Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2)

by Hannah Hooton

  Actually, maybe rolls in the hay weren’t so oversold, she decided on second thoughts. Especially when the filtering light from outside bathed Rhys Bradford for her perusal. The rugs might be a bit smelly, but they were thick and up there on top of the bales, they had privacy and, rurally-speaking, penthouse views. Rhys’s hands expertly unzipped her dress and peeled it away from her skin. Frankie thanked God she had chosen underwear which was in a relatively healthy state.

  That sprinkle of black chest hair peeking from his open shirt which had tantalised her all night, she now marvelled at being in a position to actually touch. The buttons undid easily, one revealed his sternum, two his contracting abs, three his belly button, four the pathway of hair which disappeared beneath his belt. Rhys shook off his shirt, flicked open his belt and shed his jeans. Holding her by her shoulders, he kissed her mouth, trailing down her throat to her chest. His tongue continued its exploration of her body, sending tiny starbursts of sensation whizz-banging through her.

  Frankie gripped his back, feeling his muscles roll beneath her hands as he lowered himself over her. His skin was deliciously hot against hers. He pulled the strap of her knickers lower and pinched the soft skin of her hip between his teeth. On her back, Frankie gasped as her body reacted in favour. His hands trailed over her breasts, his calloused thumbs circling her nipples. He knelt before her, unembarrassed by his pyramid briefs and, holding her beneath her knees, pulled her down towards him.

  Frankie swallowed hard and let her head fall back. Hands which had cajoled victory after victory from the most reluctant of horses proceeded to work their magic on her. Frankie could feel another victory for Rhys Bradford mounting inside her. Christmas wasn’t the only thing coming early this year. As he moved against her, her lungs seemed incapable of holding in the oxygen she sucked in. No, she couldn’t let it happen too fast. Hell, she’d waited long enough for this moment, her body could bloody well wait a short while longer and get some lengthier satisfaction.

  Her gaze flickered down to his groin. Say eight inches lengthier. She sat up and met Rhys’s kiss, cradling his head, rocking forward so she straddled him. She felt the hot heat of his erection against her inner thigh. The friction of his stubble tenderised her lips as she dropped them along his jaw and down his neck. She trickled her nails over his chest and abdomen and dipped beneath his briefs.

  Rhys Bradford ceased to be her work colleague and rival, but a man, hot-blooded and aroused. He tugged at her knickers, tearing the lace. Caught up in his haste, Frankie bucked out of the last of her clothing. With Rhys kneeling before her, she sank down on his lap, wallowing in the feeling of raw and unbridled passion. Rhys guided himself into her. Looping her arms around his taut shoulders, she pushed against him. A rising trot soon became a canter, and a canter a gallop. Losing balance, she fell back with Rhys still in attendance. She shifted higher and higher up the rugs as Rhys sought to send each forceful thrust deeper and deeper into her.

  Frankie grabbed handfuls of hay to contain the rush and with little purchase, her desire whipped beyond her control. She cried out. Rhys pinned her hands above her head and drove harder than he had his closest Cheltenham win. His clasp on her hands tightened as he too passed the line, spent, slick, but oh so victorious.

  Chapter 24

  Frankie was woken by a wisp of hay tickling her nose. She opened her eyes, taking a moment to remember where she was. Having fallen asleep to the drum of rain on the roof and the booming of music, everything now was eerily quiet. It was still dark, water was dripping somewhere and the distant dawn chorus of birds drifted through the doorway. The impatient bangs of horses knocking their stable doors with their knees, demanding their breakfast, told her it must be close to dawn. She shivered. Beside her, Rhys lay with one arm around her, the other behind his head. At some point during the night he had put his jeans back on. He was staring up at the ceiling. Frankie breathed him in.

  ‘Hey,’ she whispered.

  He turned to look at her, causing their bed of hay to crunch beneath them.

  ‘Hey, yourself,’ he said, his voice thick like melted chocolate.

  Frankie smiled at him, wondrous at her bedmate.

  ‘Did you sleep okay?’ she asked.

  ‘On and off. You?’

  She nodded.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Twenty past five.’

  Frankie sat up like a meerkat.

