of the top riders on the circuit. He hung on. Rough Cut sprinted for the finish line, crossing it two hundredths of a second faster than Debutante.
The occupants of the Quaid Farm box were on their feet cheering as Christian saluted the crowd with his riding crop. Mrs. Claiborne threw her red hat into the air. Miss Emma screamed and started doing the twist as Junior wagged his tail and barked. Maggie found herself engulfed in a Rylan Quaid bear hug. She was certain he was crushing each and every one of her ribs, but she was too happy for him to care.
He pulled her down to the arena with him for the awards presentation, grinning from ear to ear when Christian rode in to wild cheers from the partisan crowd.
Rough Cut was draped with a blanket proclaiming him winner of the Albemarle Cup, while the sterling silver champagne bucket was presented to Ry along with a check.
He cradled his prizes in one arm and hugged Maggie with the other.
“What do you want to do to celebrate?” he asked her. “Dinner? Champagne?”
She crooked her finger and, when he bent over, whispered the most outrageously suggestive thing she could think of. Ry’s eyes instantly turned smoky with desire while his cheeks flushed. Maggie giggled and ran a finger down the side of his face. “I didn’t know there were that many shades of red.”
Ry laughed. “Just wait till I get you home.”
Maggie batted her lashes at him. “I’d rather not.” She glanced around at the grandstand full of people watching them, then turned her gaze back to Rylan. “But I don’t think we have a choice.”
EIGHT
A FIRE CRACKLED in the large stone fireplace, casting the only light in the room. Warmth was the primary sensation. Warmth from the fire, from the thick soft blanket that covered her from shoulder to toe, from the solid body of the man she snuggled against, and from his arms wrapped around her. The warmth of contentment filled her. Contentment from making love, from being full of good food and good wine, from knowing this was all real instead of a dream.
Nuzzling her cheek against Ry’s chest, Maggie sighed and smiled. After Rough Cut’s victory there had been champagne back in the stables for family, friends, and syndicate investors. From there the party had moved to Briarwood, to Nick’s restaurant, where they had celebrated with a fabulous dinner. Not that she was antisocial or anything, but Maggie’s favorite part had been the private celebration she and Ry had shared.
The sterling champagne bucket that had been awarded to them that afternoon now sat on the coffee table with a nearly empty bottle of wine sticking up out of it. The firelight glowed on the fine engraving that marked the piece as the Albemarle Cup. Tomorrow it would take its place among the hundreds of other trophies on one of the shelves that lined the walls of the large room. Tonight it was being included in the celebration. Just as Maggie was being included.
A particularly feline smile turned her lips. She loved the way Ry was including her in the celebration.
She stretched, arching her body against his, glorying in his strength and hardness. He had a magnificent body. Her hands couldn’t resist exploring it, the hills and valleys of muscles and their lines of delineation. Lazily raising her head to watch, she began at his wide, wide shoulders and moved slowly downward, over his thickset chest. She ran her thumb down over the rippling planes of his stomach, changing course abruptly when he stiffened and sucked in his breath. Tossing the red blanket back, she stared at the pure male beauty of him as her hand traced over his hip, then started up his other heavily muscled thigh.
“So handsome,” she whispered, watching her fingertips trail back up his rib cage and nestle into the curling dark hair that carpeted his chest. She let her gaze continue up to his face. He was watching her intently. “I love your body….” She leaned down to brush a kiss across his mouth. “…the way it looks…” Her eyes locked with his as her hand slid back down. “…the way it works…”
Ry tried to force himself to lie still while she explored. He had always considered himself a man of tremendous self-control. Until Maggie. Even now, when they had already spent a night together and had already made love once, his blood was jumping in his veins. The need, the desire had not been slaked in the least. In fact, the more he had of her, the more he wanted. In that respect, she was wreaking havoc on his famous plan, but he couldn’t complain when she touched him, when she looked at him as though he was the one and only thing in the world she wanted.
Before she could drive him completely over the brink and into madness, he turned the tables on her, rolling her onto her back. He propped himself up on one elbow. His other hand ran gently down from her shoulder to cup her full breast with its wide dusky center and pouting nipple, down the sweeping curve to her narrow waist, and over the rounded flare of her hip.
“So feminine…soft…pretty…”
Maggie’s heart fluttered. Words like that were rare from him. She soaked them up and felt each one of them blossom inside her.
“I like this little swell right here,” he said, stroking just below her navel.
“What a kind euphemism for fat,” she said, chuckling softly. “You’ll never see this body in a fashion magazine.”
He kissed his way down to the spot. “I never was one for those
long, skinny women.”
“Hallelujah.” Her breath grew shorter as his kisses became longer and more passionate and slipped lower than the area he had been admiring. His lips nibbled their way back up her hip, paused at her breast, then found their way back to her mouth.
“Did the ladies give you any trouble about coming to stay here with me?” he asked, rolling onto his back and snuggling Maggie to his side once again.
“No. Mrs. Claiborne thinks the world of you—”
“Except for my language.”
“—and Miss Emma told me she was envious enough to make it a mortal sin.”
Ry laughed. “They’re something else, those two.”
Maggie smiled fondly. “They’re wonderful. I love them like family. Besides, they agreed with me. They both said a social function like this open house needs a woman’s supervision.”
He snorted. “With the possible exception of car maintenance, women think everything needs a woman’s supervision.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining about my supervision earlier this evening.”
“Oh, that was supervising, was it? I could have sworn that was moaning and sighing in wanton abandon.”
“Wanton abandon!” She raised up and loomed over him, brown eyes sparkling with reflected light from the fire. “Huh! I’ll give you wanton abandon, mister.”
Ry’s gaze fastened on the sway of her breasts no more than a hair’s breadth from his chest. “Hallelujah.”
They made love slowly. Ry let Maggie take the lead until his fragile hold on control slipped. Then Maggie wrapped her arms around him and hung on, arching up to meet his deep hard thrusts until fulfillment came, as hot and brilliant as the shower of sparks that burst upward from the fire in the grate.
Ry held himself deep inside her, gasping as he absorbed shock wave after shock wave of her pleasure. Gradually the intensity decreased. Tenderly he brushed her hair back from her face and kissed her sweet red lips. “Ah, Maggie…oh, honey…I…”
If there had been more words, they were stubbornly lodged in his throat. No, he thought as he gazed down at her, it felt more as if they were lodged in his heart. He wanted to tell her…something. That he cared, cared deeply. That he wanted to make her happy. That…ah, hell, nothing seemed adequate.