by Abby Green
* * *
‘You are a beautiful boy, aren’t you? Yes, you are...and you know it too. Yes, there you go...’ The three-year-old colt whinnied softly in appreciation as he took the raw carrot from Nessa’s hand and she rubbed his nose.
She knew she shouldn’t be here in the racing section of Barbier’s stables, where the current thoroughbreds resided, but she hadn’t been able to resist. She felt at peace for the first time in days, even as her body actually ached with the need to feel a horse underneath her with all that coiled power and strength and speed. But she wouldn’t be riding again for a while.
‘You were told to stay away from this area.’
And just like that Nessa’s short-lived sense of peace vanished and was replaced by an all-too predictable jump in her heart-rate. She turned around to see Barbier standing a few feet away, arms folded. He was wearing a white shirt, and it made his skin look even darker. His hair touched the collar, curling slightly.
‘I’m on a break,’ she responded defensively, wondering if he was this autocratic with all his employees. But she had to admit that, so far, everyone seemed pretty content to be working here. She’d found out that the employee who’d been fired on the spot had been smoking weed and she’d had to concede that he would have suffered a similar fate on their own stud farm. Barbier had also enrolled the employee on an addiction course. It was disconcerting to realise that perhaps he wasn’t as ruthless as she’d like to believe.
Barbier moved now and closed the distance between them before she could take another breath. He snatched the rest of the carrot out of her hand, frowning. ‘What are you feeding Tempest?’
‘It’s just a carrot.’ She pulled her hand back into her chest disconcerted by the shock his fleeting touch had given her.
He glared at her, and he was far too close, but Nessa’s back was against the stall door and the horse. She was trapped.
‘No one is allowed to feed my horses unless they’re supervised.’
Her mouth dropped open and then she sputtered, ‘It’s just a carrot!’
He was grim. ‘A carrot that could contain poison or traces of steroids for all I know.’
Nessa went cold. ‘You think I would harm your horses?’
His jaw was as hard as granite. ‘I’m under enough scrutiny as it is. I don’t need the possible accomplice of a thief messing around with my valuable livestock. I don’t know what you’re capable of. How did you know that this is the horse?’
Nessa struggled to keep up. ‘What horse?’
Now Barbier was impatient. ‘The horse I bought from Gio Corretti.’
Nessa swallowed. ‘I had no idea, I just came in for a visit. He seemed agitated.’
Barbier’s gaze went from her to the horse behind her and she took the opportunity to slide sideways, putting some distance between them. He put out a hand and stroked the side of Tempest’s neck, murmuring soft words in French. Nessa’s gaze locked onto his big hand stroking the horse, and she had to struggle not to imagine how that hand might feel on her. She’d never in her life imagined a man stroking her—she must be losing her mind.
The horse pushed his head into Barbier’s hand and Nessa glanced at Barbier to see his features relax slightly. For a heady moment she imagined that there was no enmity between them and that he might not always look at her as if she’d just committed a crime. She wondered what he’d look like if he smiled and then she glanced away quickly, mortified at herself and afraid he would read her shameful thoughts on her face.
Barbier said, ‘He’s been agitated since he arrived, not settling in properly.’
Welcoming the diversion from her wayward imagination, Nessa replied, ‘He’s probably just pining for his mother.’
Barbier looked at her sharply, his hand dropping away. ‘How would you know such a thing?’
Nessa flushed and kept avoiding his eye. How could she explain the weird affinity for horses that she shared with her sister and father? She shrugged. ‘I just guessed.’
Barbier’s voice was harsh. ‘Gio Corretti told me and your brother that we might have issues settling the colt because he hadn’t been separated from his mother until recently, which is unusual. That’s how you know.’
Nessa looked at Barbier and saw the condemnation and distrust in his eyes. How could she defend a gut feeling? She shrugged and looked away. ‘If you say so.’