  ‘Shit. I’ve got to be mucking out in an hour.’ She scrambled around for her clothes. ‘Where’s my bra? Oh, bugger it.’ She shook the hay and dust out of her dress. The material was still damp and a 7.0 magnitude shiver ran over her body as she pulled it on. Rhys lay with both hands supporting his head, his eyes following her manic scramble.

  ‘Do you want a hand with your zip?’ he said after watching her struggle for a moment.

  ‘Yes, please.’ She turned her back to him and swept her hair out of the way, extracting a stray strand of hay while she was at it. She did not want to see a mirror any time soon.

  Rhys sat up and tugged her zip up. She thought she felt his lips brush the top of her spine, but it was so fleeting it could have been a draft.

  ‘There you go,’ he said.

  Frankie turned back to him, torn between the urgency to get home and ready for work and a longing to stay with him. Whatever it was that had happened last night, she didn’t want it to end. But a niggling feeling told her that as soon as she walked out the door, things were going to change.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  They continued to look at each other in silence until a human voice outside interrupted them.

  ‘All right, all right,’ the voice said. ‘I’m getting your food ready now. Just have some patience.’

  ‘I’d better go before I get caught.’

  Rhys smiled for the first time.

  ‘Caught?’

  Frankie hooked her hair behind her ear, finding another piece of hay, and gave a short uncertain laugh.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  He nodded. Delving beneath the horse rugs, he pulled out her purple bra. She bundled it into her pashmina shawl with an embarrassed thanks.

  ‘Get going then. I’ll follow you out in five.’

  ‘Okay.’

  She hesitated, not knowing if she could kiss him goodbye or not. She wanted to, but in the half-light of morning, she was back to being Frankie, Aspen Valley amateur jockey and Rhys was back to being…well, Rhys. Without the brazen boost of alcohol, he was no longer Latino dancer and sex god. Still damned sexy, but Rhys, nonetheless.

  ‘Bye,’ she said, barely above a whisper. She went to make her shaky descent from their hay bale penthouse. She was about to let go and jump the rest of the way when Rhys’s hand covered hers.

  ‘Hey,’ he said.

  She looked up at him kneeling above her. He leant down, raised her chin with his fingertips and kissed her.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ he whispered.

  Frankie bit back the grin that threatened to reveal her morning teeth.

  *

  The coast looked clear when she peeked out. Down the muddy alleyway between the hay barn and the indoor school she could see the clear sky lightening to indigo over the gallops. The clouds were paintbrush slivers in the distance and their forsaken bounty now glistened on the frosty ground. Frankie made a dash for the car park. Horses neighed and she heard a door slam in the yard beyond. She peered round the corner as she reached the end of the barn. Her car was parked about twenty metres away. It had been the closest she’d been able to get last night, but now it sat alone with just a couple other cars to keep it company. One of them, she noticed, was Rhys’s black Audi Spyder.

  ‘Morning, Frankie,’ a voice said from the yard entrance.

  Frankie’s foggy breathing stopped.

  With saddle cloths flung over one shoulder, Billy grinned at her.

  ‘Oh, hi, Billy,’ she said, pinning a smile to her face.

  ‘Gonna be frosty this morning, d
on’t you reckon?’

  Frankie nodded, not quite believing he was acting like she hadn’t just rolled, quite literally, out of bed and was still in her decidedly crumpled party dress. She resisted the urge of looking back to the barn entrance. She hoped Rhys could hear her talking and know not to walk out.

  ‘Yeah, I reckon so. Yes.’

  ‘You riding at Chepstow this afternoon?’

  ‘If racing goes ahead, yes.’

  ‘Touch wood. I’m leading up Ta’ Qali and Smoking Ace for Rhys.’

  ‘Let’s hope so then,’ she said, inching towards her car.

  Billy stood, hand on hip, looking like he was settling down for a good chatter.

  ‘I hope Ta’ Qali behaves better than last time. He was a nightmare in the parade ring at Aintree.’

  ‘He was a nightmare for Rhys to ride too. Jack’s declared him with ear plugs today to see if it makes any difference.’

  ‘Ha! That’ll be fun trying to get those in. The bugger won’t let me near his head.’

  ‘Yeah, well, good luck with that. Anyway, I’ve got to, um, go. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, a mischievous smile still on his face.

  Released at last, Frankie continued on her way.

