Emerald Mistress (7 page)

‘I wonder what Rafael Flynn is doing here,’ Fergal mused as he accompanied Harriet over to the paddock with his gelding. ‘He doesn’t often appear at local meetings.’

Keen punters were lining the fence, eager for a look at the runners in the next race. Harriet took charge of Tailwind. Halfway through her first round of the paddock she connected with brilliant, dark and incisive eyes and her heart jumped as though she had
hit an electric fence. Rafael Flynn. She looked away, colour warming her cheeks. Her copper hair blew in bright streamers across her face until she clawed it back with a self-conscious hand.

Once the jockey had mounted Tailwind, to warm him up before the race, Fergal ensured that she met a lot of people. He was popular and he knew everyone. Several locals spoke with warm regret about her cousin, Kathleen, and she was asked about the type of livery that she would be offering once she got the yard up and running again. Throughout it all she was conscious of an infuriating constant need to look around and see where Rafael Flynn was, but she fought that mortifying urge with every weapon in her armoury. For goodness’ sake, she wasn’t a schoolgirl any more and she wasn’t about to behave like one!

Tailwind shot over the starting line like a bullet out of a gun. But he also ran out of the race at the second fence. Crestfallen by the poor showing, Fergal walked the gelding back to the horsebox. ‘Where’s Una disappeared to?’

Harriet noted the teenager ducking behind the sweet stall and moved with determination through the crowds to speak to her. ‘What are you doing over here? Fergal’s looking for you—’

Una peered nervously out at her. ‘I’ll be over in
a minute. My brother’s over at the winners’ enclosure…I don’t want him to see me.’

‘Is he that scary?’

‘Scarier than scary.’ For a moment Una looked very young and vulnerable. ‘I’m never going to live up to his expectations. He wants me to be clever, like he is, and I’m not.’

‘I bet you’re a lot smarter than you think you are. Don’t put yourself down,’ Harriet told her squarely. ‘Can’t you talk to your mother about this?’

A thin shoulder jerked in an awkward shrug and Una veiled her eyes. ‘My mum’s not well a lot of the time. I don’t like bothering her. I have my sister, but she has a husband and a baby too…that’s why I hang out so much at the yard.’

Harriet resisted a sudden urge to hug the younger woman. ‘You’re always welcome there.’

An older woman intercepted her on the way back to the horsebox and questioned her closely about the livery yard facilities. Having expressed keen interest in a retirement package for her elderly horse, her first potential customer arranged to call and inspect the stables.

A smile of satisfaction on her lips, Harriet turned away and found Rafael Flynn striding towards her. Her tummy flipped like she was spinning on a merry-go-round.

‘Is it true that you’re planning to reopen the yard?’ he enquired flatly.

‘Yes…I don’t think I’m enough of a gardener to make a living growing organic vegetables,’ Harriet quipped, colliding with dark eyes that gleamed pure liquid gold in the sunlight.

Rafael Flynn braced a lean brown hand against a horsebox and gazed down at her. Instantly she was wildly aware of his size, and the raw charge of his potent presence. Forced to look up, she rested her attention momentarily on his impossibly long black lashes, which supplied the only softening influence to his lean, dark, overwhelmingly male features. She found it incredibly difficult to catch her breath.

‘Business has no personal dimension for me. You may find the livery venture more of a challenge than you expect.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re in the same line and that we’re going to be competing!’ Harriet breathed in unconcealed dismay.

A flash of momentary incomprehension tautened Rafael Flynn’s stunning bone structure. Then he flung back his handsome dark head and laughed with rich appreciation, showing strong white teeth. ‘No…I’m not in the livery line, Harriet.’

He had a dazzling smile. Rosy colour lit her fair skin, because his sexy accent did something almost
intimate to the old-fashioned name that she had always hated. ‘That’s not a Kerry brogue, is it?’

He kept on smiling, and she tried to look away and couldn’t. ‘It is in part…but my ancestry is mixed.’

‘Like mine,’ she said breathlessly, fighting to think of something more interesting to say but finding her mind a horrific blank. Her eyes met his and a tight, hard knot of excitement spread a starburst of heat low in her tummy.

‘Dine with me tonight?’ Rafael murmured lazily, deciding to put his acquisition plans for her property on temporary hold.

With astonishing difficulty she recalled the Amazonian goddess, reputedly in current residence beneath his roof. ‘Your girlfriend—’

He shrugged a shoulder in a fluid gesture of unconcern. ‘Bianca’s history.’

