Leaping Hearts (9 page)

It looked like a bizarre rendition of Santa’s sleigh, she thought, sliding into the leather bucket seat. And in this case, Rudolph had high beams.

As A.J. headed out between the pillars, she was ready to go straight back to Devlin’s but she paused before getting on the main road as one more complication occurred to her.

She was homeless.

Where was she going to sleep? Her bedroom at the mansion wasn’t any more of an option than it had been the night before. She just couldn’t go back to her father’s house. Not
yet. Getting sidetracked by a family that was right out of a
Dynasty
rerun wasn’t going to help her get through the Qualifier in one piece.

The thought of a hotel filled her with dread. Doing the math in her head, she knew she wouldn’t have much cash left over after she made the transfer from her savings account to cover the check for Sabbath. And she wasn’t going begging to her father.

Her fingers went to work on the diamond as she pondered the situation. With a tight laugh, she found it ironic to be sitting in a Mercedes and worrying about how to pay for things. Abruptly, she considered selling the convertible but shrugged off the idea. She needed a car and knew it was probably in the Sutherland’s name anyway, given Peter’s affinity for business deductions.

Devlin McCloud’s couch had several selling points. It was cheap, close to the stallion and close to the man. The idea of the two of them holed up in that beautiful old farmhouse was captivating. Cool nights, fires in the fireplace. Some wine…

Wait a minute, she told herself. Back up the love bus. Just because the man had offered to train her didn’t mean he was going to have her jumping anything other than fences in the ring. No matter what her libido hoped to the contrary.

A.J. glanced down at her jeans in disgust.

One thing was clear, she decided. Whether it was McCloud’s Unwitting B and B or a motor lodge, she couldn’t spend two months in one set of clothes. The damn things would be walking on their own in a matter of days.

She’d have to go to her father’s house.

Grimacing, she threw the car into drive and traveled the short distance to the mansion.

Looming at the top of a private road, it was a grand house with a formal face, the only home she’d ever known. She treasured the place but couldn’t say that she liked living there. What she valued were the few memories she had of her mother from Christmases in the gracious library, Fourth of July parties down by the pond, Easter-egg hunts in the terraced gardens. But all that was in the past. The recent day-to-day existence she’d known wasn’t easy.

As she turned the car off, she was hoping her luck would hold and Regina would still be getting dressed in the master suite. If everything went smoothly, she’d be able to run in, grab her things and be out before anyone knew.

Her prayers weren’t answered.

Just as A.J. reached the last of the marble steps leading to the grand entrance, her stepmother wrenched open the ornate front door. That in and of itself was unusual and A.J. knew she was about to get an earful.

Standing ominously in the doorway, Regina was dressed in one of her perfectly tailored suits, a diamond pin flickering on her collar like a constellation of stars. The subtle peach color of the outfit set off her dramatic coloring, highlighting her coiffed black hair and dark eyes. It also emphasized the woman’s angry flush.

“You’ve done it this time,” she said. “Your father is in bed with a stomachache, Peter has had to take the day off to get a massage and my dinner party tonight is going to be ruined because of all the tension in this house. I hope you’re happy!”

This was exactly why she couldn’t stay at the mansion, A.J. thought.

She tried to get through the door but Regina blocked the way.

“How you can be so selfish is beyond me. Your father has given you everything you’ve ever wanted and you’ve consistently repaid him with heartache.”

“Look, I’m honestly sorry he’s upset,” A.J. said, faking left and scooting into the house. Heading quickly through the grand foyer to the winding staircase, she hit the stairs two at a time, leaving her stepmother to shout up at her.

“What time are you coming home tonight? The guests are arriving at seven and we will be sitting down for dinner at eight. I don’t want you showing up in your barn clothes in the middle of the soup course like you did last weekend.”

The woman was still fuming at the foot of the stairs when A.J. reappeared ten minutes later with her luggage.

“What are you doing with those?” Regina demanded.

“I’m going to be gone for a little while.”

