Knowing the Score

by Marie Donovan

  It was his turn to smile at her nervousness and call her bluff. “Why not?” She had inflamed him as a mare in heat provoked a stallion, and he swore he smelled her arousal from where he stood. She was more than willing for him to take her right there, actually trembling in anticipation.

  He cast a swift look around the stable. They were still alone, but he was sure she didn’t realize security cameras covered almost every square inch of the building. Except for one place.

  He grabbed her hand and tugged her to the old tack room. It was tucked away in the corner, unused due to the newer and larger tack room built during the recent expansion. He slid the door open with a creak, the smell of leather and saddle oil a welcome scent.

  “Here?” She looked around the dim room. He wasn’t sure if she had changed her mind until she grabbed him by his undone belt and yanked him to her. Although he loved that she had taken charge, in the stables he was the boss. Ashley would enjoy learning that lesson.

  BEFORE SHE MET Beck, Ashley had never considered sex in a public place to be so arousing, but some dark impulse was carrying her along into a heated vortex of passion, and Beck was more than willing to sink with her.

  He cupped her face. “We don’t have long until the staff returns. Let’s see how many times I can make you come. Then I’ll take you home and double that.”

  She clamped her thighs together against the tremor that ran through her at his blatantly sexual promise.

  “No, none of that.” He reached under her skirt and pulled her panties down, his hands gliding up her legs but stopping short of where she ached for him. She stepped out of her panties and he tucked them in his pocket. “Sit.” He gestured to a saddle sitting on a freestanding wooden saddle rack.

  She leaned against it and he moved in close to her. “Not like that.”

  She gulped. He meant for her to straddle it. Naked. She stared at him.

  “Never mind.” He pulled out her panties, dangling the ivory silk from his fingers. “I can understand if you don’t want to…” He was teasing her, daring her to wimp out.

  In a fit of bravado, she hiked up her skirt and swung her leg over the saddle. She hissed out a sigh as the cool leather touched spots that had never been touched in quite that way.

  A slow grin spread over Beck’s face. “You’ve never done anything like this before, have you?” He didn’t wait for an answer and moved behind her. “I told you I’d give you a riding lesson.”

  He pulled her skirt up to her waist. “It’s important to keep your seat in the saddle. And you have a very nice seat.”

  She bit her lip as his fingers played with the curves of her bottom, molding and cupping them where they pressed into the saddle. The leather was rapidly heating under her and he continued relentlessly.

  “Another important technique is learning how to post—that means standing in the saddle as the horse moves under you.” He pushed on her butt until she lifted herself on shaking legs. When she sat, she had to stifle a scream. He had inserted his hand between her and the saddle, his fingers pressing into her clit.

  “Now you tip back and forth as you become accustomed to the saddle underneath you.” He gently rocked her as he stroked her clit. The leather slipped and slid under her as her juices bathed his hand. She rotated her hips, grinding against the saddle to assuage the terrible ache he was building inside her. She moved faster and faster until he pinched her clit and threw her over the edge. Tremors shot throughout her body but Beck was relentless, sliding his fingers inside her.

  “That’s it, move up and down on me,” he coaxed her as her breath caught in a sob.

  “No, it’s too much.”

  He laughed softly and flicked his tongue over her earlobe. “Not for you, Ashley. We’ve just scratched the surface. Who would have thought a cool, sophisticated woman like you would sit with your bare pussy on a saddle and ride my hand?”

  She moaned at both his raw words and the images they conjured.

  “Clock’s ticking, Ash. If my long fingers pushed inside you can’t make you come again, you’ll have to wait. And you don’t want to wait, do you?”

  She shook her head. He gently pushed on her butt. “Up and down. There you go.”

  His fingers spread her wide and he pressed into her slick passage. Ashley gritted her teeth to muffle a moan when he found her G-spot. “Beck…”

  “Go ahead, baby. Ride my hand like it’s my cock.”

  She succumbed to him and rode him hard, the wet leather slapping into her bottom as he impaled her. His free hand cupped and pinched her butt, spreading her wide open and coming daringly close to her bottom hole.

