Читать книгу Salazar's One-Night Heir - Jennifer Hayward - Страница 11
ОглавлениеCECILY SPENT THE next few days steadfastly ignoring sexy, elusive Colt Banyon and putting all her focus into her practice sessions. But it seemed the harder she tried, the worse her times became—as if desperation was setting in and Bacchus could sense it, feeding off her nerves in all the worst ways.
By the time Friday rolled around, her event three weeks away, she was at her wit’s end. She could continue to pound away at the fruitless efforts that were getting her nowhere or she could follow Colt’s suggestion and take a step back.
She couldn’t afford to give up on her hopes for the season, but perhaps she might be able to rewire her horse’s brain with a total change of pace. Maybe Bacchus just needed a mental breather, an escape from the pressure cooker. Just like her.
An idea filled her head over tea in the thankfully deserted breakfast room. Except she knew her father wouldn’t allow it unless she took someone with her and since having company along for the ride defeated the purpose of obtaining some peace, it wasn’t an option.
Unless she took the less than talkative Colt with her, she mused over a sip of tea. She could pick his brain about some of his techniques along the way. While keeping her head in sane territory, of course, something that shouldn’t be hard because Colt would clearly give her the brush off again if she did something dumb like invite him to kiss her, which of course, she wouldn’t.
Her mouth curved. It was a plan. She finished her tea, collected her things and went off to execute.
* * *
Alejandro dropped the package off at the courier office in town on his mid-morning break. Containing a sample of Bacchus’s mane hairs, it was now up to Stavros’s high tech lab to confirm the Hargroves’ crime.
He texted Stavros from the truck.
Package has been sent. Obrigado amigo, I owe you one.
Forget it. I’m feeling generous. I am, after all, soon to be a married man.
Alejandro almost dropped his phone.
Sorry?
You heard me. Details to come. Got to run.
Got to run? Alejandro eyed the phone as he threw it on the seat of the truck. Antonio with an insta-family? Stavros married? What the hell was going on? It was...insano.
Stavros, he bemusedly processed as he started the truck, didn’t even sound panicked about it. He sounded almost...cheerful.
The sense of relief he’d been feeling about having netted this particular challenge magnified ten-fold as he drove back to the farm. No chance of any of those emotional attachments with him. He didn’t need to acquire a wife as Stavros did, had no undiscovered children lying around—he’d made sure of that. And Sebastien knew his feelings on marriage.
When the day came for him to make a match to deliver the Salazar heir, it would be at least a few years down the road with a woman he’d handpicked as a sensible selection. He would research her just as he would an expensive car, making sure she ticked all the right boxes for the rational, practical match he had planned. Because he knew from personal history, impulse purchases, matches made out of passion never lasted. His parents were a perfect example of that.
He reached the stables five minutes after his break officially ended. Putting his mind blowing conversation with Stavros out of his head, he went directly to the tack room to collect the gear he needed to exercise one of the three horses he had to take out that afternoon.
Checking the gear over, he let the easy rhythm of the stables slide over him. The clip clop of hooves on concrete, the whinny of horses talking to each other over their stalls, the clink of metal on metal as an animal was shod filled him with a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in months.
If he wasn’t consumed with the thought of the hundreds of emails piling up in his inbox back in New York, the two massive deals his brother Joaquim, director of Salazar’s European operations, was stickhandling for him, it would almost be idyllic.
“Hey Hollywood.” Tommy, one of his fellow grooms, stuck his head in the tack room. “Boss’s daughter wants to see you.”
Uh-oh. He’d done such a good job of avoiding Cecily after that moment they’d shared in the stable. Was pretty sure she’d been avoiding him too. So why seek him out now?
He joined a group of grooms congregated in front of the tiny kitchen, Cecily holding court in their midst. Dressed in jeans and a sleeveless shirt that hugged her lithe curves, her hair caught up in a ponytail, she was a tiny, delectable package a man might want to eat for breakfast. Just not him, of course.
She turned to him once she’d finished her conversation with the others. “I want to go for a hack up to the lake. I’d like you to come with me.”
