by Helen Lacey
Amersen’s skin heated. She was so damned provocative it was doing crazy things to his usual good sense.
He didn’t quite understand it. Women never shifted his focus. One day...maybe, someone would. A decade from now. Once he’d truly made his mark on the world. Once his name and brand were renowned around the globe. And he still had a long way to go on that score, he reminded himself. Sure, he dated supermodels and dined with rock stars and politicians and had so many followers on social media he was known simply by his first name, but that could change in an instant. He knew that fame was a slippery slope. What he really wanted was his wine brand to be revered and served in the best restaurants and hotels in the world. He also wanted Noir to be the go-to place in Paris. He wanted it all. Everything that was his to take. If opportunity arose to build his brand and business portfolio, Amersen would do whatever was needed to be done.
Without being derailed.
But he felt derailed around Robin.
Big-time.
She smiled and grabbed the reins of the gray mare standing quietly beside the gelding. “This is Butterfly,” she said and then quickly sprang into the saddle. “And she has been known to kick, so don’t get too close to her rear end.”
He watched as she eased the mare sideways and moved along in line with the corral. Amersen admired the way she looked in the saddle—like she’d been born to ride. After a moment, he changed into the boots, pulled on the ridiculous helmet, grabbed the reins and eased himself up and into the wide Western saddle. It wasn’t what he was used to, but once he’d adjusted the stirrups, he was on his way, directing the horse in a line behind her.
He stayed back for the first ten minutes, following Robin’s lead as they wound their way around the ranch house and down a gravel road between a couple of fenced-off pastures. There were a few head of cattle in one and several horses in another. The horses all looked up as they passed, a couple pealing out a long whinny, while one stood on point and snorted, beating the ground with a front hoof in an assertion of authority.
Blackjack whinnied in reply, and Amersen noticed that Robin’s head turned immediately.
“Everything okay?” she asked, easing up the pace a little.
“Fine,” Amersen replied and caught up, moving alongside her. “Nice day for it.”
She glanced toward the sky. “It’s chilly, but still good weather. I guess you’re used to the cold.”
“Of course,” he replied. “Although I’m not a fan of cold weather. But a Paris summer is like no other.”
She laughed. “Spoken like a proud Frenchman. Not that I’ve met one before you.”
“I am proud,” he said, shifting in the uncomfortable saddle. “One of my many charms.”
She laughed again. “You are charming,” she admitted. “Too much so. I’m not sure it’s good for me to spend too much time with you.”
“And yet,” he said and grinned, “you invited me to dinner.”
“It’s the least I could do,” she said and glanced sideways. “Considering you bought me a pair of shoes.”
“Did you try them on?”
She laughed. “Do I look like a glass-slipper kind of girl?”
“I’m sure you could be anything you wanted.”
When her laughter rang out again, an odd feeling pitched deep in Amersen’s chest. He couldn’t remember when he’d last spent time with a woman and simply enjoyed frivolous and flirtatious banter. Usually—no, always—there seemed to be an agenda. He worked and played hard. He didn’t have time to waste on getting to know someone. And yet, he wanted to get to know Robin. Sure, he also wanted to get her into bed. But he enjoyed her company. She didn’t waste time on flattery. She didn’t pander to his ego. She was spirited and beautiful and had gotten under his skin in a matter of days.
“I’m curious,” she said and glanced his way. “Where did you find a pair of glass slippers in this town?”
“I didn’t,” he replied. “I had them flown in overnight from New York. A friend did me a favor.”
“A friend?”
“An actress friend,” he supplied. “And I mean just a friend.”
“None of my business,” she said and waved a hand. “Still, didn’t she think it was an odd request?”
“Nothing’s out of the ordinary for Ortega.”
“Ortega?” she echoed after a moment’s silence. “The Ortega?”
Amersen nodded. “Yes.”
“The Ortega who is one of the most famous and glamorous actresses in the world?”
He smiled to himself. Ortega was probably as hometown as Robin, since she had been born and bred in Montana and had clawed her way to a career first in Hollywood and now on Broadway in New York. Foolishly, he wanted Robin to understand that they were only friends, since Ortega was close to two decades older than him and a close friend of his mother’s.
“She and my mother have been friends for a number of years,” he explained. “They met before I was born, while my mother was traveling through Montana.”
“I didn’t realize your mom was American.”
“She’s not,” he replied, thinking he’d said too much already. He didn’t want anyone knowing that Suzette had spent time in the United States, especially Texas, or that she had once been au pair to Gerald and Charlotte Robinson’s children. That would encourage questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. “She’s French, but she traveled a little when she was a young woman, before she married my father. She and Ortega stayed in touch when she returned to Paris. They’ve been friends since.”
She nodded briefly. “And Ortega just happened to have a pair of glass slippers on hand? Or is she used to you asking for movie props to impress girls?”
He laughed. Put like that, it did sound ridiculous. “It was my first time,” he admitted and grinned, shifting in the saddle. “But I like that you’re impressed.”
