The Riding Master (14 page)

She took a step back from him, rubbing her hands together. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be comfortable, Trent. Sex has always been…challenging for me.”

“That will change with me, I promise.” He took her hand. “Let’s not talk anymore about it. I want you to relax and enjoy yourself.”

He led her from the kitchen to the open patio doors. When they stepped outside, the crisp scent of evergreen bushes planted in a garden along the side of the deck hung in the air. The sound of water cascading down the steps of the fountain and into the narrow pond helped to calm Rayne’s nerves; or perhaps it had been the wine she had quickly downed…she wasn’t sure.

“I still can’t believe you designed this house,” she commented, gaping at the varied levels of the deck as they sloped down to a bright blue oval-shaped pool just beyond the rear of the home.

“I was always fascinated with contemporary designs. I had drawn and redrawn this place for years. It took me a while to make enough to build it, but I knew when I did it would be perfect.” He motioned to the house. “It’s got five bedrooms, four full baths, and a three car garage along the back.”

“Why five bedrooms? Seems like a lot for one person.”

“Sometimes my sisters come to stay and bring my nieces and nephew.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. “I hoped one day I might fill the place with my children.”

“You want kids?”

He nodded. “Someday. You?”

Her eyes drifted over the dimly lit gardens about the deck containing juniper and assorted dwarf shrubbery. “Yeah, eventually.”

“Did Foster want children?”

“No.” She breathed in the evening air, remembering her ex. “His first wife, Melissa, miscarried three times. He said that was enough pain for him, and he had no intention of going through it again.”

“Did you ever tell him you wanted kids?”

She shook her head. “I was twenty-three when we married. I had no idea what I wanted. When I hit thirty, I realized I did want children, but by that point in our marriage I knew what I wanted didn’t matter to Foster.”

“Sounds like you should have left long before you did, Rayne.”

“I know, but I was afraid to leave him,” she admitted. “I didn’t want the kind of life I had before we were married, and I couldn’t go back to living with my mother. So, I stayed.”

“What kind of life did you have with your mother? It had to be better than your marriage.”

“My mother is not the easiest person to deal with. Ever since my father died…no, that’s not right.” She ran her hand over the back of her neck. “Ever since I was old enough to understand, I knew my mother was…difficult.” Rayne took a few steps closer to the stone pond next to the deck. “Mom was always very fond of…scotch. Most of my years growing up were spent covering for her drinking. It wasn’t bad when Jaime, my sister, and I were younger, but once adolescence came around and we didn’t need her as much…well, she started drinking a lot more. She would forget to do things, like pick us up at school, cook dinner, and buy groceries. Jaime was always trying to pick up the slack for her; cooking, cleaning, shopping…whatever Mom needed. I spent my time at the stables, and stayed away from her.”

“Where is your mother now?”

Rayne faced him. “She lives in the house my grandparents left her in Highland Park. Most of the social security money she gets she drinks away, and when there’s nothing left to pay the electric bill or buy groceries, she calls me. She used to call a lot more when I was married to Foster. He always sent her money, but since the divorce I can’t afford to, and she gets…angry.”

Trent eased up to her, his stern face half-lit by the outdoor spotlight. “Have you tried to get her help?” 

“Yeah, plenty of times.” Rayne’s sarcastic titter hung in the air. “Estelle’s been to just about every rehab program in Dallas, but none of them got her sober for long. She doesn’t want to quit. One day I figure I’ll get that phone call from the police saying she’s hurt or worse. Then I guess I’ll have to put her somewhere.”

“I’m sorry.” Trent placed his arm about her shoulders. “I know that must be hard.”

She stiffened next to him, ashamed that she had burdened him with her problems. “I’m sorry. I’m ruining this nice evening by talking about my mother. I shouldn’t have unloaded all of that on you.”

“You can tell me anything, Rayne.” He pulled her into his arms. “There would be no evening without you.”

His hands rubbed up and down her back, chasing away all of her unhappiness. But his touch also awoke a hunger in Rayne, and as flashes of their earlier encounter in her tack room roared to mind, she took a wary step away from him, waving back to the house.

“I would very much like to see the rest of your place.”

He took her hand. “And I would very much like to show it to you.”

***

After viewing all five bedrooms, including his master suite with skylights above the king-sized bed, and a shower stall wide enough for three people in his white marble master bath, they settled down at a rustic oak dining table. Once sliced homemade rosemary bread, a fresh green salad topped with a white wine vinaigrette dressing, and a platter of chicken Parmesan over spaghetti had been placed on the table, Rayne stared at Trent with renewed appreciation.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“I worked as a waiter in a few restaurants to help pay for my riding growing up. I hung out in the kitchens, talked to the chefs, and learned a few things.” Trent loaded a portion of the chicken smothered in red sauce on her square dinner plate. “The first woman I lived with, Erin, hated to cook. I think that was when I got good at it. Had to, otherwise we would have starved.”

Rayne adjusted the white linen napkin in her lap. “How long did you two live together?”

“Four years.” He put a slice of rosemary bread on her side plate. “I met her when I was working for Shell right out of college. She was a geologist.”

Rayne swiped a pat of butter from a dish in the center of the table. “What happened?”

“Erin got a job with BP and transferred back to her native Scotland.”

She buttered her slice of bread. “Did you want her to go?”

“We both knew the relationship was pretty much over.” He seized a pair of silver tongs in the glass bowl loaded with salad greens. “At the time, I was trying to get into consulting work and was gone a lot. I think the last few months we were together we spent more time apart than actually under the same roof.” He added some salad to the bowl by her dinner plate.   