  ‘Oh! Frankie, I think you dropped something.’ Billy stepped forward before she could stop him and picked up her bra.

  Her cheeks went from Arctic to Saharan as she held her empty pashmina. Billy looked just as mortified. Then as things began to slot into place and he looked across at Rhys’s car, he gave her a knowing grin.

  ‘Way to go, Frankie,’ he said, handing her her underwear.

  Frankie gave him a look.

  ‘Thank you, Billy. I’ve got to go now.’

  *

  Racing fans had turned up in droves for Chepstow’s first sunny meeting of the season. Buoyed by a win in the amateur’s race on the card, Frankie settled back in the weighing room to watch the two mile novice hurdle starring Ta’ Qali on the television. She listened to the racing presenters go through the form of each of the runners, waiting patiently for the camera to show her horse.

  ‘Number Six on the card is Ta’ Qali,’ the presenter said. ‘Just his second start over hurdles. Was sixth on his debut, but got very agitated beforehand and never really settled for Rhys Bradford who is back aboard today.’

  Frankie let out a quiet groan as Ta’ Qali filled the screen. He was in a muck sweat already. His coat looked starry and a white lather was smeared between his hind legs. Pushing against his shoulder, Billy battled to keep him on the path. Ta’ Qali skittered sideways and threw his head into the air. Frankie noted his odds had drifted from twelve-to-one out to sixteen—unheard of for a first string Aspen Valley horse.

  Her heart skipped a beat as she caught her first glimpse of Rhys since her earlier departure from the hay barn. Jack legged him up into the saddle then had to skip out of the way as the horse bounced sideways. The trainer looked grim. His strategy to settle Ta’ Qali with earplugs obviously wasn’t going to plan.

  He was right. Frankie watched the race with ever-deflating hope. Rhys jumped Ta’ Qali off smartly to take the lead, hoping perhaps that he’d settle in front, but it made little difference. Ta’ Qali ran with his head in the air, his foaming mouth agape under Rhys’s strong hold. By halfway, he’d burned himself out. Knowing the race was out of their grasp, Rhys pulled him up four flights from home.

  Frankie turned away, uninterested in the final result, and began tying the yellow silk cap of Bold Phoenix’s ownership to her helmet.

  *

  Out on the course, the sparkling green of the Welsh landscape and the crystal blue sky regalvinized Frankie. The crisp country air breathed energy into her bloodstream as she cantered Bold Phoenix down to the two and a half mile start. The chestnut gelding, flashy with his white face and four white socks, pointed his toe and pricked his ears at the puffballs of sheep grazing in the adjacent field. Down by the starter’s rostrum, Frankie circled with the other ten runners and found herself alongside Rhys on Smoking Ace.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘What do you say to buying me a drink tonight if I beat you?’

  Frankie smirked right back at him.

  ‘And if I beat you?’

  ‘I’ll buy you a drink.’

  ‘May I remind you you are riding the five-to-two favourite. Bold Phoenix is only a fourteen-to-one shot.’

  ‘Fine,’ Rhys said, pulling down his goggles. ‘A drink and dinner.’

  Enjoying this new side to Rhys, Frankie gave him a flirtatious smile.

  ‘Risky. You’re prepared to put your diet on the line?’

  Rhys lowered his goggles so she could see his black eyes glinting.

  ‘There’s a number of ways I can think of to work the extra pounds off afterwards.’

  Frankie couldn’t help the somersault in her stomach. She wasn’t one to play games, but she wasn’t going to let Rhys think he had it on a platter. She adjusted her goggles over her eyes and raised an eyebrow at him.

  ‘How right you are. But if you do decide to go jogging after dinner in the dark, remember to put on your high vis jacket.’

  His chuckle followed her as she straightened Bold Phoenix up and jogged him towards the starting tape. It was lost in the jockeys’ cries of ‘Hyah!’ as the starter let them go.

  By luck more than anything else, Frankie found herself just where she wanted to be, on the inside stalking the leaders. Bold Phoenix jumped as his name suggested over the first plain fence and Frankie took a tug on the reins as they met the rising ground. The rain-softened turf was already ploughed up from the two previous steeplechases and she was aware of the question mark over Bold Phoenix’s stamina.