  He nuzzled her ear again. “Do you know how sexy it is to see you grinding your sweet little ass on that saddle? You’re going to make me explode in a second.”

  She bit her lip and stiffened as he pushed her G-spot again. She fell to pieces on him and released a cry, her orgasm exploding into her belly and aching breasts. She slumped forward onto the saddle holder, her arms shaking.

  Beck left her for a second and she heard him unzip his pants and rip open a packet. He helped her dismount from the saddle, his huge erection brushing her wet thigh. Her legs were shaking from the powerful climaxes and she wasn’t sure if they would support her or even wrap around him.

  He steadied her and turned her to face the saddle’s side. Her scent rose from the leather and made her dizzy with the sensual memory.

  He yanked her bodice down and his hands came around to cup her. He immediately plucked her nipples into diamond-hard tips. “Over.” He gently pushed her so she bent at the waist. “Here, grab these for support.” He placed her hands on two wooden bars next to the saddle.

  She didn’t care that she was naked except for a strip of cloth at her waist, didn’t care that the grooms could return at any time, didn’t care that she was probably scaring the horses with her passionate moans. All she cared was that she was primed for Beck’s hard, hot cock to ram inside her. She looked over her shoulder. He stood fully clothed except for his erection jutting from his riding breeches, his red polo shirt perfectly pressed and his boots shiny with polish. It was the sexiest thing she had ever seen. “If I stand over your boots with no panties on, will you be able to see me naked?”

  His laugh sounded choked. “If you stand over my boots with no panties on, I guarantee I’ll have you naked.”

  She slowly spread her legs. “How about now?”

  “Now is wonderful.” He moved behind her and entered her in one slick, wonderful stroke. They both groaned as he sank to the hilt. “No, now is wonderful.”

  “Mmm…” Ashley couldn’t help but agree. She wiggled her bottom at him and he hissed out a breath.

  “Hold on tight, baby, because I’m going to fuck you hard. You’ve been teasing me and now you’ll find out how a stallion takes his mare.” He pounded into her, his balls slapping into her bottom, his breeches rubbing her bare thighs.

  “Oh, Beck,” she sighed.

  “So naughty. What if somebody came by and saw me thrusting into your hot, sweet pussy? Do you want an audience?” He nipped her neck and she didn’t care if he left a love bruise.

  She shook her head, but her pussy clamped around him at the idea of being watched by a jealous groom or envious debutante.

  He chuckled softly, obviously feeling her reaction. “You do want to get caught. Maybe I should slow my pace.” He did, and she protested. He laughed. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll cover your breasts so nobody can see them.” He cupped her breasts and teased her nipples again. “And since you’re bent over, all they can see is the side of your thigh.” He ran a hand down her thigh and fingered her clit. “They won’t be able to see this, though, or see your dripping wet little center that’s the perfect home for my cock.”

  She writhed under him, half in anxiety, half in anticipation.

  “But they’ll still know exactly what we’re doing. Your moans, the hot, salty scent rising off your body as you come. You can’t hide anything.�
� He moved faster in her again. “Especially not from me.”

  “No.” Her world had shrunk to the triangle of his hands and cock. “Not from you.”

  “Who am I, Ashley?” His voice was hard and rough.

  “Beck,” she groaned.

  “I’m your lover. Say it,” he grated.

  “My lover.” She shuddered as he jerked inside her.

  “Your only lover. The only man who can make you want this, make you do this.”

  “You’re my only lover…” She broke off into a groan. “Oh, Beck, I need…I need…”

  “You need me to fuck you.” He knew exactly what she needed and took her hard against the saddle, his thrusts punctuated with grunts. She screamed as his cock bumped her deep inside and he pinched her nipples. She writhed on the leather as he milked her response for several minutes before shouting his own release. He pulsed inside her, his big body slumping over hers and his hands trapped between her and the leather.

