Sleeping with the Sheikh. Brenda Jackson
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join you in a moment.”
By the time Sam had signed the appropriate paperwork and paid the handler before sending him on his way, Andrea had the filly in the outdoor arena, working her at a trot.
Sam propped one heel on the arena’s bottom rung and watched both horse and trainer in action. The mare’s flaxen mane and tail flowed with her fluid movements. Andrea’s red-gold hair fluttered in the June breeze, the color very close to the horse’s near-copper coat. Together they were a matched set, a tribute to beauty and grace with a wildness that lingered immediately below the surface.
Sam kept his attention on the filly only a brief moment, now that he had the opportunity to look his fill at Andrea without her knowledge. She had matured into a woman in every way, and that concept unearthed a searing heat low in Sam’s belly that had nothing to do with the Kentucky sun.
She wore a light-blue shirt that barely reached the top of her jeans, jeans that fit every curve to perfection. When she raised her arm to keep the filly moving, Sam caught a glimpse of flesh at her waist. He imagined how it would feel to have his hands there, lower still, molding them to her bottom, pulling her against him, letting her know how strongly she could affect him, how being in her presence aroused him beyond all bounds. He was definitely aroused now and had been for two miserable days with no possible end to that misery, unless…
No, he could not act on those desires. It would be unfair to both of them, even though Andrea had made the offer of her assistance in that matter.
Andrea drew the filly into the center of the arena, turned to face him and called, “She’s a winner, Sam.”
Her vibrant smile had him smiling, too. Pleasing her did please him, and again he thought of many ways he could bring her more satisfaction, ways that would leave them clinging to each other, breathless, sated…
The crunch of gravel turned Sam’s attention to the drive. A massive red truck pulled up next to the pen and a man dressed in typical cowboy garb got out. Without invitation he opened the gate to the round pen and joined Andrea.
Because of his proximity, Sam couldn’t hear the conversation though he assumed they were discussing the filly. Then their shared laughter floated over the breeze, and the man moved closer to Andrea. Too close.
Sam despised the sudden intimacy between them, hated even more that the cowboy touched Andrea’s face then patted her bottom as if he had the right to do so. It took all of Sam’s strength not to scale the fence and go after the idiot with fists raised. Luckily the man turned and left before Sam acted on that impulse. He had no cause to intervene. Andrea could do as she pleased with any man she pleased.
Still, Sam couldn’t seem to get a grasp on his anger. It stayed with him all the way to the barn as he followed Andrea and the filly. The sway of her hips only fueled his fury when he thought about the man touching her with such intimacy, any man aside from him.
Once inside, Andrea turned the filly loose in the stall and came out holding a water bucket.
Sam leaned back against the opposite stall, hands fisted at his sides, no longer able to maintain his silence. “Who was that man?”
Andrea kept her back to him while she gathered the hose and began to fill the bucket. “Caleb? He’s a friend.”
“Only a friend?”
She regarded him over one shoulder. “The bay gelding at the end of the aisle is his. He stopped by to check on his progress. He’s letting me have him for thirty more days for the basics, before he takes him to a cutting horse guy.”
“Then you’re saying that his only interest in you has to do with your training skills?”
She shut off the water and turned, the hose still clutched in her fragile hand. “Of course.”
“Are you still so naive, Andrea?”
Her face melded into a frown. “About what?”
“That man has designs on you as a woman.”
She rolled her eyes. “Get off it, Sam. Caleb wants me to train his horse and that’s all.”
“He wants you, Andrea.”
“Good grief. What on earth makes you think that?”
“The way he touched you.”
“Touched me?”
“Are you saying you didn’t notice when he put his hand on your…on your…butt?”
When Andrea laughed, Sam’s temper flared again. “You find this funny?”
After recovering somewhat, she said, “I’m laughing because your assumptions about Caleb are ridiculous.”
“My observations cannot be denied.”
She tossed the hose to the ground. “You sound like a jealous lover.”
Sam acknowledged that fact, but he couldn’t stop his reaction. “Is he your lover, Andrea?”
Her eyes narrowed with anger. “That’s really none of your business.”
Regardless, Sam had to know. “Is he, Andrea?”
She leaned back against the stall. “Let me ask you something. Have you been celibate all these years, Sam?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Oh, I think it is. If we’re going to get into my business, then that gives me the right to get into yours.”
“I’m concerned about our son,” Sam said, grasping for anything so he would not have to admit there had been other women, but not so many as she might think, and none that could compare to what he had found with her. “I’m wary of those who would enter your life but have no intention of treating Chance appropriately.”
“If you must know, I’ve dated a couple of men, but it didn’t work out because Chance didn’t like either of them. For me that’s the test. Chance’s approval. Now are you satisfied?”
Only one thing would satisfy him, kissing the defiance from her expression, making her lips soften beneath his. “Obviously, this Caleb would like to be the next in line.”
“Your imagination is running wild, Sheikh Yaman.”
She was driving him wild, her eyes now as blue as flames. Sam wanted to touch her, to make her forget the fool who’d had his hands on her earlier. To forget every man she had ever let touch her. Yet he didn’t dare give her more than advice.
“Your clothing leaves little to the imagination, Andrea. I suggest that you consider how you dress from now on.”
“I’m wearing what I wear every day of the week. Plain jeans and T-shirt.”
“Tight jeans and a very thin T-shirt.”
She took a visual journey from his chest to the boots he had bought on a trip into town yesterday. “I’m thinking you’ve got the tight jeans market cornered. But I have to admit they look pretty darned good. I’m still surprised they fit.”
They did, but barely, and the fit at the moment was less than comfortable. “My attire is not the issue at present.” His gaze slid to her breasts. “You have on no bra. How can you expect a man to ignore this?”
She grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it out. “This provides plenty of cover.”
“It shows far too much. Hides too little.” Made Sam ache.
“I don’t have that much to see, Sam. But thanks, anyway.”
“You are wrong, Andrea. Wrong and foolish to think otherwise.”
Her sudden smile caught him off guard. “Does this plain old T-shirt get your blood pumping, Sheikh Yaman?”
He couldn’t deny that. “It is practically transparent.”
She