Without realising it, Nessa’s hand had instinctively lifted up to touch the horse again, until suddenly Barbier reached out and took it. Nessa jumped at the weird electricity that sparked whenever they got too close. She tried to pull her hand back but his grip was too firm. And warm.
He was holding her palm facing upwards, and asked grimly, ‘What is this?’
She looked down and saw what he saw: her very unpretty hands, skin roughened from her training as a jockey and blistered from the last few days of hard work. Humiliated at the thought that he’d see this as proof she wasn’t used to work, she yanked her hand back and cradled it to her chest again. ‘It’s nothing.’
She backed away towards the entrance. ‘I should go—my break is over.’ She turned and forced herself to walk and not run away, not even sure what she was running from. But something about the way he’d just taken her hand and looked so disapproving to see the marks of her labour made her feel incredibly self-conscious and also a little emotional, which was truly bizarre.
Nessa couldn’t recall the last time anyone had focused attention on her like that. Her sister had done her best but she wasn’t their mother. Their father hadn’t been much use while he’d drowned his sorrows.
So they’d had to fend for themselves mostly. She hadn’t even realised until that moment how much another’s touch could pierce her right to the core. And for it to have been Luc Barbier was inconceivable and very disturbing. She didn’t have an emotional connection with that man—the very notion was ridiculous.
* * *
Luc watched as Nessa walked quickly out of the stables and around the corner with an easy athletic grace that made him wonder what she’d be like on a horse. Excellent, his instincts told him, as much as he’d like to ignore them.
He was still astounded at the apparent ease with which she’d calmed Tempest, who was one of the most volatile horses Luc had ever bought. But also potentially one of the best, if his hunch about the colt’s lineage was right. Certainly Gio Corretti had asked for top dollar, so he’d clearly suspected potential greatness too.
Luc turned back to the horse, who pushed his face into Luc’s shoulder, nudging. Did Luc really believe Nessa would poison the horse? He held up the innocuous, gnarled carrot and eventually fed it to the horse with a sigh.
The answer came from his gut: no, she wouldn’t poison his horse. She’d looked too shocked when he’d said it. But the fact was that, until her brother reappeared or the money did, the jury was out on Nessa O’Sullivan and he had to keep her under close scrutiny. He’d be a fool not to suspect that brother and sister were working in tandem.
Luc told himself it was for this reason, and not because her raw hands had twisted something inside his gut, that he was about to move her to where she could be kept under closer scrutiny.
CHAPTER THREE
‘I’M MOVING YOU out of the stables and into the house.’
Nessa looked at Luc Barbier where he stood behind his desk. She’d been summoned here a few minutes ago by the head groom, Simon Corrigan, and she’d tried not to let the understated luxury of the grand old Irish country house intimidate her.
This was where Barbier’s suite of private offices were based and now she stood on thick sumptuous carpet and was surrounded by dark oak panelling. Books filled floor-to-ceiling shelves. In contrast to the rather conservative decor, there was modern art on the walls that tickled at Nessa’s curiosity. And behind Barbier, a massive window where Nessa could see the training gallops in the distance. An amazing view and one that made her yearn to be on a horse.
But she dragged her attention ba
ck to what he’d said. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I said, I’m moving you into the house.’ He enunciated the words slowly, which only made his accent more noticeable. Nessa still couldn’t get over the raw, untameable energy that emanated from the man, in spite of the luxe surroundings.
She felt a bit dense. ‘Why?’
‘My housekeeper has lost one of her household assistants and so I told her you would fill in.’
‘Household assistant,’ Nessa said slowly as it sank in. ‘You mean a cleaner?’
Barbier grimaced faintly. ‘I think they prefer the term household assistant.’
A faint burn of humiliation washed up through her body. ‘This is because I went to see your racehorses.’
Barbier’s jaw tightened. ‘I’m not so petty.’
Nessa thought of being cooped up indoors cleaning floors and already felt claustrophobic. ‘You accused me of potential sabotage.’
