It wasn’t like this was the first time they walked close by each other’s sides but as if they’d done it countless times before. And because of that, it seemed even more personal than Miles holding her close in the drawing room.
She had to break the silence and the strange, innate intimacy.
“Is he yours?” she blurted.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“The dog, Baron. Is he yours or is he a family dog?” Belle clarified.
“He’s mine,” James stated in a way that made it clear the dog was definitely his.
Something about the way he said this gave Belle a melty belly too.
Therefore she decided to stop talking.
Finally they approached a building set some distance away from the castle and James stopped Belle at a wooden door. He opened it, gently pushed her ahead of him and then stopped her again. His torso twisted, his hand still on the small of her back, and light flooded the room.
It was stables.
Belle immediately emitted an unabashed cry of delight.
She loved horses.
She turned and smiled up at James.
“I love horses,” she told him but, even seeing his eyes were on her, something which normally would terrify her, she was too excited to be scared of him. That was how much she loved horses.
Therefore she turned away and instantly moved toward the horses.
There were ten stalls, eight of them filled, the heads of the horses hanging over the doors as they looked to see what was happening.
Belle slowly approached the first horse and put her hand under the horse’s nose. The horse sniffed and snorted at her hand and she laughed softly at the tickling sensation. Once the horse had given her permission, Belle moved closer and stroked her muzzle.
“She’s beautiful,” Belle breathed as she felt James arrive at her side.
“You like animals,” James commented.
Belle kept stroking.
“Yes,” she replied quietly, her eyes never leaving the animal.
She gave the horse one last rub then moved around James, not looking at him, to the next horse, giving him a nuzzle. Then she went to the next then the next.
At the last stall, she saw a huge grey, his smoky mane sleek and long, his body bigger, muscles more defined and powerful than any of the other horses.
He was pure equine beauty.
James was again at her side as she stroked the horse’s nose.
“He’s my favourite,” she whispered and as if the horse understood her words, he moved his nose to her neck and blew, causing Belle to let out a short, startled giggle.
“He’s mine,” James said and Belle moved her head away from the horse, her hands still on his powerful jaws and looked up at James.
“I’m thinking you have good taste,” she told him.
His eyes locked on hers and they went strange like they were amused and something else. Something she couldn’t read. Something that made her belly feel warm again.
“I definitely have good taste,” he replied without a shred of humility.
Belle didn’t know what to say to that so she didn’t say anything.
With one last pat, she stepped away from his horse and said, “You were right. Miles didn’t show me the stables but I’m glad you did. Thank you.”
She started to move by him in the direction of the door but he caught her by the elbow, that strange heat coming from his touch again, searing into her skin.
She tipped her head back to look up at him and saw his chin was dipped to look down at her, his intense green eyes staring into hers.
Instantly, her breathing became laboured.
“You haven’t seen all I wanted to show you,” he said.
“I haven’t?” she asked.
He shook his head and moved her around, drawing her to a room at the end the stables. Baron came with them and he was dancing around James’s long legs as they made it to the door.
James opened the door and Baron pushed through them to get inside. James leaned in, switched on a light and then pressed Belle inside.
On the floor ensconced on a huge dog bed with warm rugs all around was another German Shepherd. Her head came up but her body didn’t, likely because there were several little German Shepherd puppies nestled and asleep at her belly.
Without thinking, Belle clapped her hands in front of her and shouted, “Puppies!” and immediately she moved toward the dogs.
Baron gave her an excited bark, obviously feeling pleased with himself as father of this brood and Belle gave his head a rub before she dropped to her knees on the rug.
“Who’s the proud papa?” she asked and Baron gave her another happy bark and licked her hand.
Belle turned her attention to the mama Shepherd.
“And who are you?” she asked as she let the female dog smell her hand before Belle stroked her.
“Her name is Gretl,” James replied and Belle looked up and gave him a smile.
“They’re beautiful,” she told him, turning her attention back to the doggie family and she saw some of the puppies waking, blinking and fumbling toward her.
She caught the closest one and picked her up, cuddling the puppy to her face. The puppy sniffed, squirmed and finally licked Belle’s face and Belle nuzzled the writhing little one to her neck, that unmistakable puppy scent enveloping her senses.
“I just love the smell of puppy,” she murmured into soft fur, gave her another squeeze then set her down and grabbed the next one to approach.
As she did, she saw James’s hand reach out and nab a puppy who was climbing up the expensive fabric at Belle’s thigh. She turned her eyes to him as she snuggled her newest bundle.
He was in a crouch close by her side and working at containing the six, now awake bundles of energy who all wanted to play with Belle.
“Are you keeping them?” she asked and watched him shake his head as he pulled back another pup from her knee. Her voice held a hint of a surprise when she went on to enquire, “You’re not?”
He and his big, huge castle could easily harbour eight dogs.
No sweat.
“They’re all sold,” James said. “Baron and Gretl are both champions. Their litters are popular.”
