Harlequin Presents July 2017 Box Set : Sicilian's Baby of Shame / Salazar's One-night Heir / the Secret Kept from the Greek / Claiming His Convenient Fiance (9781460351802)

by Marinelli, Carol; Hayward, Jennifer; Stephens, Susan; Anderson, Natalie

  He inclined his head. “Funny how rumors get started.”

  She watched a loon sail elegantly across the glass-like surface of the water, its haunting cry echoing the dull throb inside of her. Being here it always hurt ten times worse, her emotions already far too close to the surface.

  “She wasn’t just my mother,” she said quietly, heat gathering at the back of her eyes. “She was my best friend. My coach, my confidante, my hero. She taught me to ride before I could walk, took me to all the shows with her. We were inseparable. I wanted to be her when I grew up.”

  A silence fell between them. “And you want to win for her,” Colt said finally.

  She nodded, the tears stinging the backs of her eyes threatening to spill over. “I want to do what she didn’t have time to do.”

  * * *

  Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle that was Cecily Hargrove were falling into place. Alejandro studied her over the rim of his beer bottle, heart squeezing despite his attempts to remain unmoved. How could he?

  He’d watched her kill herself over the past week, wondering what ghosts drove her. Now he knew. But beating herself and Bacchus into the ground over and over again until there was nothing left of either of them wasn’t going to fix the problem—wasn’t going to fix them.

  He’d seen glimpses of the real Cecily on the way up here today. Her spirit. Her joy. What she must have been like as a competitor when her demons weren’t chasing her. Watching her now was like watching light turn into dark.

  Setting his beer bottle down, he turned to face her. “You know what I think,” he said softly, studying those beautiful, haunted eyes. “I think you don’t know who you are anymore. Who you’re riding for. I think you’re riding for everyone but yourself.”

  She frowned. “The accident—”

  “Was just the tip of the iceberg.” He tapped his head. “When this gets messed up—when what you want, what everyone else wants, when too much damn pressure starts to build—no one can perform.”

  Her eyes widened. “Bacchus is a problem.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, “he is. But you are the bigger problem. Until you figure you out, until you decide who you’re doing this for, you have no hope of making that team. You might as well pack it up and throw in the towel right now.”

  Her gaze dropped away from his. She was silent for so long he realized he had gone too far. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “No,” she said, lifting her head, eyes glazed with unshed tears. “You’re right. I have no idea who I am anymore. I’ve spent my whole life doing what everyone else expects of me. Giving up a normal life—leaving school, traveling eight months of the year every year so I can make this team…” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. “What if I don’t? It’s all I know—it’s my entire identity.”

  His throat tightened. “Then you find something else to be. But I don’t think that’s going to happen, Cecily. You clearly have the talent. Now you need to find the reason.”

  A tear slid down her cheek. Then another. A curse left his lips. He pulled her into his arms, his chin coming down on top of her silky hair, her petite body curved against his. “You need to take control,” he murmured. “Decide what you want. This has to be you, Cecily, no one else.”

  She cried against his chest. He held her, stroking his hand over her hair. How could he do anything else when she had no one, literally no one, to confide in?

  He murmured comforting words against her silky cheek. Discovered her hair smelled like lemons and sunshine—that she was far more intoxicating than he’d ever imagined she would be, curled so tightly in his arms.

  She finally pulled back, tears slowing. “Thank you,” she said. “No one is ever honest with me. Everyone tells me what I want to hear rather than what I need to hear. Except my parents. They just give me orders.”

  He tucked a chunk of her hair behind her ear. Ran his thumbs across her cheeks to brush the tears away. “Then maybe you need to change that too. You’re old enough to own your own decisions—your own successes and failures.”

  She nodded, eyes on his. Her lashes lowered, sweeping across her cheeks as the temperature between them changed and suddenly everything was focused on the fact that she was in his lap, her arms wrapped around him and really he should be disentangling himself right now.

