by Abby Green
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Luc’s voice was quiet, which made him sound even angrier.
Nessa lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated, clutching her top to her chest. ‘Pete was short a rider and so he asked me if I’d fill in. I was just doing him a favour.’ Liar, mocked a voice. The thrumming of her pulse told her very eloquently why she’d done it.
‘You knew very well that you weren’t allowed to go near the horses. I don’t let anyone that I don’t personally vet myself near them.’
Nessa tried not to sound defensive. ‘Pete knows me. He’s seen me ride before. And it wasn’t his fault,’ she said hurriedly, having visions of Luc sacking him. ‘I knew I should have said no...but I couldn’t resist. It’s my fault.’
Once again Luc was struck somewhere uncomfortable at how readily Nessa was able to take the blame from someone else. Her brother, and now Pete, who wasn’t even related to her.
As if physically incapable of allowing space between them, Luc moved closer, seeing how Nessa’s hands tightened on her top. He commented, ‘It’s not as if I haven’t seen you before.’
She blushed. Amazingly. And it had a direct effect on Luc’s body, sending blood surging south.
She scooted her head and arms back into her top but not before Luc had seen a generous amount of pale flesh and her breasts encased in a sports vest top. Her hair was caught at the back of her head in a bun, and he curled his hands to fists to stop from reaching out and undoing it.
She folded her arms over her chest and then said stiffly, ‘I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’
Luc made a split-second decision. ‘I’m afraid that’s not really up to you.’
She looked at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s a race this weekend; I want you to ride the same filly you were just riding.’
She went pale, and then colour washed back into her cheeks. It was fascinating to see someone so expressive. And then she looked suspicious. ‘You don’t want me near your horses. Why would you let me do this?’
‘Because I’m not stupid enough to let someone as naturally gifted as you waste your talent, especially not when it might win me a race. I am, after all, running a business. And your brother owes me a million euros, which you have taken on as your debt. If you win, the money will go towards paying it off.’
Nessa was so stunned by what he’d just proposed she was speechless for a long moment. Eventually she managed to get out, ‘I...well, thank you.’
Luc was brusque. ‘You’ll obviously work to Pete’s instruction from now on.’
Then he turned to walk back out and Nessa blurted out, ‘Wait.’
When he stopped at the door he turned around and she almost lost her nerve, but she forced herself to ask, ‘What about what happened? The other night.’ As if he wouldn’t know what she was talking about.
She cringed inwardly. She hated that she’d felt compelled to ask. She hated that she couldn’t be as nonchalant as him, and pretend the other night had never happened.
Luc looked remote. Almost like a stranger. ‘What happened between us won’t happen again. It was a mistake. You’re here to pay off the debt through racing or until your brother returns my money, whichever happens first.’
And then he walked out and she felt as if he’d just punched her in the belly. She was breathless, and then she castigated herself. Hadn’t he warned her, that first night in his room, that she’d get burned?
She had nothing to entice a man like Luc Barbier beyond that brief moment of craziness.
And here he was offering her the opportunity of a lifetime—a chance to ride for one of the great trainer/owners in the racing world. Luc might have a rogue’s reputation but no one could discredit his amazing accomplishments, even if they weren’t quite sure how he’d achieved them without a background steeped in the industry.
Nessa had to concede that, from what she’d seen so far, his incredible work ethic was responsible for much of his success. Without fail, he was up with his earliest employee, and probably one of the last to bed. She’d even seen him help with mucking out a stables one day, practically unheard of for someone at his level.
Nessa told herself she should be relieved that Luc had laid out in brutal terms where they now stood in terms of their short-lived intimacy. Conducting an affair with a man like him was total folly at best and emotional suicide at worst. Not to mention the guilt she’d feel.
But the most humiliating part of it was knowing that if he’d kissed her just now, she’d have been flat on her back on the cold tile floor, showing not an ounce of restraint or control.
* * *
‘I can’t believe she’s actually won.’
‘Never fail to surprise us, eh, Barbier?’
‘A female jockey? Who is she? Has anyone heard of her? Where did she come from?’
‘Trust Barbier to come from left-field with a win like this...he just can’t resist throwing the cat amongst the pigeons...’
Luc heard all the indiscreet whispers around him, but he was too stunned to care. Nessa had won the race. Unbelievably. On the horse with the longest odds.
She was coming into the winner’s enclosure now, with Pete not far behind accepting his own congratulations. Luc caught the horse as she passed, stopping her momentarily. Nessa had a huge grin on her mud-spattered face and something turned over inside him.
He patted the horse and looked up at her, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. Her smile faded and he noticed how she tensed and something inside him rejected that. Normally he never had a problem congratulating his jockeys but this was different. It was her. Eventually he said, ‘Well done.’
‘Thank you. I can’t believe it myself.’
That glimmer of uncertainty on her face reminded him of how she’d looked the other night when she’d stood before him all mussed and flushed after sex. His body tightened with need.
She was led on, and then slid off the horse to be weighed after the race. Luc watched her across the enclosure. She took off her hat and her hair tumbled down. A man behind him made an appreciative whistling sound and Luc spun around, glaring at him. The man blanched.