“You mentioned you lived with someone else,” she hinted, attempting to sound casual as she reached for her fork. 

“Natasha.” He put the salad aside. “She only lived with me for about a year.”

“What did Natasha do?”

“She was a physician at Baylor University Hospital.” Trent grinned. “Very smart, very pretty, and never home.”

Rayne cleaved off a piece of the chicken in red sauce. “She was always working?”

“I knew what I was getting into when we started seeing each other.” Trent shrugged. “She was a cardiothoracic surgeon who got called away at all hours of the night.”

“But you wanted more?”

“I wanted her here. After a few months together, it became obvious it wasn’t going to work.” He nodded to her plate. “Try my chicken.”

She placed the chicken in her mouth and was surprised by the spicy taste. “Very good.”

He watched her cut off another piece of chicken and curl some spaghetti around it. “You mentioned this morning that you had only one lover before Foster. Who was he?”

Rayne finished chewing on her food and put her fork down. “His name was Devon and we met at a nightclub when I was in college.”

“Was he a student?”

“No.” She snapped up her wineglass. “He was a bartender.”

Intrigued, Trent sat back in his chair. “How long did it last?”

Rayne took a big swallow of wine. “One night.” She thumped the glass back down on the table. “He was a cute bartender at this nightclub I went to with some people after a late class. I was twenty-two, a virgin, and dying to know what all the fuss was about, so….” She hurriedly put her wine to her lips.

“So your first time was with a stranger from a bar.”

Rayne gulped more of the sweet wine. “I know that sounds terrible, and trust me, it was. After…well, I swore I was never going to do it again until I was married.”

Trent took the wineglass from her hand. “Why was it terrible?”

She waited as he placed her glass on the table beside him. “I was brought up Catholic and felt guilty as hell after.”

“But how did it feel with the bartender?”

Nervously running her hand over her brow, she sighed. “I don’t understand. How did what feel?”

“Did he hurt you? Did you enjoy it? Most people place a lot of importance on the first time they have sex.”

Rayne flopped back in her chair, wondering where this was going. “Did you enjoy the first time you did it?”

“This isn’t about my first time, it’s about yours. How was it?”

She stared into his eyes, trying to figure out why he was so interested.

“Why do you want to know?”

“It will help me to know more about you. How a person views sex is usually the result of their experiences. So tell me, what did you think?”

Appeased by his explanation, Rayne pondered the question. “I guess I found it…surprising. I had never been so intimate with anyone before.”

Trent rested his arms on the edge of the table. “Did you sleep with Foster before you married him?”

“I wanted to, but when I told him about my experience with Devon, he insisted we wait.”

“And was it better with your husband?” he entreated, leaning in a little closer.

“No. I’d hoped there would be more to it once I was married, but…there wasn’t. I sometimes think I should have slept around before I got married, like all my friends did.” She snatched up her fork from her plate, amazed at how he had gotten her to open up. “What about your first time? What was it like for you? Did you think it was a big deal…or not?” she blabbered, desperate to shift the focus away from her sex life.

He cocked his head to the side as Rayne fidgeted before him. “Actually, my first time wasn’t bad. Her name was Beverly, and she was a waitress at one of the restaurants where I worked. I was sixteen, she was twenty-eight.”

“You started young, didn’t you?” Rayne picked at her salad. “Was it only the one time?”

“No, not quite.” Trent raised his fork. “It happened a few times. I came to find out later that I wasn’t the only one. She had a thing for all the young boys working at the restaurant.”

“So you weren’t in love with her?” She stuffed the salad into her mouth.

“Hardly. I was sixteen and getting laid was more important than love.” He took a bite of chicken.

After swallowing her salad she asked, “Do you still feel the same way?”

“I’m not sixteen anymore, Rayne.”

“Only on the outside, Trent. You could still be that boy on the inside.”

He lowered his fork. “If I were, I would have taken what I wanted from you this morning and walked away; but here we are.”

She smiled, heartened by his words. “Yes, here we are.”

***

After dinner, Rayne insisted on helping clear the dining room table. Once the dishes had been loaded into the stainless Bosch dishwasher, and leftovers put away in the refrigerator, Trent poured the last of the Frascati into their wineglasses and escorted Rayne out the wide patio doors to the deck.

“You get a great view of the stars at night.” He walked over to a pair of cedar chaise lounge chairs beside the rectangular pond.

Rayne sipped from her wine and eyed the heavens. “You like the stars?”

“Not particularly. But with the way you’ve been chugging that wine, I figured you could use some fresh air.”

Rayne modestly lowered her glass. “You noticed.”

“I’d have to be blind not to see how nervous you’ve been all night.” He came up to her and took the wine from her hand, and motioned to the chaise lounge next to them. “Have a seat.”

Trent placed her wineglass and his on a wooden table between the two lounge chairs. After Rayne sat down, he took a seat behind her.

“You need to relax.” He rested his hands on her shoulders and gently kneaded the muscles beneath. “You’re very tight.”

She tensed as his hands worked into her tender flesh. “You’re killing me.”

“That’s because you’re fighting me. Loosen up your shoulders.”

She let out a long breath and her shoulders fell forward.

“That’s it. Now close your eyes and let me work out some of these knots.”

As his hands expertly squeezed into her flesh, Rayne relaxed and began to enjoy the sensation. She rolled her neck around, feeling all the wine in her system.

“And where did you learn to do this?”

He chuckled lightly. “Years of competitive riding have left me with more than a few dings and dents. I get massaged at least twice a month to combat the stiffness and pain of my injuries.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve cracked my ribs, had two concussions, dislocated my shoulder, and have broken numerous fingers.”