Belle looked down at the happy, floppy-eared puppies, both Gretl and Baron nosing them as James kept at his containment efforts and Belle exchanged her puppy for a new one to snuggle.
She couldn’t imagine for one moment letting go of a single pup.
“You won’t even keep just one?” Belle queried.
His eyes turned to her and she realised belatedly how close he was. The room was lit and she could see, like she did when he first greeted her back in the drawing room, how thick, black and long his lashes were.
Women paid good money for someone to glue lashes that beautiful on their eyelids. Looking at his, surrounding those green eyes, eyes a colour she couldn’t believe was from nature, she was, put simply, entranced.
“Pick one,” he said and, at his surprising words, she blinked out of her trance.
“Sorry?”
“Pick one,” he repeated and she tore her gaze from his and looked down at the adorable, happy, fidgeting puppies then her shocked eyes went back to James.
“I thought you said they’re all sold.”
“They are,” he replied. “I’ll return the fee of the one you’ve chosen.”
She stared at him in shock.
Was he for real?
“You can’t do that,” Belle protested.
His lips tipped up slightly at the ends and she watched them as if this small movement was the most fascinating thing she ever beheld.
And she thought maybe it was.
Then she watched his lips form the words, “I can.”
She moved her eyes to his. “So, what you’re saying is, you’re giving me a dog.”
It was then his mouth formed a full-fledged grin. “That’s what I’m saying.”
Yes, he was for real.
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Her eyes skittered away and she quickly exchanged her puppy for a new one.
Her nerves, which had disappeared for several glorious moments, returned and she felt an overpowering, nearly paralysing self-consciousness.
Cuddling her new puppy, she mumbled, “I can’t accept a champion litter dog.”
“You can,” he returned.
Her eyes moved to him but this time she looked over his shoulder.
“I can’t,” she repeated.
“Belle,” he said her name softly, his deep voice wrapping around it like an embrace and the effect made her shiver. He sounded like he was calling out to her even though she was on her knees right beside him.
She moved her eyes to the vicinity of his though she didn’t look in them. She looked mostly at his nose.
He had, she thought somewhat agitatedly, a very nice nose.
When she did this, she heard his delicious chuckle.
“Belle,” he repeated and, against its will, her gaze finally lifted to his eyes and when it did, he repeated, “Pick one.”
“I can’t have a German Shepherd,” she told him.
“Do you have another dog?” he asked and she shook her head, looking away and dropping her puppy to give belly rubs to two bundles who were happily squirming on their backs on the floor. “Do you have a cat?” he went on and she shook her head again. “Do you let your house and they don’t allow animals?” he pressed.
She finally spoke. “I own my place. It’s just that I don’t have a garden and my cottage isn’t very big. German Shepherds are large dogs. They need room to move.” She scooted closer and stroked Gretl’s head, continuing in a near whisper. “It’s nice of you to offer anyway. Very generous.” Her voice went even quieter before she murmured, “Thank you.”
With that, she stood.
She could take no more. She would prefer Miles’s stifling attention at a shoulder-to-shoulder crowded party (her definition of torture) to playing with puppies in a warm room in a stable with criminally handsome, seemingly very sweet James Bennett.
She took a backward step to the door as he straightened from his crouch.
“I should really be getting back,” she told him, looking behind her toward the door.
It was only a few feet away but the distance yawned behind her like it was a million miles.
The puppies jumped at her ankles.
James spoke and what he said made her head twist around to look at him.
“We haven’t finished the tour.”
“We haven’t?” she asked, wondering what he’d show her next.
Kittens?
Lambs?
An adorable baby rhinoceros?
He shook his head, moved forward, bending low to control the puppies at the same time his hand came to her hip, fingers hot through the fabric as he expertly manoeuvred her out of the room. Baron came with him. Gretl stayed put and James managed to get her and his dog out without any of the puppies escaping.
It was a minor miracle.
However, instinctively, Belle thought he was the kind of man who wrought minor miracles on a daily basis.
Once he’d turned out the light and closed the door, he took her elbow again and led her along the stalls toward the door they entered. He didn’t take them to the door. He took them to a ladder that led up to what looked like a hayloft.
When he had her facing it, she heard him say, “Up.”
Fear seized her and Belle stared at the ladder. Then her head tipped back to examine the open floor of the hayloft facing the stable. Then she looked at the ladder again.
Then panic coursed through her.
She didn’t do ladders.
She also didn’t do heights.
And she certainly didn’t do one full side of the floor opened to a neck breaking fall haylofts.
She turned and nearly collided with him, he was standing so close behind her.
“I can’t go up there,” she breathed.
He was looking down at her. “Why not?”
She blinked and looked over his shoulder. “I just can’t.”
“It’s safe, Belle. I wouldn’t take you up there if it wasn’t,” he replied.
Her eyes went to his ear. “I’m sure it is. I just don’t do ladders,” she admitted, paused then continued, “or heights.”
Or out of the way, scary haylofts with unbearably handsome men, she thought a thought that she would never, even if paid, speak aloud.