Barbier’s jaw got even tighter. ‘At this point in time I have no idea what you’re capable of. You’ve put yourself in this position in a bid to convince me your brother is innocent. Mrs Owens, my housekeeper, needs someone to help her out—’
‘And I’m just the handy house-arrest guest you can move about at will to wherever it suits you,’ Nessa interrupted, feeling frustrated and angry.
‘You’re the one who is here by choice, Nessa. By all means you’re free to walk out this door at any time, but if you do I won’t hesitate to involve the local police.’
Nessa tipped up her chin, feeling reckless. ‘So why don’t you do it, then? Just call them!’
Barbier didn’t look remotely fazed at her outburst. ‘Because,’ he said easily, ‘I don’t believe it serves either of our interests to involve the law at this point. Do you really want to drag your family name into the open and inform everyone of what your brother has done?’
Nessa went cold inside when she thought of the lines of pain already etched into her father’s face. Indelible lines that would never fade even in spite of his much better mental state. She thought of Iseult’s frantic worry and her husband, Nadim, who would undoubtedly storm in to take over—just weeks before their baby was due.
Nessa looked at the man in front of her and hated him at that moment. Hated the way he was able to hold her to ransom so easily, and then that hatred turned inwards. She only had herself to blame. And Paddy.
She had taken responsibility and she couldn’t crumble now.
She forced down an awful feeling of futility and said, ‘No, I don’t want anyone to know what has happened. If I stay and do as you ask, can you promise that you won’t report what Paddy has done?’
Barbier inclined his head slightly. ‘Like I said, it serves us both to keep this to ourselves for the time being.’
Nessa wondered why he was so reluctant to let this get out, but then she realised that he would hardly like it to be known that payment for a horse had gone astray. It would put off potential sellers everywhere.
For a fleeting moment Nessa considered threatening to leak this news in return for Barbier’s assurance that Paddy wouldn’t be prosecuted. But she realised, without even testing him, that Barbier was not a man who could be so easily manipulated.
Apart from which, she didn’t have the stomach for blackmail, and there would be no way that Paddy’s reputation could remain unsullied. He might never get the chance to prove his innocence, and with the stain of possible theft and corruption on his record he’d never get a job in the industry he loved again. It would ruin him. Not to mention the disappointment of their father and sister...
As if privy to her thoughts, Barbier said, ‘You’re the only insurance Paddy has at the moment. His only guarantee of any kind of protection. You walk out of here and that’s gone, along with any sliver of doubt I may have about his guilt.’
Nessa’s heart thumped hard at that. So there was a chance that Barbier might believe in Paddy, if she could just convince him to return and explain what had happened. She had to cling onto that.
Not even sure what she wanted to say but wanting to capitalise on any sliver of mercy she could, she started, ‘Mr Barbier—’
‘It’s Luc,’ he cut her off. ‘I don’t stand on ceremony with anyone, not even a suspected thief.’
He didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, yet he would still allow her to call him by his first name. Nessa didn’t like how his bad opinion of her affected her. She’d never done a dishonest thing in her life—apart from creeping onto this property on that fateful night.
She told herself that she just didn’t like anyone thinking badly of her—and that Barbier’s opinion of her wasn’t important. But that felt like a lie.
‘Fine, I’ll work in the house.’
The corner of his mouth tipped up ever so slightly in a mocking smile. ‘I like how you give yourself the illusion of having a choice.’
Nessa controlled her facial expression, not wanting to let him know how much he got to her. ‘Was that all?’
Now he looked slightly frustrated, as if he’d expected something else from her. After a moment he just said coolly, ‘Yes, Mrs Owens will send for you and show you what she needs. You’ll move into one of the staff bedrooms here.’
So she was to be completely removed from the realm of the stud farm and racing stables. Her heart contracted at the thought of being away from the horses, but at the same time an illicit fizz started in her body at the realisation that she’d be sleeping under the same roof as Barbier—Luc.