  His breath rasped in her ear and his muscles tensed. “Someone’s coming.” He straightened and withdrew from her body. On the theoretical side, she knew she would be horribly embarrassed to get caught naked slumped against a saddle, but on the practical side, she was too satiated and wrung out to care.

  She heard him adjust his clothing and zip his breeches and he pulled her to a standing position and fixed her dress. She leaned on her elbows and smiled at him.

  He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know why I bothered. You have a nice love bite here.” He brushed her neck. “And that lazy, well-loved grin is a dead giveaway. You may as well wear a sign that says, ‘I went riding in the stables.’”

  “Ooh, sounds dirty.”

  He bent to drop a kiss on her mouth, his easygoing public persona such a change from the blindingly intense lover. “Oh, it was. But you don’t hear me complaining.”

  “Me neither.” She let him help her to a standing position and tucked her arm through his, as though they had stopped into the quaint little tack room for an informative tour.

  Beck slid open the door and stepped into the stable aisle. A groom came toward them carrying some currycombs and brushes. He nodded respectfully to Beck and carefully avoided glancing in Ashley’s direction. She was sure he guessed what they had been doing.

  And the funny thing was, she didn’t care. She hadn’t thought of her business or her carefully crafted reputation once Beck had started touching her.

  They passed his favorite pony, Caesar, who neighed. “Ah, don’t fuss, buddy.” Beck smiled at Ashley and tugged her close to his side. “He doesn’t like sharing my affection.”

  Ashley’s heart gave a flip. He was making light conversation, of course, after their intense interlude. She took a deep breath and reminded her acrobatic heart that that was all it was, and all it had to be.

  8

  ASHLEY’S PALM slipped as she grabbed the brass door handle to Jardin des Fleurs, Garden of Flowers, one of the only four-star French restaurants in south Florida and the place where Enric Bruguera would fall in love with her designs and buy them all. Maybe he would even buy some of her current inventory for resale so she could view that rarest of creatures on her spreadsheets, a positive cash flow.

  The maître d’ was waiting for her in the cool, quiet foyer. Ashley gave him a cheerful smile. “I’m here for a business meeting with Mr. Bruguera.” She figured the maître d’ knew Enric’s last name.

  “Ah, Mademoiselle Craig?” His fine black brows arched ever so slightly.

  “Yes.” She smiled and gripped her leather portfolio as the maître d’ led her through a maze of snowy-white tables, and hoped her sweaty hand wouldn’t leave a big, wet print on it. How would she eat anything with her stomach jumping like this? Suddenly, she wished Beck were here to lighten her mood with his sweet grin and the winks he slipped her when nobody else was looking.

  But thinking of him made her feel better, perspiring palms or not. She had wanted to tell him about her meeting, but didn’t want to jinx it.

  “Señor Bruguera, your guest.”

  The holder of her business hopes and dreams stood, dressed in a fine Italian suit and a purple silk tie. “Ah, Ms. Craig. Good to see you again.” He also wore a lovely tie bar of thick gold with a high-quality diamond set in the center. She bet his cufflinks matched the bar.

  “And you as well, Señor Bruguera.” She allowed the men to seat her and ordered a white wine. If her shaky hands got the better of her, at least the white wouldn’t ruin her pale peach suit jacket and skirt. She’d chosen the color to match her jewelry, a gold lapel pin shaped like a tree with peaches made of slightly pinker gold and a matching larger peach hanging on a fine gold necklace.

  The waiter brought her drink along with a sampler of appetizers—goat cheese and tomato tarts, peppered marinated olives and grilled bacon-wrapped figs. Ashley guessed Enric had already ordered and she didn’t care. She was there to do business, and she doubted she’d taste much food anyway.

  “So, señor, how are you enjoying Palm Beach?”

  He inclined his head. “I make it a practice to visit several times a year during the social seasons. I made an effort, however, to arrive during the polo club tournament. Me, I love the game, although I did not grow up playing it. My father, he was a baker in Barcelona. No horses.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “However, he and I, we both make the dough, eh?”