Oh, no. He recognized a bad idea when he heard one. “I still have three horses to exercise,” he demurred smoothly. “Perhaps you can take someone else.”
A female groom gaped at him. Tommy’s brows rose. Cecily lifted her chin, training those vibrant blue eyes on him. “I would like you to come.”
An order. Back to being mistress of all she surveyed, clearly.
He inclined his head. “Let me gather up a few things.”
“Don’t worry about food and water. I have that figured out.”
He saddled up Jiango, a big, black stallion he’d had to exercise anyway. Tommy elbowed him as he walked the horse toward the yard. “Making an impression, Hollywood? A hundred bucks says you can’t get past the ice cold exterior.”
“Not looking to.” He nipped that one in the bud. Rumors were the quickest way to blow his cover, particularly when they involved him and the boss’s daughter.
Cecily eyed him as he brought Jiango to a halt in the yard. “I asked you along because I decided to take your advice and spend some downtime with Bacchus. I would have preferred to go by myself but my father won’t let me ride up there alone. You will be the least talkative of the grooms.”
So he was supposed to provide silent companionship to her highness? That he supposed he could do.
“Fair enough.” He attempted to keep his eyes off her curvaceous rear as she turned, stuck her foot in the stirrup and climbed on Bacchus.
Usually, he went for tall, leggy women who matched him in physical attributes, but in Cecily’s case, his mind immediately degenerated into all sorts of creative possibilities.
Bad Alejandro. He gave himself a mental slap and mounted Jiango. “How long a ride is it?”
“About an hour. It’s gorgeous, you’ll love it.”
He did. Jiango, a powerful, Belgian-bred stallion, one of the Hargroves’ up-and-coming young horses, more than kept up with Bacchus as they rode through pastures so green they looked frankly unreal, bounded by mile upon mile of picturesque white fence.
Aristocratic flowering trees with vibrant magenta and white blooms lined the track they rode on, providing shade to the long legged, elegant horses who dozed beneath a sky of the deepest blue.
The sun moved high in the sky as midday closed in. They left the pastures behind and entered a shady, light-dappled forest. Cecily turned to him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Want to show me what you’ve got, Hollywood?”
“If the prize is you not calling me that,” he responded dryly, “I’m in.”
“Done.” A wider smile, a dazzling one that lit her face. “A race then, to the end of the road. First person over the creek wins.” Her mouth pursed. “I will warn you—there are obstacles. You need to keep a sharp eye.”
He’d gone cliff diving in Acapulco, bungee jumping in Thailand. He and the boys had even taken on sumo wrestlers in Japan. This would be a piece of cake.
“You’re on,” he said laconically. “You want a head start?”
Fire lit her gaze. She dug her heels into Bacchus and was flying down the road at breakneck speed before he’d even registered she’d moved. Kicking Jiango into a gallop, he gave him his head. Crouched low over the stallion’s withers, he did his best to avoid the branches and obstacles that appeared out of nowhere, the odd one snagging him good.
Cecily held the lead. She was an insanely good rider, glued to the seat, but his horse had a longer stride than Bacchus’s, helping him to make up ground. He was almost even with her when they neared what appeared to be the end of the road, the track growing steeper, plunging downhill to the creek. It took every bit of his experience to keep Jiango steady as they flew down the incline and headed for the water, the two horses even now.
He crouched forward in the saddle. Jiango jumped the water in a smooth, powerful movement. A gasp rang out behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bacchus dig his feet in at the last moment, coming to a screeching halt on the rocks, nearly catapulting his rider over his head.
Somehow Cecily stayed in the saddle, regaining control as her horse skittered away from the water. He turned Jiango around and jumped back across the creek, bringing him to a halt beside Bacchus. Cheeks flushed, frustration glittering in her eyes, all the joy had gone out of Cecily’s face.
“Guess that makes you the winner.”
He frowned at the false bravado in her voice. “He normally jumps the creek?”
She nodded. “He loves it.”
“Did your accident involve a water jump?”
“Yes, but he’s jumped them since. His behavior isn’t making any sense.”
