The bell rings, the gate flies open, and I watch the new gray filly fly out with ears pricked forward. She has a sweet face, but the little demon can run.
She drops her head low and gets to work almost instantly. The season hasn’t started yet, but she’s going to be ready when it does. Jose is light in the irons, gently hovering above her, letting her stretch out and not over-managing the way Patrick does during his rides.
Not that he ever shows up to practice days. If it’s not race day, you don’t find him down here at Bell Point Park. I imagine he’s hanging in his mansion wearing one of those red crushed velvet robes you see in movies, sucking on a cigar. The guy is just such a douchebag. I can’t wait to bury him once and for all.
Jose and Silver thunder past where I stand, pulling my attention from my Patrick plans. And true to her name, she looks like a silver streak, a blur, as she gallops past with her dark dapples flashing under the sun. She’s a beautiful mare. Although, last time I spoke to Jose, he cackled and told me she’s ‘a bit of a bitch’ and that ‘her attitude will win her races.’ Her muscled haunches push her through the turn, and I can’t help but smile. I told him we could just refer to her as a ‘go-getter’ from now on. Call her what you want, but he’s not wrong—that mare has winner written all over her. Plus, she’ll make a hell of a broodmare one day.
Happy with what I’ve seen, I turn and begin my walk back to the stables, wanting to have a quick chat with some of the staff down here at the track. I pass the winner’s circle—a place I’d like to spend more time—and then turn toward the barns. It’s quiet here this time of year, there aren’t any spectators, just staff working quickly and efficiently. Which is why I’m surprised when I hear Patrick Cassel’s voice filtering out of the mouth of the first barn alleyway.
“You’d look a lot prettier if you smiled more, you know.”
I roll my eyes while standing around the corner, out of sight. Total douchebag.
“I’ll smile when you show me what you’re hiding in your pocket.”
My blood runs cold. Another voice I’d recognize anywhere. A voice that has me leaping into action, because I sure as hell am not leaving Mira alone with a pig like Patrick. And truthfully, I’d intervene no matter who was here with him. The mere fact Patrick is at the facility on a day when there aren’t races is suspicious.
With my hands slung in my pockets and my neck held tall, I turn into the wide-open end of the barn and lean a shoulder up against the frame before casually crossing an ankle over my shin. Mira’s gaze finds mine almost instantly, while Patrick has no idea I tower behind him. His lack of self-awareness might be his most impressive quality.
“I think Dr. Thorne looks especially lovely when she’s frowning.” My voice comes out as a snarl, which makes perfect sense. Seeing Patrick alone in a barn with Mira has me feeling a bit feral.
He spins, cheeks reddening, lips curling into a vicious smile I don’t trust at all. “Stefan, how lovely to see you.”
His tone tells me he doesn’t actually think it’s lovely.
“Did you find your misplaced work ethic, Patrick? Putting in some extra hours? Not sure I’ve ever seen you here on an off day.”
He sneers at me, and I see Mira worrying her lip behind him, her eyes darting down to the pockets of his bomber jacket where his hands are shoved in. It’s not a stretch to say he looks like he’s covering something. But I already know that.
“Fuck you, Dalca. You fired me, remember? The work I do now is none of your business.”
My fingers curl into fists in my pockets. The problem with men like Patrick is they think they’re much smarter than they are. He thinks he must be the smartest man in the room right now, simply because we haven’t caught him.
Yet.
Mira pipes up now. “As the person in charge of these horse’s health and well-being, you trying to enter their stalls is my business.”
He scoffs as he turns back to face her. “I was doing no such thing. Just taking a shortcut through this barn.”
He’s a poor liar, and the way Mira arches her brow says she thinks so too.
“You were.” Her eyes narrow, and if looks could incinerate a person on the spot, Patrick would be on fire right now.
“Okay, Mira, then get a search warrant,” he chuckles condescendingly. “No one is going to believe the little country bumpkin with the worst case of resting bitch fa—”
That’s not happening.
My hand snakes out, fingers clamping around the back of his neck, hard enough I hope it hurts. “That’s Doctor Thorne. And it’s time for you to leave. Now.” My fingers pulse, and I feel him tense.
Being the weasel that he is, he tries to leave immediately, but my grip pulls him back as I lean in toward his ear and chuckle darkly. “A gentleman like you wouldn’t leave without apologizing to Dr. Thorne, would he?”
“Of course not.” His voice is thin with barely contained rage bubbling beneath perfectly enunciated words. But he’s also not brave enough to do anything about it. “My apologies, Dr. Thorne. Now get your fucking hands off me, Dalca.”