She’d never be able to say his name out loud; it felt far too intimate.
And not that she’d even see him, she assured herself. Not that she wanted to see him! She’d probably be confined to cleaning bathrooms and vacuuming hallways. Nessa left his office with as much dignity as she could muster.
En route back to her own quarters, she diverted and went to the paddocks where the stallions idly grazed the lush grass.
One of the huge beasts came over and whinnied, pushing his face into Nessa’s shoulder. She dutifully pulled out the ubiquitous carrot she always carried and fed it to him, stroking his soft nose and feeling ridiculously at sea.
Being sequestered indoors and kept away from the bucolic expanse and the animals was more of a punishment than mucking out stableyards and stables ever could be. But Nessa couldn’t convince herself that Barbier was doing it out of spite. He really didn’t seem that petty.
Instead, she couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d taken her hand in his and looked at her rough skin so fiercely the other day. She’d felt self-conscious ever since then. She curled her hands inwards now and shoved them back into her pockets, backing away from the horse.
As she walked back to the main buildings she told herself it was ridiculous to imagine for a second that Barbier had moved her away from the stables for any other reason than just because she was bound to serve out her time here however he willed it.
The man couldn’t care less about her labour-worn hands, and, anyway, hot soapy water and housework were hardly going to be any less taxing or more gentle! She just had to get on with it and make the best of this situation until they could prove Paddy’s innocence.
* * *
It took a long time for the heat in Luc’s body to die down after Nessa had left his office. He’d had to battle the urge to push his desk aside and take that stubborn chin in his thumb and forefinger, tipping it up so that she presented her lush mouth to his. Silencing her in a way that would be unbelievably satisfying.
It was confounding. And irritating as hell. Especially as she was wearing nothing more provocative than a worn T-shirt, jeans and boots, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and no make-up. Yet there was something very earthy and sensual about her that made her all woman.
That, and the defiant tilt of her jaw and the look in her eyes, effortlessly enflamed him. He had the same impulse when he was around her that he had with an unbroken horse. A desire to tame it, and make it bend to his will.
He’d neve
r before become so interested in one woman. Women had never enthralled Luc beyond the initial attraction, and it usually waned quickly. He’d be the first to admit his experience of women hadn’t been the most rounded. His mother had shown only the briefest moments of motherly love, before her addictions had swallowed her whole.
The girls in his milieu had been as gritty and tough as him, broken by their surroundings and circumstances. And if they weren’t broken then they got out and went far away, exactly as he had done.
Sometimes, the women who frequented the social sphere he now inhabited reminded him of the girls and women of his youth. They were hard and gritty too, but hid it under a shiny, expensive sheen.
But Nessa was none of those things, which intrigued him in spite of his best instincts. And she was out of bounds, for many reasons, not least of which was her suspected collusion with her brother.
He knew without arrogance that she was attracted to him. He saw it in her over-bright eyes and pink cheeks, her taut body that quivered slightly in his presence. He felt fairly sure she must know that he was attracted to her—in spite of his words that first night. I can’t say that you’d be my type. Apparently she was.
Yet she wasn’t testing him by using their chemistry to try and leverage any advantage. He didn’t think a woman existed who wouldn’t. Unless she was playing some game. That was far more probable.
He stood at his window now, the view encompassing the gallops in the distance where his thoroughbreds were being exercised, and the stud farm just out of sight on the other side.
He had both sides of the industry here—racing and breeding. It gave him immense satisfaction to see it all laid out before him, except today, for the first time, there was a slight dilution of that satisfaction. As if something had taken the sheen off it. As if something was reminding him that he hadn’t made it yet. Not really.
Luc scowled. He knew he hadn’t made it yet, not completely. No matter how many winners he had or sired with his stallions.
He wouldn’t have made it until he was respected by his peers, and not looked at with varying degrees of suspicion.