“What do you mean gone?”

“As in not here.” A.J. walked past her stepmother, who suddenly seemed all too pleased to get out of the way.

“What should I tell your father?”

“Nothing. He already knows. I’ll phone him soon. Just tell Papa I’ll call him.”

“You can believe I will,” Regina said, softly. She appeared to be mulling things over and liking what she saw in a future that included less of her stepdaughter.

With a final nod, A.J. disappeared from the grand house. Cramming her bags on top of the equipment pile, she took off down the driveway, deep in thought.

This is my life. I’m choosing this. I’m free.

She felt stronger than she ever had, more sure than ever about her decision to buy the stallion and move away from her family’s influence. When she pulled up to Devlin’s stable, she leapt from the car, ready to take on the world. With an armload of leather and brass, she hurried inside, bound for the tack room.

And ran smack into Devlin.

He was coming out of the room just as she was rounding the corner, and the two collided, bouncing off each other. Tack exploded everywhere. Sputtering in surprise, A.J. grabbed on to the first thing she could to keep from hitting the ground with the bridles and girths. It was Devlin. As soon as she reached for him, she felt the iron strength of his arms come around her and she was pulled against his body.

A.J. gasped and looked straight into his eyes. They were hooded, full of heat. His chest was a solid wall against hers and one of his thighs was between her legs, their hips fusing. She felt a sensual pull toward him that was undeniable. In that instant, all she could think of was kissing him. She didn’t care that there were so many good reasons for her not to do so. She didn’t care that they were in broad daylight. She didn’t care that he was supposed to be her trainer. She didn’t care about anything except the way he made her blood pound and her head spin and her body melt.

Devlin’s mouth hovered deliriously over hers, just inches away. She willed it to get closer and slid her hands across his shoulders to the back of his neck. Digging her hands into
his hair, she felt its silky texture and then the solid bone of his skull.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and thrilling.

All she could do was nod, even though it was a lie. She felt a lot of things but
okay
wasn’t one of them.

As he continued to support her weight, she felt his hand move up across her back to support her neck. Goose bumps prickled across her skin. He paused, as if he might pull away, and she held on to him harder. And then very slowly, as if in a dream, his lips closed the gap between them and pressed against her mouth firmly.

It was like getting struck by lightning.

When she didn’t stop him, his lips began to move over hers, caressing, cajoling until she had to open her mouth because she couldn’t breathe anymore. When she did, his tongue stole inside, sliding into her deeply. She pulled against his neck, urging him closer, and pressed her hips into his.

One of Devlin’s hands splayed across her hips and he rubbed his lower body into her. The heat at her core soared and her body began to weep for him. Their kiss took on a heated urgency that bordered on desperation and, just when she thought she couldn’t handle any more, his mouth moved down to her neck, nibbling at the delicate skin, nipping at her earlobe. She cried out. Working on nothing but reflex, her fingernails bit through the flannel of his shirt and she thought seriously about giving herself to him right there, on the ground, in front of the tack room….

Sabbath’s indignant whinny interrupted them. At the sound, Devlin looked up from A.J.’s neck and shot a glare at the stallion, whose head was out of the top of his stall. When the horse let out another howl, they reluctantly straightened, panting.

“Doesn’t like competition for your attentions, apparently.” Devlin’s voice was deep with a very masculine tension. He still had his arm around her waist and didn’t seem in a hurry to break the contact. Which was just fine with her.

A.J. let out a shaky laugh. “I feel like we’ve been caught by a parent.”

Devlin stepped away. As he put his hands in his pockets,
he cleared his throat. “I feel like I should say something apologetic. But I’m not sorry I kissed you.”

A.J. wasn’t sorry, either, and she was about to tell him when he continued. “I’ll do my best not to do it again. You can’t very well have your trainer be your lo—be anything other than your trainer.”

Even though A.J. knew he was right, it was hard not to feel rebuffed. And as if she were going to pass out from sexual frustration.

