by Joanne Rock
The sound of feminine laughter caught her ear before she could worry about it anymore. As Kyra turned toward the sound, she spied two women walking out of the Beachcomber store several yards away. One of them flipped the sign on the door to read Closed before they headed in her direction juggling loaded straw platters full of food covered in plastic wrap.
She tried not to stare, but there wasn’t exactly a lot of action in Twin Palms on a late Saturday afternoon. And besides, they were definitely the kind of women who caught your eye. Not in an overtly gorgeous Greta way, but simply because of the carefree, happy air about them, an easy manner that seemed inherent to people who lived by the water.
The women could have been twins—except for the maybe fifteen years between them. Long dark hair spilled over their shoulders while they balanced the jumbo trays. Still laughing, they nudged each other with an occasional shoulder on their way toward the marina in halfhearted attempts to dislodge the other’s burden.
Kyra’s interest in them evaporated, however, when she saw them turn down pier eleven toward the biggest yacht docked in the tiny marina. If these women were part of the crowd attending Seth Chandler’s engagement party, she needed to make herself scarce before she was—
Noticed.
No sooner had she thought as much than the younger woman glanced back over her shoulder and paused.
Stared.
It was too late to hide in Jesse’s Jeep so Kyra smiled and willed the woman to move along.
Kyra didn’t consider herself socially inept or anything, but she did spend far more of her time with horses than people. Small talk and charm were Jesse’s strengths, not hers.
And he was so dead for leaving her here to fend for herself while he searched for champagne.
Damn.
The younger brunette shouted over her platter, the breeze fluttering the petals of a red flower tucked behind her right ear. “Kyra Stafford?”
“That’s me. Are you going to the engagement party, too?” Kyra managed a smile and tucked her purse under one arm. Apparently she wouldn’t be able to hide any longer. She just hoped she could remain in the background of this shindig before Jesse arrived.
“I’m Mia Quentin and I’m the lucky bride-to-be.” Grinning, she nodded toward the pier, her hands full. “Come on aboard. I’ve been dying to meet the lady pirate who had the nerve to kidnap Tampa’s most notorious bad boy.”
15
GRETA SNAKED AN ARM behind Clint’s neck while he drove the pickup truck across long, dusty acres of dirt road behind the Crooked Branch. She hadn’t been able to pry her hands off him since he rolled into her driveway late the night before after their week apart.
Just for fun, she rested her other hand on his thigh.
“If you don’t watch what you’re doing there, I’ll never get to show you the surprise,” he growled, downshifting as he navigated a dried-out irrigation ditch.
“There’s only one surprise I want you to give me right now,” she whispered back, licking a path alongside his ear.
The week without him had been hell. She still didn’t want to go to Alabama. And although she seemed to have him partially convinced it was because she didn’t want to live next to a barn full of horses, deep down Greta knew her fears had more to do with giving a powerful man so much say in her life.
She hadn’t consciously thought about growing up in her father’s house in years. No, she stayed as removed from those scary memories as possible. Yet the fears of being emotionally betrayed by a man she loved still lingered.
But she’d definitely gotten a taste of how much it would hurt to walk away from Clint over the past few long, lonely nights.
As she sidled closer to sit hip to hip with him, Greta fully recognized that she was probably trying to tie him to her with the promise of awesome sex. On some level she felt like if he would come to her, take up residence in Florida to be by her side, then she still had some control in their relationship.
If she went there, on his terms, she was giving him everything. Her heart, her soul—and an even bigger potential to hurt her.
Clint peeled her hand away and kissed each of her knuckles with slow precision. The patience—endurance—of this man had proven a continual source of delight. “Trust me, you’re going to like this surprise.”
She could think of one other present she would really like. “You’ve bought a house in Florida?”
Slowing the truck just before the dirt road took a sharp turn, Clint stopped and swiveled in his seat to face her. “No. But this definitely has to do with getting us closer together.”