His complete indifference to the reality that the blonde was watching them from about twenty yards away chilled Harriet to the marrow. ‘But she’s
here
—’

‘She knows it’s over. She’s leaving this afternoon. Dinner?’ he prompted drily.

Harriet backed off a step from him. He embodied every warning she had ever heard or read about a man: arrogant and emotionally detached, he was a
pure-bred predator—absolutely not her type. She could not overlook or excuse his attitude to the unfortunate Bianca. ‘Sorry, but no thanks. I’m not thinking of dating anyone at the minute.’

‘I haven’t
dated
since I was fourteen.’ Rafael was wondering whether she imagined that a brief pretence of uninterest would increase his ardour—because he could not credit that she could be saying no to him.

‘I was engaged until quite recently, and I’m still getting over that.’

‘I’ll get you over it,’ Rafael promised in a low, earthy tone.

‘I’m also incredibly busy right now,’ Harriet muttered uncomfortably, backing away another couple of steps, intimidated by the effect of that full-on charge of raw charisma.

Rafael watched her retreat with concealed disbelief. He could not understand what her game was. Of course it was a game: in his experience all women played games. But she was playing to weird rules he did not recognise.

‘Nice talking to you,’ Harriet mumbled, and bolted, wincing at her own awkwardness.

There he was: literally the man of her dreams. But he was not the sort of guy she would dare to begin seeing or risk feeling anything for. Goodness, he
had just dumped a woman who was so gorgeous people stopped dead to marvel at her! Off with the old, on with the new. Although she was certain that he had to be looking on her as more of a snack than a full banquet. After all, she couldn’t hold a candle to his ex-girlfriend. She couldn’t quite accept that he truly had asked her out to dinner. Her—Harriet Carmichael—dressed in muddy jeans and wellies, with no make-up, and probably a few pounds heavier than she’d used to be when she was with Luke.

Luke…The wash of humiliating memory sobered her feverish reflections. Perhaps she took life too seriously. Perhaps she needed to learn how to be more casual when it came to the opposite sex. Apart from a couple of boyfriends in her teen years, she had only had Luke in her life. Now she was back being single, and, though she might be twenty-eight years old, she felt no more confident or knowledgeable about men than she had done at twenty.

Hadn’t she just made the ridiculous error of trying to mentally measure up Rafael Flynn as a potential life partner? Were her nesting instincts sending her to the outer edge of craziness? He was fling material
—wild
fling material. He was racy, shameless and…exciting. If she was honest, he was more exciting than Luke had ever been. She should have had the courage to say yes to dinner and seduction.
It might have made her feel a little less inadequate when she thought about Alice and Luke as a couple.

‘Harriet…’ Una approached her, her expressive face full of concern. ‘I think you should steer clear of Rafael Flynn.’

Although her own knee jerk reaction had been to run a mile from him, Harriet was already experiencing a certain amount of regret, self-doubt and confusion about that response. ‘Why?’

‘You’re too nice for him—you’re gentle and trusting. He’ll think that’s so dumb and he’ll break your heart.’

‘I haven’t got one to break right now. Someone got there before Mr Flynn,’ Harriet confided ruefully. ‘But thanks for caring.’

‘I’d hate to see you hurt—’

‘Is he really that bad?’ Harriet’s plea for further explanation was unconsciously wistful in tone.

Una flushed. ‘It’s not that he’s bad,’ the teenager disclaimed hurriedly. ‘Just from a different world. You’d be oil and water and he’d walk all over you.’

‘No…he wouldn’t do that,’ Harriet countered with quiet but firm conviction.

Una did not look convinced. ‘If an international supermodel can’t hold him for five minutes, who can?’

A woman with the strength to be tough and subject
him to a locked room and chains, Harriet thought abstractedly. Implanting a few basic standards in the midst of the smash and grab ethics that drove him might not go amiss either.

That evening, two prospective clients took a tour of the yard. Harriet had mapped out a business plan and drawn up a basic livery contract before she’d even arrived in Ballyflynn. Now she sat up late working out how many boarders she’d require to break even. She was also thinking of opening a tack shop that sold feed and basic supplies, as there was nowhere local meeting that demand. She didn’t need to make a fortune, only a living, she reminded herself resolutely. She had downshifted to make a dream come true and enjoy a more simple life. And leading a successful simple life, she told herself censoriously, did not include any dealings whatsoever with the type of male who had affairs with fabulous fashion models.