When Luc looked back Nessa was walking away from the podium and stewards with her saddle, presumably to go back to the changing rooms.
Pascal Blanc hurried over to him at that moment, shaking his head and smiling. ‘Luc, this is incredible. Nessa is a sensation; it’s all people are talking about, wondering who she is and where she came from. You’ve both been invited to a function this evening in Dublin, celebrating the racing industry in Ireland. I don’t think I need to tell you how important this is.’
Luc knew exactly how important it was. So far the industry here had largely been closed to him socially, but one win with an outsider filly and a beautiful young female jockey and suddenly he was being granted access.
Yes, said a voice. This is it. And yet now that the moment had arrived, all Luc could seem to think about was not the potential for acceptance at last, but what Nessa would look like in a dress.
* * *
‘Is it really necessary for me to attend?’ Nessa’s gut was churning.
‘Yes, it is,’ Luc said, looking frustrated. They’d returned to the racing stables after the race and Luc had just informed Nessa about the function in Dublin that night.
She couldn’t even begin to describe the trepidation she felt at the thought of some glitzy social event. She’d never been a naturally girly girl and her few experiences of dressing up had invariably ended in failure when she’d seen how wide of the mark she was with current trends.
There’d been one memorable incident in university when she’d gone to a party and a girl had said snarkily, I didn’t know it was a fancy dress party. After that, Nessa had given up trying to fit in. She wasn’t cool, or fashionable, or blessed with any innate feminine wiles or sensuality. Luc had proved that in no uncertain terms.
‘I don’t have anything suitable to wear to an event.’
; Luc glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve asked a stylist to come from a local boutique with a selection of dresses. She’s also bringing someone to look after hair and make-up.’
Nessa felt as if a noose were tightening around her neck. Luc was still dressed in a three-piece suit, in deference to the dress etiquette of the races. It was distracting to say the least, especially in the way that it seemed to be moulded to his muscles.
‘Why is it so important that I go? I’m just the jockey. They won’t know who I am.’
Luc took out his mobile phone and, after a few seconds of swiping, handed it to Nessa. She gasped. It was a headline on an online racing journal. Two gorgeous fillies triumph at the Kilkenny Gold Stakes! And there was a photo of a beaming Nessa astride the horse, being led around the winner’s enclosure.
‘Unfortunate headlines aside, you’re a sensation. Everyone could see, just from that race, how talented you are.’
Nessa handed the phone back, feeling a little sick. She’d wanted to do well, but she’d never expected this level of attention. The euphoria of the win was draining away to be replaced with anxiety. She’d never liked being front and centre, and certainly not in an environment outside her comfort zone.
Her sister Iseult had struggled with this kind of thing too, but she’d since blossomed into a poised and elegent Sheikha of Merkazad. Even so, she had confessed to Nessa that she still found it hard sometimes to pretend that she was comfortable with dressing up.
But Nadim loved her no matter how she looked or what she wore. A pang lanced Nessa to think of their bond. She felt very alone all of a sudden.
‘What’s wrong?’
Luc’s question jolted Nessa out of her reverie. He was frowning down at her, and she hated the thought of him seeing an ounce of the vulnerability she felt. She was being ridiculous. It was just an event.
She tipped up her chin. ‘Nothing is wrong. What time should I meet the stylist?’
‘They’ll be here within the hour. I’ve asked Mrs Owens to move you to a bigger bedroom suite to accommodate you getting ready. We may have more events like this to go to. I’ll meet you at the front of the house at seven p.m.’
* * *
Nessa looked at herself in the mirror and blinked. Was that her? She felt the same inside, but on the outside she looked like a stranger. Her hair was pulled back on one side and trailed over her other shoulder in a rippling cascade of glossy waves. She wore a shimmering black dress that clung to her shoulders in a wide vee, and showed what felt like acres of pale flesh.
It was gathered under her breasts and fell in a swathe of material to the floor. Under the dress she wore spindly delicate high heels that made her walk with her chest out and with an unnatural arch in her back.
Her make-up was discreet, at least, but it made her eyes look huge. Her lips glistened with flesh-coloured lipstick.
The stylist stood back and looked at her critically. ‘You look stunning, Miss O’Sullivan.’
‘Call me Nessa, please,’ Nessa said weakly, feeling like a fraud.
The stylist looked at her watch as the hair and make-up girl tidied up her things.
‘It’s almost seven p.m. You should go down to meet Mr Barbier.’ The stylist winked. ‘What I wouldn’t give to swap places with you right now. He is gorgeous.’
The make-up girl giggled, clearly of the same opinion. Nessa forced a smile and desisted from saying that she’d be more than happy to swap places. But they wouldn’t understand.
She made her way downstairs, careful in the high-heels. When she got to the hallway the door was ajar and she went out. Luc was standing with his back to her on the steps, his hands in his pockets, the jacket material pulled taut across his back. It reminded her of the scar she’d seen and how he’d dismissed it so enigmatically.
For the brief moment before he turned around Nessa could almost imagine she was one of those beautiful women who populated his world, and that this was a date. But then he turned around, and those dark eyes raked her from head to toe without an ounce of emotion or expression on his face and Nessa didn’t feel beautiful any more. She was remembering how he’d told her that first night that even if she’d come via the front door and dressed to impress, she still wouldn’t be his type...