She fought the pang in her chest. Of course he wasn’t moving here. He’d as good as told her he would be trying to come up with ways to get her to move there, not the other way around. “On your terms.”
“On mutual terms.” He brushed his hands up her arms to her shoulders, his fingers brushing over her collarbones. “I want you to be happy, too. So answer this for me. If I can get you to like horses, would you at least give Alabama a try?”
Again with the damn horses. Of course, what could she expect when she hadn’t been able to share with him her deepest fears. “I can’t see me liking anything with four legs. They’re too—”
Big. Powerful. Frightening.
Greta would always be intimidated by animals—or people—she couldn’t control.
Clint was staring at her oddly and Greta realized she’d never finished her thought. “They’re too hairy. Too messy. Too much work.”
“But that doesn’t answer my question. If you did like horses, would you come to Alabama?”
Greta had to smile. The man was incredibly focused. Would he be as determined to ease her real fears if she were ever brave enough to share them with him? “On the off chance I was ever able to get within five feet of a nine-hundred-pound animal, I might be swayed to cross the state line.”
“Excellent.” Clint slipped a hand around the back of her neck and tugged her forward for a kiss. A slow, deep, full-of-approval kiss. When he finally pulled away, he put the truck in Drive while her eyelids pried themselves open.
Rounding the turn, Greta grew suspicious about the whole horse conversation. “Just where exactly are we going?”
Even as she asked, the scent of the surf filtered in through the truck window. The air had turned damp somewhere along the way and the breeze carried the sound of seagulls.
“I’m taking you to the favorite place of every Florida sunseeker. The beach.”
Sure enough, as they rounded the last curve, the dirt road ended in front of a tiny patch of ungroomed sand and gently rolling waves from the Gulf.
But the beach wasn’t what snagged Greta’s eye.
It was the big black horse standing in the middle of the shore.
“Oh, no.” Had she mentioned she wasn’t a horse lover? The beast on the beach could probably trample her five different ways without even trying. “Clint?”
He was already out of the truck and coming around to the passenger side to help her out. “You can’t knock it until you’ve at least said hello.”
Actually, Greta was pretty certain she could do a terrific job of knocking it without getting anywhere near the huge horse, but she took Clint’s hand and stepped out of the truck. She’d always been able to count on her sense of adventure to pull her through almost anything, but her usual pluck seemed a bit sapped where Clint and his horses were concerned.
She’d taken a risk just by allowing herself to be with him—a guy so different from any man she’d ever known. But Clint was settling for a superficial relationship from her and she knew that on a deep, instinctive level without him having to spell it out for her in so many words.
Maybe she’d chosen Jesse first because he’d appeared as outwardly superficial as Greta liked to be. She could appreciate a man who just wanted to have fun for fun’s sake. But Clint wanted—expected—so much more from her. Jesse hadn’t ever made her question what was really important to her in life the way Clint did.<
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As if sensing her thoughts, Clint turned toward her as they neared the animal. “You nervous?”
Greta eyed the horse as it stomped the ground and shuffled its feet, swinging its head around to shake off a fly. She squeezed Clint’s hand. “Not at all,” she lied. “I’m just hoping you’ve got a Plan B in mind once we leave here and I don’t like this...creature any better.”
Her heart hammered in her throat where it had lodged the moment she’d realized she needed to face her fear. Perhaps even from the moment she’d considered saying goodbye to Clint.
He reached out to the horse and patted its nose. Snout? Greta had no clue.
“Greta, meet Sam’s Pride.” Clint lifted her hand to touch the side of the horse’s face.
Her fingers barely grazed its fur—hair?—when the thing bucked his head and made a snickering sound halfway between laughing and snoring.
She jumped back. “You see?”
Clint arched an eyebrow, and by the sympathetic look in his eye, Greta had the feeling he did see. All too well, and right through her.
He knew there was more to this than a fear of horses. But patient, gentle Clint seemed willing to let her work through it her own way.