“Fear often doesn’t make sense.” He bunched his reins in one hand and sat back in the saddle. “A horse I worked with once had a bad crash on a really unusual fence that spooked him. He recovered, but the same thing happened to him that’s happening to Bacchus. He wasn’t just refusing on jumps that were new to him, he was refusing on jumps he had always been comfortable with—as if he didn’t trust his rider anymore. Because, in his eyes, he’d led him astray.”
“You think Bacchus believes I let him down?”
“I’m saying it’s a possibility.”
She chewed on her lip. “What did you do to make the horse right?”
“I gained his trust back.”
“How?”
He lifted a brow. “You sure you want to learn from the ‘school of psychobabble’?”
She gave him a reproachful look. “Yes.”
He dismounted and walked over to Bacchus. “Get off,” he instructed. “Take off your scarf.”
“My scarf?”
“Yes—off.”
She dismounted. Slid her fingers through the knot of her scarf and untied it, pulling it from her neck. Colt tied it around Bacchus’s head, covering his eyes. The horse pawed the ground nervously, but stayed put.
“Take your shoes off and walk him across the stream.”
She pulled off her riding boots and socks. Colt did the same. Boots in hand, he went first with Jiango. The water wasn’t deep, but it moved fast. Jiango hesitated at the edge, but a firm tug on the reins had him moving forward.
Cecily and Bacchus followed. The moment Bacchus’s hooves hit the running water, her horse jammed on the breaks and came to a grinding halt. Mouth set, Cecily walked back to him, stroked his neck and talked to him. By the time Alejandro and Jiango had reached the other side of the stream, Bacchus was cautiously making his way across.
“Take the blindfold off,” he instructed when the pair walked up onto the bank.
Cecily removed the blindfold. Bacchus eyed the stream, sniffed the water, ears flickering as he registered he was on the other side.
“He knows he can trust you to get him to safety,” Alejandro explained. “Now take him back across without the blindfold.”
Horse and rider picked their way across the stream, then back again, Bacchus’s confidence building with every step.
Cecily stopped Bacchus at his side. “What now?”
“We’ll give him some time to think about it. See if he’ll jump it on the way back.”
She nodded. “It’s just so strange. This is his favorite place.”
“He’s got something stuck in his head. Also,” he added, eyes on hers, “he’s absorbing your tension. I’ve been feeling it all week watching you ride. You’ve got to loosen up—change the dynamic between you two. Rebuild the trust.”
She pushed her hair out of her face. “My coach doesn’t believe in any of this. You’re supposed to make the horse do what you want them to do.”
“And that’s working for you?”
Her eyes flashed. Lifting her chin, she nodded toward a path in the woods. “Lake’s this way.”
* * *
Cecily attempted to recapture her good mood as they walked the horses to her favorite picnic spot on the bank of the lake, but she was too agitated to manage it. For Bacchus to refuse a jump on his favorite ride was sucking what little hope she had left out of her that she would be ready to compete against the top riders in the world in just three weeks. It didn’t seem possible.
She knew Colt was right, knew she needed to change the dynamic between her and Bacchus—she just didn’t know how.
The sun at its midday peak, hot as the devil as her Grandmama Harper used to say, they tethered the horses in a shady spot under a tree. A mile wide, the lake was a stunning dark navy blue, bounded by forests of the deepest green. Quiet—eerily quiet except for the odd call of a bird or the splash of some water creature, it made her suddenly, inordinately aware of how very alone she and Colt were.
Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea.
She retrieved the picnic lunch she’d had a farm hand drop off earlier while Colt spread the blanket out on a flat stretch of grass. He sprawled on top of it, taking the containers she handed him, a visual feast for the eye in his threadbare jeans and navy T-shirt.
Her thoughts immediately ventured into X-rated territory. She attempted to wrestle them back as she sorted out the lunch, but it proved almost impossible. He was a gorgeous male in the prime of his life, all coiled muscle and tensile strength, the effect he had on her core deep.