“You’ll be fine,” he assured her, his voice deeper and gentler and somewhere in her panic stricken brain it registered that he was genuinely trying to assure her rather than force her to do something against her will.
“I –” she started but before she could say more, his hands came to her waist, he got close and all panicked thoughts (indeed, all thoughts, panicked or not) flew from her head.
She looked up at him to see his face was close.
Very close.
Magnetically close.
She held her breath and barely controlled an impulse to lean toward him.
“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured and then his fingers tightened at her waist.
He turned her to face the ladder and before she knew what he was about, he actually lifted her clean off her feet. Reflexively her hands shot out to grab the sides of the ladder and her feet found the rungs. His hands slid down to her hips and he put pressure there, urging her to climb.
And she did.
Instantly, she felt him come up after her.
Not a few rungs after her but right after her, his arms around her body, hands moving along the ladder sides just under hers and his body warm against her back. She was sheltered from danger by his big, strong frame and her fear of heights (and ladders and haylofts, but not him) completely melted away.
She made it to the floor of the hayloft and stepped in, James coming right after.
Without hesitation, she moved to the safest area available, the centre of the loft, as he strode to its outer wall. She watched as he unlatched a pair of doors and slid one to the side then the other.
He turned to her and ordered quietly, “Come here.”
She didn’t want to. She really didn’t want to.
The doors were open to the night. She could easily fall out them and crack her head open. Or break her arm. Or sprain her ankle. None of which she wanted to do.
Even though she didn’t want to, she pulled his jacket closer about her and walked slowly to his side, stopping several feet from the edge.
“Belle,” he called again and she tilted her head back to look at him, her mind filled with thoughts of her broken body at the base of the stables, her knees feeling spongy, like they couldn’t hold her weight. “Look,” he urged and she watched him turn his head.
Her gaze went in the same direction and she caught her breath.
Spread out before her was his castle, huge and imposing on its cliff, many of its windows shown with bright lights, the sea and sky beyond it inky black. The white caps broke the waters and against the sprawling shoreline you could see the foamy surf pounding against the rocks.
It was magnificent.
It was way better than the view from the study.
It was even worth the torment of being in the company of wickedly handsome James Bennett.
Without thinking, Belle took a step closer to the edge and breathed, “I wish my grandmother was here.”
“What?” James asked, his voice holding more than a little amusement mingled with surprise.
She looked up at him and repeated, “I wish my grandmother was here. She’s a painter. She could paint this for you.” Belle looked back at the view and went on, “She might even pay you for the opportunity to paint this.”
Belle felt him get close to her side. “You’re grandmother’s a painter?”
“Yes,” Belle answered not taking her eyes from the vista. “She’s kind of well-known. You might have heard of her. Lila Cavendish?”
Something emotive stirred the
air, emanating from James. It was strong enough for Belle to tear her gaze away from the seascape to look up at him again.
“Your grandmother is Lila Cavendish?” he asked when her eyes hit his face.
Belle nodded. “Do you know her?”
“I have one of her pieces in my office in London,” he replied. “She’s extremely talented.”
Belle felt a sudden, warm burst of pride and murmured, “She is.”
“So you come from a talented family,” he remarked and she kept staring at him and shook her head.
“No, it’s just Gram that’s talented,” she told him.
He got closer, his chin dipping down further to look at her and he asked, “I thought Miles said you made your dress?”
Immediately, Belle looked away.
“Belle,” he called again but she didn’t look back.
Instead she answered the sea, “Yes, I made the dress.”
“It’s beautiful,” he complimented her and she felt that trill go up her spine again. So strong it not only raised the hairs on the back of her neck, it tingled all along her scalp.
“Thank you,” she whispered then sought to find another subject, any subject and luckily her mind found one. “Which piece of Gram’s do you have?”
He thankfully allowed the subject change and replied, “It’s called ‘Sedona Bloom’.”
Belle smiled at the sea and nodded. “I think I remember that one. She did a Sedona series when we lived there. The Arizona desert is remarkable in bloom.”
“So, you’re from Arizona,” he noted and she shook her head, crossing her arms on her chest under his jacket.
“We’re from everywhere.” She kept speaking to the view, finding it easier to hold this conversation when she could pretend he wasn’t there and so damned close. “Mom and Dad got divorced when I was six and Mom and I followed Gram wherever she went. Which was a lot of places.”
“Like where?” James asked.
It was at that moment that it occurred to her that James had known her for barely an evening and Miles had known her for a month. And Miles didn’t know her grandmother was Lila Cavendish or that her parents were divorced or that she moved around a lot.
He didn’t know any of this because he’d never asked.
“Arizona, California, Colorado, New Mexico,” Belle answered. “Gram went through a New Orleans phase so we stayed there for a school year. And she became infatuated with Savannah so we were there for an entire summer.” She stopped and when he didn’t speak she decided she should go on, so she noted inanely, “It was very humid.”
Lucky Stars Page 4