On Monday morning Harriet received a call from the solicitor, Eugene McNally, and was surprised to be told that he was anxious to see her on a matter of some urgency.

The older man greeted Harriet at his office with perceptible discomfiture. ‘I’m afraid that I’ve been notified of a substantial claim against Kathleen Gallagher’s estate.’

CHAPTER THREE

H
ARRIET
regarded the solicitor in surprise. ‘Surely it’s very late in the day for anything like that to surface?’

‘It is. But it’s only now I’ve been informed that three years ago Kathleen took out a large loan which now requires settlement in one way…’ he hesitated ‘…or another.’

‘Who’s the loan with?’ Harriet was struggling to remain calm and think clearly. She had funds in the bank, and there was no reason why she should not apply for a mortgage…although a mortgage would certainly raise her overheads, she thought anxiously.

‘Flynn Enterprises.’

While Harriet digested that most disturbing news in astonishment, the silence stretched. ‘How much did Kathleen borrow?’

‘One hundred and fifty thousand euros…over a
hundred thousand pounds in sterling,’ the solicitor advanced heavily. ‘Believe me, I had no idea whatsoever.’

Harriet was shocked at the sheer size of the amount, but anger was already beginning to stir. ‘Really?’ she prompted, with a doubt she could not conceal. ‘But you were my cousin’s legal adviser and her executor.’

‘Kathleen did not consult me when she signed the agreement with Flynn Enterprises, nor did I receive any papers relating to that transaction,’ the older man revealed unhappily. ‘Evidently your cousin was determined to keep the matter private. I would have cautioned her against borrowing at her age. It was most unwise.’

‘But a very wise move from Rafael Flynn’s point of view. My goodness, a hundred thousand pounds…’ Her mouth had run dry. ‘On what terms was the money advanced?’

‘No repayments were required for three years. At the end of that period either the loan was to be repaid on demand—’

‘On demand?’ Harriet gasped in appalled interruption.

‘Or Flynn Enterprises would be entitled to assume a full half-share in the property and the livery yard and to become Kathleen’s legal partner. The
company would also be entitled to first refusal in the event of a sale. The contract was drawn up by a clever lawyer and it would appear to be watertight.’

Harriet’s lips parted in shock. ‘Are you saying that I could end up with Rafael Flynn as a partner in a business that is pretty much non-existent at this moment in time?’

‘Miss Carmichael…’ Eugene McNally breathed tautly, passing a thick legal document across the desk for her perusal. ‘Mr Flynn could move into your guestroom and you couldn’t object.’

‘So I’ll pay off the loan…I’ll get the money by taking out a mortgage!’ Harriet exclaimed.

‘While another party has an interest in half of the property that would be a challenge. You cannot define any one part of your inheritance as wholly yours. In those circumstances you will find it virtually impossible to persuade a financial institution to offer you a loan secured on the property. This contract leaves you with precious few options.’

Harriet was steadily turning paler. ‘But why did my cousin borrow such a huge amount?’

‘Trade took a downturn at the livery yard, and she had debts. I assume the bank refused to finance the improvements she wanted to make. She also thought she was on to a winner working with Fergal Gibson—though I know for a fact that two years
back the pair of them took a heavy loss on a racehorse they bought together. But Kathleen was an eternal optimist.’ The older man loosed a weary sigh. ‘I’m betting she looked at the three-year holiday on the loan repayments and hoped for the best.’

‘But surely she saw the risk of having Rafael Flynn foisted on her as a partner?’

‘She might not even have read the small print. She was a horse fancier, not a businesswoman. At the time Mr Flynn did not own the Flynn Court estate. But he is a man of considerable stature and experience in the bloodstock world, and Kathleen may well have…somewhat naively…thought that such a partner would be most advantageous to her.’

One hundred thousand pounds, Harriet reflected in growing horror. It was an enormous sum. Even if she took all the profit she had made on selling her London apartment she couldn’t pay off a loan that size and still hope to rebuild the business. Settling the debt would destroy her prospects of making the livery yard pay. And if she couldn’t settle the debt even if she did make money from the yard,
he
would be entitled to half of the proceeds! This was the guy who had dared to ask her to have dinner with him? No wonder he had suggested that she might find the livery business challenging!