  Ashley laughed and he boomed out his laughter as well. After he’d swallowed some of his hearty-looking red wine, he relaxed in the banquette and gave her an appraising glance. “You, you are born here? You have the look of someone who grew up on the beach.”

  “Yes, I started by making jewelry for the surfers and swimmers.”

  “Out of what?” He looked puzzled.

  “Shells, fiber, hemp, anything I found.”

  “Your parents, they did not buy you supplies?”

  Her mother had barely bought her enough food. “My parents were not around much.” Ashley decided to tell Enric the truth about her upbringing. He might appreciate it, having risen from the working classes himself. She deliberately switched into Spanish. “My mother left and our Cuban neighbors took me in. I worked in their restaurant from the age of nine until I finished design school. Their daughter Letitia is now married to Paolo Saavedra de Léon.”

  His bushy black eyebrows shot up. “Dios mío, that thick accent tells me you are not lying.” His own Barcelonan accent was as colloquial as hers.

  “I am not. That is why I am driven to create jewelry—because I am starting with nothing and I want to make something, to take an ugly lump of metal and make it into beautiful things. There are too many ugly lumps and not enough beautiful things in this world.”

  He rolled the stem of his wineglass between his fingers and stared at her for several seconds. “Brava, señorita. Ugly lumps, indeed.” He broke into hearty laughter again and gestured at the waiter, who arrived as if he wore jetpacks strapped to his ankles. “Más vino, por favor.”

  Ashley blew out a silent sigh of relief and allowed the waiter to top off her glass. Fortunately the first course was arriving, so she wasn’t drinking on an empty stomach. She had the feeling Enric’s tolerance for alcohol was much, much higher than hers.

  They chatted their way through the main course, a wine-poached salmon fillet with black truffles. Despite her nervousness, she was able to appreciate the dish’s exotic earthiness.

  After the plates had been cleared away, she was dying to introduce their business discussion, but business in the Spanish world was not done that way. Enric was enlightened enough to talk business with her, a woman, but Spaniards did not jump into business without observing many social niceties. She knew this was as much an interview of her as a person as it was of her as a jewelry designer. Was she a person with whom Enric would want to work closely? Did she know not to wipe her mouth on the tablecloth or get slobbering drunk at business functions?

  Mentally blessing Letitia’s mother and father for drummin
g manners into her when she had been quite the heathen, Ashley smiled and discussed the weather, the polo tournament, the best beaches in the area and all sorts of trivial things before their dessert, a crème caramel that rivaled the flan Tisha’s family served at their restaurant, was finished.

  Enric’s gaze sharpened despite his wine consumption and he stared at her lapel and neckline. Ashley knew business time was about to start. “I have never seen jewelry made into peaches before.”

  She understood his unspoken request and unfastened the two pieces so he could examine them.

  As she figured, he turned them quickly over in his hands, knowing exactly what to look for in her craftsmanship and the quality of her materials, especially the more unusual pinkish-peach gold. “Where would we sell something like that?”

  She spread her hands wide. “The home of the peach—Georgia.”

  He laughed. “All right. But perhaps not fancy enough for my Atlanta clientele.”

  “I don’t see why not. It’s appropriate for lunches such as ours, ladies’ club meetings, even for a teenager whose mother may want to buy her high-quality jewelry that is still age-appropriate. It’s the kind of piece she can wear during college and throughout her adult years without being seen as fussy or too old. After all, a Georgia woman is never too old to be a Georgia peach.” Ashley held her breath to see if Enric would take kindly to contradiction.

  Instead he laughed. “Ah, and who are we to tell women they are too old for anything? Me, I am not that foolish.” He handed her the golden peaches and she fastened them around her neck and onto her jacket.

  Ashley thought of Beck’s aunt Mimi and nodded in agreement. “Not a good way to keep your clients happy.”

  “And you—how would you keep our clients happy?”

  He had said our. She hoped that was a good sign. “I believe client happiness comes as a balance—enough trendy pieces to coordinate with what’s important for spring and fall collections, yet having enough classic pieces—the metal and gemstone equivalent of a string of pearls.”