“I see a tentative streak I never expected to find in gutsy Greta Ingram. How can a woman who’s traveled the world alone and hitchhiked on deserted stretches of rural highway be so intimidated by a lone horse?”
Greta felt her feathers start to ruffle in spite of her fear. “I am not intimidated. And it doesn’t exactly indicate bravery to hitchhike on a deserted road. I think most people would take it as a sign of sheer stupidity, but since I never learned how to drive, I get around as best as I can.”
Clint moved around her and patted the horse’s side. “I’m going to help you fix that today.” He pulled himself up onto the animal’s back. No easy feat considering this horse didn’t come with any convenient running boards or other step-stool device. “Ready to learn how to drive?”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” She didn’t know much about horses, but she was pretty sure they were supposed to have a little more equipment than this one, who looked naked, as far as she was concerned.
“Come on up here.” He reached a hand down to her. As if she would take it and suddenly be transported on top of the humungous animal beneath him. “Those mile-long legs of yours surely have a few more uses than making men drool.”
Okay, call her shallow, but flattery did have a way of distracting her from her fears just a little. Frowning, she stared down at her bare legs and short skirt. “I’m wearing a dress.”
His voice lowered a few notches. “Then that’ll just make your first time all the more fun.”
Before she could follow that line of thinking, Clint slid his hands beneath her arms and lifted her through the air. She squealed, but she didn’t flail, unwilling to risk his balance on the horse. A little thrill shot through her as it occurred to her how strong his thighs had to be to stay on that horse while pulling her aboard.
Settling her before him, Clint seated her with her back to his front, her bottom settled neatly against his hips. The backs of her bare thighs molded to the jean-clad fronts of his.
Having her legs spread across the back of the horse was a naughty thrill sort of like riding a motorcycle. Only her thighs were forced apart a bit more widely.
Just as Greta started to fully appreciate the provocative power of the position, Clint’s hand clamped to her rib cage, the rough texture of his broad palm apparent through the thin cotton of her insubstantial little sundress. The top of his thumb grazed the bottom of her breast and rubbed the soft flesh in a slow arc.
Clint’s voice rumbled behind her, through her. “Good thing you remembered to wear panties.”
“Is it?” She heated up beneath those panties. Longed for him to move his hand lower. And lower still.
He chuckled. “Didn’t you tell me animals were too messy? Too hairy? Too much work?” His hand slid lower over her belly. To the top of her thigh. “I figure it’s a good thing you have a little something between you and him.”
His fingers brushed up the hem of her dress to slip between her and the horse. She was already damp with arousal. And overwhelmed that Clint would take so much time and care to make her feel at ease when she was scared.
Clint’s voice was thick with the same hunger she felt. “Are you ready?”
Leaning her head back on his shoulder, she looked up into his eyes. And in that moment, she saw something in his horse whisperer eyes that calmed her fears even as he stirred her heart and her body. A subtle communication that told her she could trust him to love her no matter how over-the-top her antics. No matter how many times she dragged him to Paris during the spring show season.
Yet, just then, Greta had the feeling she would grow deep roots in Alabama beside this man who seemed to understand her better than she understood herself.
She leaned forward to press against his palm all the more deeply. Thrusting her hips into his touch and giving herself into his care. She knew, now more than ever, that a man like Clint would never try to control her. Even now he was finding new ways to make her feel in command of her own fears, her reservations. “I think you know I’m ready.”
But instead of reaching inside her panties and teasing her to the climax she wanted, Clint moved his hand back to her waist and nudged the horse forward with his heels.
Greta tried to voice her protest, but then the horse’s shoulders moved underneath her as the animal walked, and then kicked up the speed even faster to run along the beach. Her protest came out as a moan, the rhythm between her thighs too obvious to ignore.
Clint held her to him, his hand locking around her breast to tease and caress even as he kept her steady. The nudge of his arousal against her bottom was made all the more erotic by the bump and grind effect of the horse beneath them.
