Salazar's One-Night Heir. Jennifer Hayward
Читать онлайн книгу.
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.”