Heart ticking faster, every inch of her skin utterly and irrefutably aware of him, she sat down on the blanket and served up the lunch of fried chicken and potato salad the cook had provided.
Colt demolished it with a cold beer. Her appetite seemingly not in attendance, whether because of her misery or her intense awareness of the man beside her, she pushed her plate away and nursed the wine cooler she’d brought for herself, eyes on the water.
Colt rolled up a towel from the basket and propped it behind his head, stretching out with feline grace in the baking sun. She noted the careful distance he kept between them, the wary glint in his eyes whenever he looked at her. And suddenly, felt like a fool.
“I’m sorry I strong-armed you into coming up here with me.”
He paused, beer bottle halfway to his lips. “I’m enjoying it. You were right—it’s amazing up here. I was surprised, though, you didn’t want to bring a friend.”
“I don’t have any.” She gave a self-conscious shrug. “At least no real ones. My best friend, Melly, decided we weren’t friends anymore after I won the junior championship. I’m on the road so much, there’s really been no opportunity to make any new friends other than the people I compete with and those relationships only go so deep.”
“That must get lonely.”
“I’m better off with companionship of the four legged variety. Horses are endlessly loyal and they don’t talk back to me.”
His mouth quirked. “They also can’t provide anything in the way of strength and solidarity.”
She tipped her head to the side, curious. “Is that what your friends mean to you?”
“A big part of it, yes. We go back to college, my best friends and I. We’ve been through some pretty amazing times together—both good and bad. There’s a bond there that’s unbreakable even with the distance between us. One of us needs something—the rest of us jump.”
A pang went through her. She wished she had that. Someone who knew you so well you could just be yourself rather than what everyone else thought you should be. But she’d never been good at fostering those types of relationships.
“That would be nice,” she said quietly, “to have friends like that.”
He studied her for a long moment. “So Melly turned out to be a dud. Find someone else who deserves your friendship. You can’t spend every waking minute riding a horse.”
“According to my coach that’s exactly what I should be doing.”
“No,” he disagreed. “You shouldn’t. Success in life comes from opening yourself up to new horizons. Balance.” He lifted a brow. “What about boyfriends? You must have them.”
“Too busy.”
“Surely men pursue you?”
She took a sip of her drink. Cradled the bottle between her hands. “My parents want me to marry Knox Henderson. He owns half of Texas. They keep throwing us together, but I have no interest.”
“Why?” An amused glitter filled his gaze. “Is he unattractive? Too old? Too boring?”
“He’s young, attractive and rich. And he knows it.”
“What’s not to like about that? A woman needs a strong, successful man.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Did you even give him a chance?”
“Define ‘give him a chance’.”
“Did you kiss him?”
“Yes. No spark.” She gave him a considering glance, having overheard Tommy’s earlier remark. “I know the bet the boys in the barn have going.”
“What bet?”
She waved a hand at him. “You don’t have to play dumb. They think I’m a cold fish. And maybe I am.”
He rubbed a palm over his jaw. Eyed her. “Was this Knox even a good kisser?”
“I’m sure many women would say yes. Not me. He’s coming to the barn party on Friday night. You’ll get to meet him then.”
“About that,” he murmured. “It’s very nice of you to invite the staff but I have nothing to wear. I actually am Cinderella.”
“You get paid today. Buy something in town.” Somehow the comparison of Colt and Knox in the same room was far too intriguing to resist.
“It was my mama’s idea to include the staff,” she told him. “She always loved the family atmosphere it created. Kay, my stepmother, wanted to cut the tradition out when she came here. A needless expense, she said.” Her mouth twisted as she brushed a stray hair out of her face. “I vetoed it. It set the tone for our tempestuous relationship.”
“It’s a very nice tradition.” Colt took a sip of his beer. “You must miss your mother. You lost her very young.”
Her smile faded. “Every day.” She looked down at the bottle in her hand. “She died up here. That’s why Daddy doesn’t like me coming alone.”
He sat up on his elbows. “I assumed she died while she was competing.”