And then the heated center of her gyrated in slow motion, keeping time with the horse’s gallop. Dizzy with need, she couldn’t help but throw her head back to the wind and the water the horse kicked up as it pounded through the surf. Faster.
Faster.
Until she soared right into the horizon on a wave of pure fulfillment.
Laughing and happy, there was no way Greta could ever pretend she hadn’t liked this. Hadn’t liked the horse. Hadn’t appreciated Clint’s efforts to let her face her fears.
Turning in Clint’s lap to face him, she locked her legs around his hips and pressed herself to what she really wanted.
Him.
Not just now, but forever.
“I think I just got my first glimpse of the Crimson Tide,” she whispered, her blood still surging through her veins in a flood of heated fulfillment. She allowed her forehead to fall against his, ready to give herself over to this man in every way possible. “When do we leave for Alabama?”
* * *
JESSE SQUINTED TO see the shoreline in the last purple rays of the setting sun. Half an hour into the engagement party cruise he had commandeered Kyra to stand at the rail with him and watch for the small patch of beach that belonged to the Crooked Branch.
He’d ridden that narrow stretch of coastline enough times over the past few years that he ought to recognize it from the water.
“There it is.” He pointed over the water and used the opportunity to drape an arm around Kyra’s shoulders. She was nervous and edgy about tonight. He could feel it in her every gesture and movement. More than anything, he wanted to reassure her. Distract her. Help her to have fun for a change. “Who’s on our beach?”
Kyra squinted right along with him. Leaning forward over the rail just a little.
She smiled. “It’s Clint and Greta.”
Jesse could barely make out the couple in the last rays of daylight, but he definitely caught a glimpse of feminine bare thigh wrapped around a man’s waist.
And he was probably just imagining it, but he could swear he saw the guy in the Stetson grinning like a son of a gun.
Clint Bowman had obviously figured out how to make a relationship work. Would Jesse be so lucky?
Pulling Kyra closer, he hoped like hell he could offer her the kind of relationship she deserved. But if his vision served him and that horse Clint and Greta had been riding was the same three-year-old Jesse had asked Kyra not to sell, he had the feeling they were in for a long haul toward understanding one another. “I think it’s great they found each other. But I can’t help but think that was Sam’s Pride they were riding. You didn’t—”
“I didn’t. I just loaned the horse to Clint so he could help Greta with him and see how they do.” She didn’t pull out of his embrace. Hadn’t ignored his input to do what she wanted with her horse.
Damn but that felt good for a change.
He’d always tread carefully with her because she was so independent. But if she was willing to bend occasionally...the possibilities for a future together seemed a little more within reach.
Jesse definitely liked that. Liked holding her. They could rejoin his family in a minute. Right now, he just wanted to savor a few more minutes with Kyra. “Good. I’m betting Sam’s Pride will go to Clint without so much as a whicker once that horse knows you’re happy.”
Kyra laughed, a soft musical sound that carried on the Gulf breeze and wrapped right around him. “So I spent all that money on a horse whisperer to figure out Sam’s Pride’s problems when all I had to do was ask you? I’m already happy. Why don’t you just tell Sam’s Pride as much for me, and that will solve a lot of problems?”
Jesse considered the matter and how to explain the esoterics of horse intuition to a woman who was as practical as she was beautiful. “I think you need to show Sam’s Pride you’re happy for good. That you’re—”
All mine.
The thought was as plain as day. But where the hell had it come from?
Jesse blinked. He hadn’t had a thought like that about any woman. Ever. His father had walked out on his mother and three kids at a vulnerable time in all their lives. Seth had pulled man-of-the-house duty for most of his life and had done a damn good job of it, but Jesse had always resented how much his old man had hurt his mother. While Seth worked his butt off to help support them, Jesse had been at home enough to see a lot of his mother’s tears.