  “Colt?”

  Distracted, he brought his gaze back up to hers. The reminder he wasn’t who he’d said he was, that this couldn’t happen, should have been enough to have him ending it right now, but the hesitant look in her blue eyes commanded him instead.

  “That night in the barn—was I imagining that you wanted to kiss me?”

  Por amor a Deus. How was he supposed to answer that? Lie and he would hurt her, something he wasn’t willing to do. But telling her the truth wasn’t an option either.

  “I don’t think I should answer that question.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I work for you. Because it isn’t appropriate.”

  “This is already past appropriate,” she murmured, eyes on his mouth. “And you’ve already answered my question by not answering.”

  “Then we should consider the subject closed.” He reached up to disentangle her arms from around his neck. She kept them where they were.

  “I think I should test my theory out.”

  “What theory?”

  “That you will be a better kisser than Knox.”

  Oh, no. He shook his head. “I think we should leave the answer to the theoretical realm.”

  “I don’t.” She curved her fingers around the back of his neck and drew his mouth down to hers. He should have stopped it right there, should have exercised the sanity he should have had, but he wasn’t going to reject her—not in her ultra-vulnerable state. And, if the truth be known, he wanted to kiss her. Badly. Had since that night in the barn.

  Lush and full, not quite practiced, the brush of her lips against his sent a sizzle over every inch of his skin. This was such a bad idea.

  He relaxed beneath her touch, allowed her to play. He’d give it a minute, make it good and get out of Dodge.

  “You have an amazing mouth,” Cecily breathed against his lips. “But you aren’t kissing me back.”

  “Self-preservation,” he murmured before he splayed his fingers around her delicate jaw, angled her mouth the way he wanted it and took control.

  Her sweet, heady taste exploded across his senses. As good as he’d imagined it to be—maybe better. Fingers stroking over the silky skin of her cheek, he explored the voluptuous line of her mouth with his own, acquainting himself with every plump, perfect centimeter.

  When skin against skin didn’t seem to be enough, he brought his teeth and tongue into play, nipping, stroking, lathing. A gasp escaped her lips. He took advantage of the opportunity and closed his mouth over hers, taking the kiss deeper, mating his tongue with hers. Twining her fingers into the hair at his nape, she followed his lead, sliding her tongue against his, turning the kiss into an intimate, seductive exploration that fried his brain.

  Santo Deus, but she was responsive, the taste of them together perfection. He fought the desire to explore the rest of her curvy, hot body with his mouth and tongue. To discover how sweet she really was.

  In his world, kisses like this led to hot, explosive sex. In this world, however, it absolutely, positively could not happen.

  His rational brain kicked in. He broke the kiss, sank his fingers into her waist and lifted her off him and placed her back on the blanket.

  Cheeks flushed, eyes on his, Cecily pushed a hand through her hair. “That was—”

  “Proof you aren’t a cold fish,” he said, pushing to his feet. “Now we forget it happened.”

  She eyed him. “Colt—”

  He shook his head. �
�You know my MO. Here today, gone tomorrow. You don’t want to get involved with me, Cecily. Trust me.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  FORGET IT HAPPENED? Cecily couldn’t do anything but think about that kiss with Colt in the days leading up to the Hargroves’ annual summer party. It infiltrated her thoughts, her dreams, her practice sessions, rendering her concentration less than ideal.

  To know that kind of passion existed, the explosive kind she’d felt with Colt, had turned her world upside down. Not even with Davis, as crazy as she’d been about him, had she experienced that kind of chemistry. And yet rationality told her Colt was right—the best thing for them to do was ignore it. She had to focus on making this team and Colt would move on again soon.

  She put her focus, instead, on her new approach to fixing her and Bacchus’s relationship. On fixing her. She was twenty-five years old. It was time for her to take charge of her life and career. If she didn’t start directing things, figuring out who she was and what she wanted, everyone else was going to do it for her. And that was unacceptable.