She shook her head. “She and Daddy had an argument. I know, because the whole house heard it. It was a bad one—worse than usual. Daddy flew off to New York on business, Mama left the house in a state and came up here without telling anyone. When I finished my lessons with my tutor I went looking for her. I knew she’d be up here because it was her favorite place.
“I found her hat on the ground. I knew something was wrong. We searched for hours but we couldn’t find her. We were on our way back to the house when we found Zeus, her horse. Mama had gotten thrown from him and he was dragging her by the stirrup.” She pressed her lips together, a throb pulsing her insides. “He was taking her home.”
“I’m sorry,” Colt said quietly. “That must have been awful.”
The worst day of her life. Her heart squeezed. What she wouldn’t do to have her wise, kind mother here now to help her sort out the mess she was in.
She studied the play of the sunlight on the water, a dancing, rippling pattern that continually changed form. “I don’t think my father’s ever forgiven himself for it. I’m not sure I’ve forgiven him for it. I mean I know rationally, it wasn’t his fault, but I miss her so much.”
“Did you ever find out what they were arguing about?”
She shook her head. “Daddy won’t talk about it. One of the maids told me she heard them arguing about Zeus, but that doesn’t make any sense. Daddy never interfered in Mama’s horse stuff.”
He took a swig of his beer. “Isn’t the rumor Zeus was sired by Diablo?”
She laughed. “Oh, that’s not true. Everyone likes to make up these crazy stories about him. Demeter, Zeus’ mama, was bred with a French stallion named Nightshade—an equally impressive match. Nightshade was a three-time European champion, that’s where Bacchus gets his jumping ability from.”
He inclined his head. “Funny how rumors get started.”
She watched a loon sail elegantly across the glass-like surface of the water, its haunting cry echoing the dull throb inside of her. Being here it always hurt ten times worse, her emotions already far too close to the surface.
“She wasn’t just my mother,” she said quietly, heat gathering at the back of her eyes. “She was my best friend. My coach, my confidante, my hero. She taught me to ride before I could walk, took me to all the shows with her. We were inseparable. I wanted to be her when I grew up.”
A silence fell between them. “And you want to win for her,” Colt said finally.
She nodded, the tears stinging the backs of her eyes threatening to spill over. “I want to do what she didn’t have time to do.”
* * *
Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle that was Cecily Hargrove were falling into place. Alejandro studied her over the rim of his beer bottle, heart squeezing despite his attempts to remain unmoved. How could he?
He’d watched her kill herself over the past week, wondering what ghosts drove her. Now he knew. But beating herself and Bacchus into the ground over and over again until there was nothing left of either of them wasn’t going to fix the problem—wasn’t going to fix them.
He’d seen glimpses of the real Cecily on the way up here today. Her spirit. Her joy. What she must have been like as a competitor when her demons weren’t chasing her. Watching her now was like watching light turn into dark.
Setting his beer bottle down, he turned to face her. “You know what I think,” he said softly, studying those beautiful, haunted eyes. “I think you don’t know who you are anymore. Who you’re riding for. I think you’re riding for everyone but yourself.”
She frowned. “The accident—”
“Was just the tip of the iceberg.” He tapped his head. “When this gets messed up—when what you want, what everyone else wants, when too much damn pressure starts to build—no one can perform.”
Her eyes widened. “Bacchus is a problem.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “he is. But you are the bigger problem. Until you figure you out, until you decide who you’re doing this for, you have no hope of making that team. You might as well pack it up and throw in the towel right now.”
Her gaze dropped away from his. She was silent for so long he realized he had gone too far. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” she said, lifting her head, eyes glazed with unshed tears. “You’re right. I have no idea who I am anymore. I’ve spent my whole life doing what everyone else expects of me. Giving up a normal life—leaving school, traveling eight months of the year every year so I can make this team...” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. “What if I don’t? It’s all I know—it’s my entire identity.”
His throat tightened. “Then you find something else to be. But I don’t think that’s going to happen, Cecily. You clearly have the talent. Now you need to find the reason.”
A tear slid down her cheek. Then another. A curse left his lips. He pulled her into his arms, his chin coming down on top of her silky hair, her petite body curved against his. “You need to take control,” he murmured. “Decide what you want. This has to be you, Cecily, no one else.”