For a second Luc almost didn’t recognise Nessa. His chest tightened and his whole body went taut with the need to control his instantaneous response.
She looked beautiful. She surpassed anything he could have possibly imagined, and yet there was nothing showy about her. She oozed understated elegance in the long black dress. His body lit on fire when he registered the low-cut vee and saw how much of her skin was exposed, including the pale swells of her breasts.
He dragged his gaze back up, feeling a little dizzy. He saw her biting her lip, and looking anxious. ‘Is it okay?’ she asked.
Luc was a little incredulous. Did she really have no idea how gorgeous she was? His reaction to her, and his instincts urging him to believe this wasn’t an act, made his voice curt. ‘It’s fine. We should go.’
Nessa tried not to feel disappointed by Luc’s reaction as he turned away and went down the steps, towards where a sleek four-wheeled drive was parked. The other night was a mistake, not to be repeated, and this was not a date.
She made her way across the courtyard after him in the vertiginous heels, praying she wouldn’t sprain her ankle. He was holding a door open and she got in gingerly, holding the dress up so it wouldn’t get caught.
Luc walked around the bonnet. Nessa couldn’t help observing how good he looked in the tuxedo. When he was behind the wheel he drove them a few short miles to where a helipad was located, away from the racing stables and stud.
‘We’re going in a helicopter?’
He looked at her. ‘It’s an hour’s drive to Dublin. The event starts in half an hour.’
Nessa tried her best to look nonchalant and not shocked. When she stepped out of the car, though, she stopped. The grass was soft and damp after recent rain and she wasn’t sure how to navigate the terrain in her shoes from here to where the helicopter was waiting.
Luc came around the front of the car and saw her, obviously assessing her predicament. Nessa was about to bend down and take the shoes off, but before she could do so Luc had lifted her into his arms effortlessly and was striding towards the helicopter where a pilot was waiting by the open door.
Nessa clung to his neck breathlessly, burningly aware of his hard chest and strong arms. Luc however showed no such similar awareness when he deposited her into the seat with a grim expression and did up her seat belt before she could object. His hands glanced off her bare skin as he adjusted it and Nessa’s blood fizzed.
She was glad when he sat in the front beside the pilot because she didn’t want him to decipher what she was thinking. He couldn’t have made it more glaringly obvious that she was just someone he was tolerating, until such a time as she ceased to be a thorn in his side.
When they’d put on their headphones he turned around. ‘Okay?’
She nodded rapidly and forced a bright smile wanting to leave him under no illusion that she was anything other than okay and completely unmoved by what had happened between them.
They took off and, as much as she hated Luc Barbier right now, she couldn’t help feeling emotional when they swooped low over the River Liffey in Dublin’s city centre and she saw the capital city glittering like a jewel in the dusky evening light. It was magical.
They landed, and Nessa was saved the ignominy of being carried again as she was able to walk to the car waiting for them. Luc sat in the back with her, and the plush interior, which looked huge, felt tiny with him so close to her.
The journey to Dublin Castle took ten minutes and soon they were pulling up in the majestic forecourt. Lights shone out onto the cobbles as a glittering array of people were disgorged from sleek cars. And Nessa—who had just won her first prestigious race on a thoroughbred horse—had never felt more terrified in her life.
* * *<
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Luc got out and came around to help Nessa out. She looked at his hand for a moment, hesitating, and then took it, letting him help her. As soon as she was standing, though, she let go as if burned.
Luc figured that he couldn’t blame her after his less than gracious reaction to how she looked. He’d never been less charming. With other women he at least put on a show of being civilised. But with Nessa, he didn’t know where to put himself.
When he’d picked her up to carry her over the grass to the helicopter it had been purely for expediency, but it had been torture to feel her slender frame curling into his, her arms around his neck. He’d been as hard as a rock for the entire journey.
It irritated the hell out of him that he’d made it more than clear that what had happened between them was a one-off mistake, and she didn’t seem in the least inclined to try and change his mind.
Mind you, in a dress like the one she was wearing, she didn’t have to do much. He was already aware of men around them looking at her twice. He was also aware of the way he felt inclined to bundle her back into the car, and take her straight to some private place where he could lay her out on a bed and make love to her as he hadn’t done the first time.
Her first time. Surely, whispered a wicked little voice, she deserves to know what it can really be like?
Luc shut it down and put out his arm for Nessa to take. He had the feeling when she slipped her arm through his that she was only touching him to stay upright in those vertiginous heels. They added inches to her height and only made him more aware of how much closer her mouth would be to his.
Then he noticed how pale she was. He stopped just before they walked into the pool of golden light spilling out onto the beautiful enclosed courtyard of the castle. ‘Is something wrong?’
She shook her head and glanced at him briefly, shooting him a fake smile. ‘Everything is fine. Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Because you look like you’re about to walk the plank rather than walk amongst your peers at one of the highest profile society events of the year.’
She made an inelegant snorting sound. ‘Peers? Don’t make me laugh.’