“Right. Er—I guess I should get my gear….”

“I’ll help.”

There was an awkward silence as they went about picking up the mess their impact had created. Tack was fumbled in hands that were usually steady; awkward half sentences were started and left dangling.

The kiss had changed the center of gravity between them, tilting them off-balance. What had been a hypothetical attraction was now very real thanks to the taste of pleasure, and both retreated into their own thoughts as they grappled with the implications.

When they came back out of the tack room, Devlin said, “Tell you what—I’ll unload the car. You get the hall monitor ready.”

They looked back at the stallion, who was still staring at them with grave censure. A.J. had to laugh.

It was a sound Devlin liked and his eyes lingered on her as she walked toward the horse. Watching her hips sway made him harden again and he shifted his jeans, feeling like a teenager. That thought made him smile grimly and, trying to forget how she smelled like lavender, he gathered up some gear and supplies. As he carried the load into the tack room, and apportioned the equipment onto various empty pegs and saddle posts, he resolved to think about something other than how good she’d felt against him.

Anything else, dammit.

To distract himself, Devlin walked past the rows of dust-covered saddles and bridles to the lone window at the far end of the room. He could see the ring beyond and the mid-level jumps he’d struggled to put together while she’d been gone. The physical labor of moving the long wooden poles
and adjusting the cups to change the jump heights hadn’t been taxing. The problem was his leg. His limp had meant it took twice the time it should have to set up for their first training session.

It made him think. He was going to need help.

To get her and the horse ready for the Qualifier, he was going to have to work the pair over a variety of jumps and combinations, and that meant there was going to be a lot of shuffling in that ring. Much as he hated to acknowledge his injury, he had to admit he couldn’t handle the job efficiently. It would save them a lot of downtime to have someone around who could reset the jumps if the horse faulted, change the combinations and haul feed. It looked as if he was going to have to call Chester.

Never thought I’d need to, Devlin marveled, shaking his head.

He and Chester had been together since Devlin had started out as a stable boy himself. The old man had great horse sense and was a tireless worker, and the two had been a terrific team. Letting his dear friend go after the accident had been one more loss for him to bear but Chester had always said he’d be back. Devlin hadn’t believed him.

Now things were different, he thought, hearing A.J. moving around outside.

Leaving the room, Devlin caught sight of her coming out of Sabbath’s stall and leading the stallion out to the crossties. She was wearing well-worn jeans that hugged her thighs and hips like a second skin. The sight of her legs flashing underneath his shirttails came to mind and he sucked back a groan of need.

It was going to be a long two months, working with someone he wanted so badly. And there was no doubt that they needed to keep things professional. He knew pursuing a relationship with her would put them both in a difficult, if not impossible, situation. The training they needed to do with the stallion was going to mean a grueling schedule of workouts and long hours. He was going to have to be objective about her riding and her efforts and they were both going to need to keep level heads, something that would be impossible if they became passionately involved.
And passionately was the only way they’d become involved, given the explosion that had happened in front of the tack room.

Keep it down to business with her, he told himself as he went out to get another armload of gear.

Good luck, an inner voice taunted.

After Devlin finished unpacking the car, he picked off a battered clipboard from a hook on the wall next to the tack room. It had been as integral a part of his former training as his saddle and his boots, the place where he scribbled his thoughts and his plans. Cradling it for a moment in his hands, he was struck by how odd the familiar weight felt. He’d never thought he’d be holding it again. Sliding the stub of a pencil free from its top and feeling the rough texture where his teeth had chewed the wood ragged, he felt disconnected with his own past. How much time had he spent with the clipboard on his lap, deep in thought, planning his attack on another course? Laying siege for another victory.

More hours than the night has stars.

Devlin leaned up against the main door of the stable, once again putting lead to a page. He became lost in his thoughts, seeing jumps in his mind and transcribing the pathways of flying hooves. Frowning in concentration, he was carried away, back to a world he remembered so well. And had missed so badly.