“That’s not what I said.” She rolled her eyes and exhaled. “You really do think a lot of yourself. Must be freakin’ exhausting.”
He laughed again. Damn, she was intoxicating. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”
Her gaze sharpened. “That’s none of your business.”
“Touchy subject?” he asked, easing up on the reins a little.
“No,” she snapped back. “I did. I don’t have one now.”
“Messy breakup?”
She shrugged. “Aren’t breakups usually messy? Unless you’re one of those people who never lets anyone get too close because you’re a commitmentphobe.”
It was a deliberate verbal punch. “You’ve been reading the gossip mags.” He chuckled. “Don’t believe everything you see in print.”
“Ever had a long-term relationship?”
Bang. No beating around the bush. “No.”
“My point exactly,” she said and clicked her mare forward. “Afraid of commitment.”
She rode off ahead, urging the horse into a slow canter, and Amersen held his mount back, mesmerized by the picture she evoked. Her body moved in unison with the horse, her hips floating back and forth in a steady rhythm that was unbelievably erotic to observe. She rode as though she had been born in the saddle, her movements fluid and easy, and Amersen’s blood heated. He’d never considered himself much of a voyeur, but watching Robin was like a narcotic—utterly addictive.
Transfixed, he took a few moments to pull his thoughts together and then followed, clicking the gelding forward. The animal was smooth and responsive and it didn’t take long for him to move up behind her.
“I’m not,” he said when he reached her, so turned on that he lost his balance for a second.
She reached out immediately and took hold of one rein, steadying the horse as he scrambled to regain his seat. Amersen cursed under his breath and quickly got himself under control.
&nb
sp; “You’re not what?” she asked, releasing the rein.
“Afraid of commitment,” he replied.
“Yet you admit you’ve never had a serious relationship. And you’re, what?” she queried. “Twenty-five? Seems a little odd, that’s all.”
“Afraid of commitment and odd,” he said, his mouth twisting. “My list of flaws is growing by the second.”
She laughed, and the lovely sound flittered on the breeze. “Oh, god, don’t get me started on your flaws. I could rattle them off for hours.”
Amersen eased the horse back a little, conscious that his completely unsuitable clothing made keeping a firm seat almost impossible. “I really have made a bad impression. Obviously, the slippers weren’t enough to change your opinion.”
She shrugged lightly and maneuvered the horse left, following a narrower track that led toward an outcrop of rocks. “I’m not a girl to be swayed by gifts, Amersen.”
“Then what?” he queried, smiling. “What’s the secret to gaining your...affection?”
She laughed again. “Affection?” she echoed. “Is that what you’re after?”
“I’m pretty sure we both know what I’m after.”
She didn’t even make the effort to look shocked or affronted. Her manner both intrigued and aroused him. In the past, women had gone to unbelievable lengths to hang on to his interest. But Robin Harbin didn’t seem to care one iota if he was interested or not. And it made him want her more than he’d imagined possible. Of course, a little voice warned him, her ploy could be exactly that—show contempt and keep him hanging off her every word like a puppy dog. But instinct told him she wasn’t made that way. Despite her temper and their constant sparring, there was something earnestly refreshing about her. And the more time he spent with her, the deeper he was drawn toward her sultry laugh and straight-talking conversation.
“Sex?” she queried, one brow arched.
He shrugged. “Who’s to say what the future holds?”
“True,” she said. “But I should let you know, I don’t sleep around casually. I never have and I’m not going to start now. You might think I’m a flirt and easy...but I’m not.”
“I don’t think that,” he assured her. “In fact, I think you’re probably the most difficult woman I’ve ever met. Captivating...but challenging.”
“Idiot,” she said and laughed loudly.
Amersen laughed in response and then repositioned himself in the saddle as one foot slipped from a stirrup. “So, this secret, what is it?”
“Secret?”
“To garner your approval.”
“There’s no secret. Just be yourself.”
“An egotistical snob,” he said and moved up beside her, so close their stirrups clanged. “Isn’t that what you called me yesterday?”
“It was exactly what you deserved.”
“When I assumed you knew nothing about business and insulted you?” he reminded her. “You’re right...I was an ass.”
She didn’t respond; instead, she clicked her horse forward and then urged the mare down a steep embankment. Amersen held the gelding back for a moment, then watched as Robin turned her head, and he noticed her expression was as daring as he’d ever seen. And defiant. He also knew she was waiting for him to bail.
Not a chance...
He turned Blackjack’s head and headed down the ridge, holding on to the saddle horn even though he didn’t need to, aware that she was watching his every move. There was an outcrop of rocks and several trees about fifty feet from the bottom of the embankment, and without consulting her, Amersen headed for them. Once he reached the shade, he dismounted and tethered the gelding to a low-slung branch.
She wasn’t far behind and quickly had the mare hitched beside Blackjack.