  With Dale’s coaching getting her and Bacchus nowhere fast, she began working with Colt in the afternoons, exploring some of the techniques he’d used on his case similar to Bacchus’s. Given her horse had, in fact, jumped the creek on the way home from the lake, she thought there might be something there.

  They were making baby steps—tiny amounts of progress. Now if only she could make herself immune to the man giving the instructions.

  Kay caught her as she walked into the house to get ready for the party, insisting she come greet the Hendersons who would stay the weekend. Toeing off her muddy boots in the entrance way, she walked into the salon. Knox was as flirtatious as ever—she as uninterested as ever. Exercising the briefest of social niceties, she excused herself to go to her room.

  Her father intercepted her before she could, pulling her into his study. “Dale tells me you’re still working with Colt Banyon,” he said, shutting the door. “Why?’

  She lifted her chin. “Because I want to. Because I think it’s going to help Bacchus.”

  Clayton Hargrove leaned back against his desk, tall, cool, southern elegance in gray trousers and a white shirt. “What you’re doing is wasting your time. That stuff is nonsense he’s teaching you.”

  “I’m going to decide what’s right and wrong for me from now on.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I am twenty-five years old, Daddy. I’m not a child. I need to start managing my own life and career.”

  Her father scowled. “Colt Banyon is a drifter. He wanders from stable to stable. You don’t know anything about him or his credentials.”

  “I know I trust him. And he comes with impeccable credentials. Cliff wouldn’t hire anyone with anything less.”

  “I could fire him.”

  A surge of fury rose up inside her. “You fire him and I’ll withdraw from the Geneva event.”

  “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “Try me.”

  “Dammit, Cecily,” her father bellowed. “See some sense here.”

  “I am seeing some. Finally.” She bit the inside of her mouth, deciding to go for broke now that she was knee deep. “What were you and Mama arguing about the day she died?”

  Her father frowned. “What does that have to do with this?”

  “Nothing. I just want to know.”

  A stony expression consumed his face. “Nothing that concerns you. It was a private matter between your mother and I.”

  “After which she broke the cardinal rule and went riding by herself?” Her lips set in a tight line. “She knew better than that, Daddy. Isabella said she looked knocked sideways after you left. What happened between you two?”

  He shook his head. “It’s ancient history. Let it go.”

  “I’ve tried. It hasn’t worked.” She fixed her gaze on his. “You pretend you don’t miss her, but you do. You pretend it never happened, but it did.” She pushed a stray hair out of her face with a trembling hand. “I’ll never stop wondering what happened that day. What made her do something so stupid. And I’ll never stop missing her. Because, apparently, I’m the only one in this family who has a heart.”

  Spinning on her heel, she stalked to the door.

  “Cecily.”

  She wrenched the door open, walked through it and slammed it shut. Kay and the Hendersons gave her a bemused look as she stalked through the salon and headed for her room. She ignored them all.

  * * *

  “You ready to go?”

  Colt opened the door to his cabin to find Tommy, decked out in a checked shirt and jeans, lounging against the doorframe, a pink Kentucky sunset staining the sky behind him.

  He shook his head. “I was thinking I might skip it.”

  Tommy waved his hat at him. “You can’t skip it. It’s the social event of the season. All you can drink beer and beautiful women… What’s not to like?”

  The fact that one gorgeous woman in particular was finding her way beneath his skin—a woman he couldn’t have. That he was a day away from completing this challenge of Sebastien’s. He wasn’t about to blow it now.

  Antonio’s phone call this morning appealing for a stay on his private island as the paparazzi chased his family for photos amidst a scandal cemented the need to get out of here unscathed. He’d given the Italian the green light to spend his honeymoon on the island and counted his lucky stars it wasn’t him.

  He rolled his shoulders. “I pulled a muscle carrying that beam today. Think I’ll hole up here and read a book.”