  The second, an open ditch, loomed and again Bold Phoenix gave it plenty of air. The cries and cheers of the grandstand rose as they jumped the three fences in front of it and passed the winning post for the first time. Around the far turn, Bold Phoenix ran wide and forsook his inside position. The grey head of Smoking Ace nodded into Frankie’s peripheral view, blowing clouds of foggy air through his nostrils like a steam train.

  ‘You a vegetarian?’ Rhys yelled.

  Frankie frowned as her focus wavered.

  ‘No,’ she yelled back.

  They entered the back straight and jumped the next together.

  ‘Do you like Indian?’

  The second open ditch intercepted her reply and Bold Phoenix pecked on landing.

  ‘Rhys, can we discuss this later?’

  His wicked grin made her shake her head and she cajoled Bold Phoenix forward to chase the leaders six lengths ahead, and more importantly past Rhys’s distracting dinner plans.

  Actually, an Indian didn’t sound such a bad idea.

  A plain fence was quickly followed by the water jump. Bold Phoenix flew over with little trace of slowing up. Frankie grinned. She would be back here in three weeks’ time for the Welsh National in which Peace Offering was no doubt an entry. She just hoped he would jump as co-operatively for her then as Bold Phoenix was now.

  Over the second last in the back straight and the ground began to fall away in descent. One of the leaders over-jumped and crumpled on landing. With a quick glance to her left to make sure she wasn’t cutting Rhys off, Frankie guided Bold Phoenix closer to the inside to avoid the horse heaving itself back to its feet.

  ‘Easy does it,’ she murmured to her mount.

  He cocked an ear back and took advantage of her quiet riding to take a breather. A flock of gulls grounded up ahead flapped into the air as the thunder of galloping hooves neared them. Their squawks followed the strung-out field skimming the rail into the home stretch.

  ‘Go on now, my boy,’ Frankie whispered. She lowered her posture and pumped her hands alongside Bold Phoenix’s chestnut neck. The honest pace was starting to take its toll on the leaders and Frankie felt a glimmer of hope swell inside her chest. But the danger, she knew, was not what was in front of her. It was what was behind her and by the ever-
nearing drum of hooves on sodden ground, she knew it was coming fast.

  They straightened up for the final five fences. Bold Phoenix made his second mistake of the race and Frankie clung to his wither strap to keep her balance. The leaders were coming back to her with more rapidity than she’d anticipated and she angled out to get a clear view of the next open ditch.

  The horse in second jumped awkwardly and unshipped his rider. Between hard riding, Frankie looked up. The undulating home straight of Chepstow Racecourse beckoned. Three out and they were over safe. She ducked her head down again and rocked in the saddle, asking Bold Phoenix to defy his outside odds. But as they drew up to share the lead, the flagging leader began to drift wide. Frankie pushed harder. Bold Phoenix leaned into the challenge and held his line. They were in the clear.

  With gum guard (now a fashionable white) bared, she rode towards the roar of the crowd up the centre of the course. She pulled down her muddied goggles and the chilled wind stole tears from her eyes. The second last fence bumped closer and closer into view. Bold Phoenix gave a small groan as he put in a gallant leap and his hooves plugged into the muddied landing ground. A familiar grey head appeared on their inside.

  ‘Dammit!’ Frankie cursed into Bold Phoenix’s mane. She hadn’t meant to give away her inside position. Rhys was no longer in the mood to discuss appetisers. Smoking Ace was all out. ‘Come on Phoenix!’ she yelled. ‘I’ve got a meal ticket at stake here!’

  Bold Phoenix, it would seem, did not want to see his rider go hungry. He responded to the challenge. The two stable companions took the last as one. Frankie didn’t look up. Rhys didn’t let up. He might be one helluva generous ride in the hay, but he wasn’t giving her an inch on the racecourse. Frankie raised her whip and brought it down on her horse’s flank. More from the sound of the slap than the feel of it, he surged forward. The grandstand redoubled their hollers as he drew clear.

  ‘Go on, Phoenix! Go! Go! Go!’ Frankie cried through gritted teeth.

  A clear neck became half a length. A half-length stretched to a full one as Smoking Ace gave up the battle. Bold Phoenix galloped wearily across the line and Frankie slapped his mane in delight.