“This is a nice spot,” Amersen said and ditched the helmet, running a hand briefly over his head and grimacing when he realized his hair was plastered to his scalp. He shook his head and tried to reassemble his hair into something normal.
“Don’t stress,” Robin said and grinned as she took off her Stetson and hooked it over the saddle. “You still look good enough to have your face on a billboard.”
“You know, I’m not as hung up on my appearance as you seem to think.”
Her brows shot up. “I’ll bet you spend more time getting spruced up in the morning than I do. A ponytail and some sunscreen and I’m done. I’m what you’d call low maintenance,” she quipped.
Amersen’s mouth twisted. “You’re about as high maintenance as it gets.”
She grinned a little. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”
“Not by your ex-boyfriend?” he asked, curious and not hiding the fact.
“Nope,” she replied and perched her behind on a nearby rock. “Can I ask you something?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“What are you really doing here?”
“Here?” he echoed and waved a hand. “You invited me.”
“I meant in Austin,” she said. “Are you really considering Kate’s offer? Or are you hanging around for some other reason?”
Amersen’s back stiffened. There was no way she could know anything about his secondary reason for coming to Texas. The only people who knew were his parents and a couple of the Fortunes. As far as he was aware, Robin wasn’t associated with any of the Fortune family other than Kate. But perhaps he was wrong. She could certainly be acquainted with Ben Fortune Robinson or Keaton Fortune Whitfield. He’d done his own digging when Keaton had first contacted him, and it appeared that his identity had been kept a secret from the rest of the family. Even that nosy journalist Ariana Lamont, who was writing an exposé on the Fortune children, didn’t seem to know who he was—only that he existed.
“Some other reason?” he queried. “Like what?”
“Like...for instance...me?”
Relief coursed through his veins, and he took a couple of steps toward her. “Maybe.”
“Then you’re wasting your time.”
He moved closer. “Considering we’re here alone in this secluded spot, it doesn’t seem to be a complete waste.”
She got to her feet and pushed her shoulders back, which only enhanced her lovely curves. “Is this where you make your move?”
He chuckled. “Maybe. But I’m here at your invitation, remember? So my move, as you put it, is no doubt exactly what you expected.”
“Maybe.” Her blue eyes darkened as she looked him over. “But be warned that if you do, you risk a swift knee in the general direction of your junk.”
He laughed loudly. “You sure about that?”
“Positive. Try me.”
He was sorely tempted. But he also figured she wouldn’t hesitate in carrying out her threat. “You know, you’re the one who insisted we ride here, alone. If you want me to kiss you, Robin, you only have to ask.”
“I don’t want you to kiss me,” she protested weakly. “Or anything else.”
Amersen stepped closer and touched her shoulder, gently curling her toward him. He waited for her reaction, but it didn’t come. Instead, she looked at him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of fire and ice in her expression. She looked as though she wanted to slug him and jump him simultaneously. “You sure?”
She groaned disdainfully and pushed away from him. “God, you’re predictable. And I brought you here to—”
“See me fall on my ass,” he said and raised a brow. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“You still have to make it back to the ranch,” she challenged and strode back toward her horse.
“True,” he said as he followed and noticed that her cheeks were tinged with color. “Tell me something, Robin...why do you dislike me?”
She looked at him. “I don’t...that’s the problem. I just don’t like the
fact that I...”
“That you want me?” he said, finishing her words. “As I want you.”
She was breathing heavy. And she looked mad. At him. And with herself. “It’s getting late. We should get back.”
Then she was up on her horse and riding away from him without another word.
Chapter Four
Robin had always been told she had a fearful temper. And she’d never found that more accurate than when she urged Butterfly into a steady gallop and headed home. She gave the mare her head and let her stretch out, feeling some of her tension seep away as the breeze whipped her cheeks. In all her life, nothing had eased her moods like riding Butterfly. Not chocolate. Not alcohol. Not...
Not a few hours between the sheets.
And just like that, Amersen Beaudin was back in her thoughts. Again. It seemed she couldn’t get him out. She thought about the sexy Frenchman when she should have been doing a dozen other things. And it had to stop. She was so annoyed with herself. Furious that she couldn’t simply forget he existed and send him on his merry way.
She was back by the stables when she spotted Blackjack in her wake. And Amersen. Not walking. Not trotting. But heading toward them in a long, loping canter. He looked calm and comfortable in the saddle and as though he’d been doing it all his life, just as she had.
Damn. The man could ride.
He stopped barely a few feet from her and Blackjack pulled up square, head at a proud angle, clearly attuned to the rider on his back.
Robin glared at the man still astride the big gelding. “You said you could ride a little.”
He shrugged and dismounted easily, handing her the reins as he straightened his clothing and buttoned up his jacket. “It’s been a while.”
Her brows shot up. “Liar.”
He chuckled. “Seeing you’re such a fan of online gossip, I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on the fact that my father is Luc Beaudin...a three-time Olympian and show-jumping silver medalist. I was raised around horses and could ride before I could walk—much like yourself, I suspect.”