  “Oh, come on, Hollywood.” Tommy flashed him a yellow-toothed grin. “You’re tougher than that. Get your boots on and let’s go. We’ll find you a gorgeous woman to work that shoulder of yours out.”

  Deciding resistance was futile, Alejandro pulled on the new blue shirt and jeans he’d bought in town, applied some aftershave and tugged on his boots.

  The party was in full swing when they arrived at one of the bigger thoroughbred barns that wasn’t in use. The cavernous space had been done up for the occasion with fairy lights strung from the vaulted ceiling, a bar in one corner and a well-known country band playing in another. High cruiser tables scattered about the space offered the hundreds of guests a lounging spot to enjoy the food and drink being circulated as they enjoyed a lazy, exceedingly warm Kentucky night.

  True to Tommy’s promise, there were dozens of beautiful women in attendance, clad in pretty summer dresses. Alejandro had always appreciated a southern woman’s charms—the big hair, the ultra-feminine way they dressed, the soft, seductive voices—he found it sexy as hell. But tonight only one of those women caught his eye and it was the one who could flay a man’s skin with her razor sharp tongue one minute, then slay him with a husky, vulnerable drawl the next.

  Cecily wore a burnt orange dress that seemed to have been painted on, its short skirt ending at mid-thigh, exposing smooth, toned legs he couldn’t take his eyes off. When he finally managed to, a plunging V-neckline revealed more delectable curves. It took very little of his imagination to imagine what the rest of her would look like without clothes. Utterly sensational.

  He pulled his gaze away from temptation and up to her face. Unfortunately, there was more of it there. Her hair set in big, loose curls, a smoky eye makeup and vivid red lip color making her look less angelic tonight and more irresistible siren, she was jaw-droppingly beautiful.

  She turned her head, as if sensing his perusal. A charge vibrated the air between them, sizzling his blood in his veins in a hot, restless purr. He sucked in a breath, the need to have, to possess something that was off limits to him an experience he was unused to having.

  He wanted her. Up against a wall would be nice, those fabulous legs wrapped around his waist, his mouth buried in her silky
hair while he gave her everything he had. But, really, he was fairly certain any position would do.

  “Pretty boy’s back,” Tommy murmured. “Wonder when he’s finally going to get the message she isn’t interested.”

  Alejandro didn’t respond. He was too busy sizing up the tall, muscular male at Cecily’s side. His dark blond hair slicked back from his handsome face, an air of supreme confidence surrounding him, Knox Henderson wore the look of a man who knew what he wanted: the woman standing beside him in a very sexy red dress whose smile was not at all right.

  Not my problem, he told himself. You can’t have her. He’d been telling himself that all week.

  He should have stayed away tonight just like he’d planned. Should have listened to his instincts.

  * * *

  Cecily swallowed hard as she stared at Colt. Knox could have told her one of his oil wells was spouting twenty-four-carat gold and it still wouldn’t have penetrated her brain. Her skin shimmered with an awareness that seemed layers deep, her pulse ratcheted up a notch and her breath lodged in her throat as she took in the man she’d told herself she hadn’t been waiting for.

  Dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a light blue shirt rolled up at the sleeves, the color a perfect foil for his dark, dreamy good looks, Colt was God’s gift to women and that was all. But it was the unguarded look on his face that had her complete attention.

  Open and direct, hot, he’d forgotten to assume that mask he always wore. The horse was most definitely out of the barn and it sent a shiver up her spine.

  “We should dance,” Knox murmured in her ear. “I haven’t managed one with you yet.”

  Because she didn’t want to lead him on. Because he’d already knocked back a couple of stiff bourbons and Knox got handsy when he drank. Because the only person she wanted to dance with was Colt.

  Knox, however, was already setting his empty glass on a cruiser table and pulling her onto the dance floor. To compound her problem, the band launched into a slow tune, allowing him to pull her close.