He squirms around like a slippery fish, trying to escape my grasp. I almost wish I had a bat to put him out of his misery. It’s just pathetic enough to make me smile before I let him go. He marches out with his head held higher than is fitting for someone who is fleeing a losing match.
“He was up to something.” Mira stares at me, dark eyes searching my face like she’s looking for something.
“No doubt.” I shove my hands back in my pockets to ease the urge to wrap her in my arms. To assure myself that she’s okay. “But he’s not wrong. Short of holding him down and frisking him, it would be hard to prove.”
She grunts in dissatisfaction, jutting her chin out in the way of saying goodbye. “Thanks for running interference,” she adds as her eyes dart down just before she turns to saunter back through the darkened stable.
“Of course.” My eyes fall to her firm ass. No one should look that irresistible in cargo pants. “And Mira?”
“Yeah?” Now facing me, she continues to step backwards, putting space between us, making the pull more powerful than ever.
“Only smile when you want to.”
Her full lips press down, almost certainly hiding a small smile. And she gives me that look again. The one so full of questions and confusion.
I stand and watch her leave, like she can’t get away from me fast enough. Since I came clean about wanting her, she’s been skittish around me.
Shaking my head, I marvel at how the more confused she is about me, the less I am about her.
I tried avoiding Mira a while back, and it didn’t work. And apparently, she’s trying her hand at avoiding me now. I’m supposed to attend a family reunion with her tomorrow, but I’ve seen hide nor hair of the woman since our run in with Patrick. She’s been here checking on Loki, I can see her notes and initials on his chart hanging on the front of the stall. I just don’t know when she’s coming because she’s ignoring my messages. Calling the clinic doesn’t even work anymore, because the person I now have to talk to is my endlessly lippy sister.
So now I’m going to sit on the barn floor and wait for her to show up.
Was I too forward the other night? Maybe. Do I regret it? Hell no. I refuse to let a woman like Mira walk around thinking she’s anything less than the queen she is. She’s not a tool; she’s not a pawn. I don’t have it out for her friends the way she thinks I do. Did I want to buy that horse? Yes. Did I resort to a less than savory offer to make it happen? Also, yes.
But I hold no grudge. That’s just business. I’m well aware Billie hates me, and that’s okay. She can hate me. She has zero bearing on how I feel about Mira.
Which is determined. I feel determined to prove to her I’m not the dick she thinks I am and that I’m definitely not playing with her. That I want her.
What started out as a simple attraction morphed into a curiosity. And then into a tentative friendship, which is when she showed me the woman beneath the cocky smirk and the unimpressed looks. And that woman?
I plan to take my shot with that woman. I just need to soften her up first.
Step one: talk to her.
Step two: woo her.
Step three: win her.
Mira is closed off, and actually more shy than I originally banked on. Skittish even. She comes off like this confident siren of a woman, but when I press, she turns into a deer caught in the headlights.
I’ll take it slow. I’m a patient man, and I think she’ll be worth the wait.
So, I wait into the night, through dinner, for two hours before she shows up, closing the door quietly behind herself before she catches sight of me and stops in her tracks.
“Hi,” I venture quietly into the private barn.
“Hi,” she replies sharply, propping one fist on her hip, leaning one leg out to the side. Wearing that attitude and glare like a suit of armor. “Are you waiting for me?”
“Yes.” No point in lying. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Ha!” She barks out a laugh. “I wonder why?”
“Am I so bad?” My cheek quirks up, but there’s a part of me that doesn’t want her to answer. If she only knew.
“No, Stefan. You’re not. I’m the one who’s bad. Lying to my friends about the deal we made. Sneaking away to spend time with you. Do you know how shitty that makes me feel? I already couldn’t win this situation, and then you had to go say what you said and throw an even bigger wrench into my dilemma.”
“Dilemma? That means you’re torn by something.” Good. There’s a petty part of me that wants her to be as confused as I am.
“Ugh!” Her free hand pulses into a fist and then lets go as she storms toward the stall. “Now I have to deal with you openly wanting to fuck me, too.”
I tut her. “Such language, Dr. Thorne.”
“Oh, lucky me. Mr. Cool Calm and Collected is here to lecture me about how he never swears.”
“I swear.”
She shoots me a disbelieving look. “I have never once heard you swear.”
I stand up as she approaches and drops her toolkit on the concrete alleyway with a loud clang. Loki startles on the other side of the stall door.
“I do when the situation warrants it.”
“Well, I’ll wait with bated fucking breath for when that situation arises.”
I chuckle. I like her all snappy and worked up. I like to think she’s worked up over me.