She cried against his chest. He held her, stroking his hand over her hair. How could he do anything else when she had no one, literally no one, to confide in?
He murmured comforting words against her silky cheek. Discovered her hair smelled like lemons and sunshine—that she was far more intoxicating than he’d ever imagined she would be, curled so tightly in his arms.
She finally pulled back, tears slowing. “Thank you,” she said. “No one is ever honest with me. Everyone tells me what I want to hear rather than what I need to hear. Except my parents. They just give me orders.”
He tucked a chunk of her hair behind her ear. Ran his thumbs across her cheeks to brush the tears away. “Then maybe you need to change that too. You’re old enough to own your own decisions—your own successes and failures.”
She nodded, eyes on his. Her lashes lowered, sweeping across her cheeks as the temperature between them changed and suddenly everything was focused on the fact that she was in his lap, her arms wrapped around him and really he should be disentangling himself right now.
“Colt?”
Distracted, he brought his gaze back up to hers. The reminder he wasn’t who he’d said he was, that this couldn’t happen, should have been enough to have him ending it right now, but the hesitant look in her blue eyes commanded him instead.
“That night in the barn—was I imagining that you wanted to kiss me?”
Por amor a Deus. How was he supposed to answer that? Lie and he would hurt her, something he wasn’t willing to do. But telling her the truth wasn’t an option either.
“I don’t think I should answer that question.”
“Why?”
“Because I work for you. Because it isn’t appropriate.”
“This is already past appropriate,” she murmured, eyes on his mouth. “And you’ve already answered my question by not answering.”
“Then we should consider the subject closed.” He reached up to disentangle her arms from around his neck. She kept them where they were.
“I think I should test my theory out.”
“What theory?”
“That you will be a better kisser than Knox.”
Oh, no. He shook his head. “I think we should leave the answer to the theoretical realm.”
“I don’t.” She curved her fingers around the back of his neck and drew his mouth down to hers. He should have stopped it right there, should have exercised the sanity he should have had, but he wasn’t going to reject her—not in her ultra-vulnerable state. And, if the truth be known, he wanted to kiss her. Badly. Had since that night in the barn.
Lush and full, not quite practiced, the brush of her lips against his sent a sizzle over every inch of his skin. This was such a bad idea.
He relaxed beneath her touch, allowed her to play. He’d give it a minute, make it good and get out of Dodge.
“You have an amazing mouth,” Cecily breathed against his lips. “But you aren’t kissing me back.”
“Self-preservation,” he murmured before he splayed his fingers around her delicate jaw, angled her mouth the way he wanted it and took control.
Her sweet, heady taste exploded across his senses. As good as he’d imagined it to be—maybe better. Fingers stroking over the silky skin of her cheek, he explored the voluptuous line of her mouth with his own, acquainting himself with every plump, perfect centimeter.
When skin against skin didn’t seem to be enough, he brought his teeth and tongue into play, nipping, stroking, lathing. A gasp escaped her lips. He took advantage of the opportunity and closed his mouth over hers, taking the kiss deeper, mating his tongue with hers. Twining her fingers into the hair at his nape, she followed his lead, sliding her tongue against his, turning the kiss into an intimate, seductive exploration that fried his brain.
Santo Deus, but she was responsive, the taste of them together perfection. He fought the desire to explore the rest of her curvy, hot body with his mouth and tongue. To discover how sweet she really was.
In his world, kisses like this led to hot, explosive sex. In this world, however, it absolutely, positively could not happen.
His rational brain kicked in. He broke the kiss, sank his fingers into her waist and lifted her off him and placed her back on the blanket.
Cheeks flushed, eyes on his, Cecily pushed a hand through her hair. “That was—”
“Proof you aren’t a cold fish,” he said, pushing to his feet. “Now we forget it happened.”
She eyed him. “Colt—”
He shook his head. “You know my MO. Here today, gone tomorrow. You don’t want to get involved with me, Cecily. Trust me.”