She’s about to go into the stall when she spins on me. “Tell me the truth. Are you connected to the mafia? People say that you are, and you haven’t outright denied it. One day, are you going to be calling me to stitch up some guy in a back room here?”
I laugh. Small town gossip is vicious. And wrong.
“I’m not. I don’t know why that started circulating. Probably because I waltzed into a small town with a question mark for my past, a chip on my shoulder, and more money than I really knew what to do with.”
“Where is all your money from? Most people your age don’t just mope around their multi-million dollar barns all day waiting for their vet to show up so they can accost her with sexually suggestive one-liners.”
Oof. She’s fired up. But while we’re having a no-holds-barred conversation, I might as well give her the truth.
“I took my father’s multi-billion-dollar shipping company and ripped it up. I sold it for parts. He spent his life building it and beating my mother. He took what I loved most, so I took what he loved most and ran it through a chop shop. I dissolved the company. I ruined his life’s work and took great pleasure in its disintegration. I also signed off on his DNR with a smile on my face. It was as close to killing the bastard as I could get.”
She freezes, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. Only someone with a tarnished soul would take pleasure in something like that.
But I continue, filling the quiet with my reasoning. “I took all that money and bought this place, and then I took the rest and started a shelter downtown for victims of domestic violence. I fund it and am on the board.” I hold my hands up and look around myself. “My mother told me on her death bed, before she succumbed to her injuries, that she wished she’d stayed in Ruby Creek and run a racing farm. So that’s what I decided I’d do.”
Mira swallows audibly. I think I’ve poured some water on her fire. “Good.” Her head bobs as though my answer pleases her. And then she moves to unlock the stall. She stops, though, before she steps down to check on the colt, and looks back over her shoulder. “Are you out to hurt my friends or their business?”
Her dark eyes are almost a perfect match for her black hair in the dim barn. Like flawlessly polished onyx. Her lips are rose-petal pink and so delectably soft. I could press her up against the wall right now and taste her. But that’s not taking it slow, and I don’t want to blow this.
“No.” The one word rings out between us as I hold her gaze, willing her to believe me. Willing her to see me as more than my past mistakes. “I promise.”
Her lips thin as she regards me. “Okay. I’ll be here at three tomorrow. Don’t wear a suit.”
My chest warms at the thought that we’re still on for our fake date tomorrow. “Why not?”
“No one will believe I’d bring a guy who wears suits home. Just…” She looks me up and down. “Keep it casual. You already don’t look like my type.”
I almost laugh. We’ll see about that.
As she brushes past me, I murmur conspiratorially, “Is it because I’m not purple and made of silicone?”
And I swear I see her blush.
“They’re never going to buy this.”
Mira is talking, but all I can focus on is her hands clamping down on the bare part of her thighs, just above her knees. She’s wearing some white lacy dress, with white converse sneakers, and a jean jacket. I should have my eyes on the road, but goddamn. Watching her hands grip her body beneath that hemline is practically pornography.
“Buy what?” I reply, forcing my eyes back to the charcoal road winding through bright green hills.
After a rainy spring, it’s an unseasonably warm day and it feels like everything that was brown has suddenly popped into this vibrant green. I’m glad I have my sunglasses for the drive… and so I can creep on Mira discreetly.
“You. Me. That we’re together. No fucking chance. I’m so screwed. And everyone will think I’m even more tragic for bringing a fake boyfriend. They’re going to corner you and grill you. You have no clue what you’re in for.”
“Mira—”
“I’m a smart person. I was valedictorian of my graduating class at vet school. I have an IQ of one forty. People like me don’t pull stunts like this and expect to get away with it.”
Okay, she’s really spiralling. “Mira—”
“And with you? God. What the fuck am I thinking?” Her hand closest to me jerks through her hair. “You’re blond, for crying out loud. They’ll know immediately. I’ve never batted an eye at a blond guy. Me having a type has been a running joke for years.”
Yeah, jokes on you.
My hand darts out and clamps down on her thigh. Her skin is smooth and warm and just the feel of her sends sparks up my arm.
“Mira.” She stops ranting and stares down at my hand on her leg. “It’s going to be fine. I’m good at schmoozing. I’ll take care of you. I’ve got this. I’m not even that blond.” She just sits there, frozen. Staring at my hand. The one that still hasn’t let go of her leg. I could so easily slide it up her thigh and pull her panties to the side. A good orgasm would probably take the edge off. My dick twitches at the thought, and I force myself to focus on the road. “Do you trust me?”
She leans back in her seat and looks out the window. She doesn’t make a move to withdraw my hand, but she goes quiet for an extended period.
If I wasn’t listening carefully, if I wasn’t hanging on her every breath, I might not have heard her say, “I think I do.”
