“That can be arranged,” he calls. “I’d enjoy it far more.” He comes back into the room with the bag in his hand. “But we’re not doing that according to you. You said you didn’t want to yet.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Hannah.”
“Gray.”
“Open the bag.”
“Why?”
“Gift.”
And gifts? I can’t cope with all this.
“I can’t do gifts in the middle of this. This is important. Why would you do this now?” I question, getting off the bed. “This is … messy still. We are. And the past is still there. Heather and-”
“There is nothing messy about the way I feel about you. Nor is there anything messy about the way you feel about me. Heather is gone. Stop being a lunatic and open the bag before I forget I’m still being gentlemanly and revert to type.”
I huff and stare at him, not at all bothered about his idea of non-gentlemanly, but seriously concerned about his lack of care for a situation I’m not ready for at all. It’s like he’s two different men sometimes. Emotional and impulsive one minute, methodical and absent of sentiment the next. And lunatic? I’m still not entirely sure that I’m not. Which is his fault. Although, this different I’ve now found in me is energising. Happier.
“I can’t fuck this gift into you.” He smirks about something and starts laughing, making me question what on earth just crossed through his mind. “And we’re not discussing what I’ve just thought about either, so don’t ask. Just open the bag.”
I sigh and reach for it, head shaking at him, as he carries on laughing quietly. All I find when I open it is some paperwork in a folder. I sit on the bed opposite him and start leafing through official looking documents, none of which make any sense to me until I see the bold print of my maiden name – Brantley – highlighted. More words trail after it. Something about legal rights and titles to future programs associated with bloodstock.
“Brantley?” I ask, looking at him. “I don’t understand what this is.”
“Next page. Open the envelope.”
I do, and a large photo of a thirty something lady standing next to a young black horse finds itself in my hand. Cute. It’s so small. Spiky ears. Long spindly legs. A handsome looking face, teeth on show as if it’s about to bite anyone that comes near it.
Smiling, I lay down on the bed, my legs kicked up behind me, and remember the ride we took.
“His official name is Booth-Rothburg Brantley’s Mischief. Hopefully a champion stud horse. If he develops how we want given his lineage.”
“So sweet.”
“Not according to Ann. He’s an asshole, but I thought you’d understand that well enough.”
I laugh a little and look across at him as he lays down next to me and moves some of the paperwork, eventually pulling one particular piece out.
“You named a horse after me? This is new relationship goals.”
“No, I gave a horse to you.”
My eyes widen, as he passes me the paper he’s found. “This is the ownership deeds,” he says, pointing out my name and this address. “That’s why we’re going on our date. I thought you’d like to see him. He was born two weeks ago in the depths of winter rather than normal breeding protocol. The sire jumped, and broke, four fences to get in with one of our most exclusive mares at the ranch. The situation reminded me of you. Or me.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
I smile wider and look back at the picture of the little thing, my fingers dragging over the spindly legs and then rubbing his little nose. I can almost hear the little thuds of his hooves on the ground, the speed of them as they’ll run and leap. “That’s … A horse? My horse?”
“Yes.”
“You gave me a horse.”
“I did.”
“Why a horse? Most girls get jewellery. I know nothing about horses.”
He rolls me onto my back and shifts his weight until he’s on top of me, a very serious face suddenly bearing down on me. “You’re not most girls, and I couldn’t think of a better part of me to give you. Horses came before my life happened. You came after. I thought we should go back to the beginning together.”
Oh. That is romantic.
Lovely.
Thuds and heartbeats.
I sigh and run my fingers through his hair, watching as he starts dropping that face down to my chest again. One kiss. Two. Three. I giggle and let the feel of him go lower, and lower, and lower still until he’s back where he started and we’re beginning again. So romantic. Soft again. Gentle. Unhurried. Leisurely.
My legs get pushed wider, panties torn at the sides and heavier hands starting to build in momentum. Normal behaviour. I’m going to need new underwear if this carries on.
And it will.
Why wouldn’t it?
We’re new.
We’re at the start.
The End
~
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Acknowledgements
As always I’d like to send out love and thanks to:
My PA - Leanne Cook, who has been my editor and superstar for these set of books.
My beta Readers – The above and Katie Matthews. Amazeballs.
My Proof Reader – Sal Warner. Thank you, honey.
My other half – Who is my world and gives me this chance. You don’t know how much you mean to me or my words. I love you.
And, of course, all of my readers.
You all amaze me with your kind words and encouragement. There will always be a story in me ready to come out, but it’s you lovely readers that help me believe the words are worth reading.
I can only hope that I continue to provoke thought with every novel and encourage your minds to search horizons new.
Also Available by the Author at Amazon
Innocent Eyes
A Cane Novel
(Hart De Lune)
*******
"If he's gross, I'm bailing."
That's what I said to my supposed best friend when she asked me to take her place. A blind date, she said. What harm could it do?
He was charming. Beautiful. God's finest creation. He wined me and dined me. Made me do things I'd never before dreamt of in the bedroom. It was perfect. Dangerous. Arousing.
But Jenny didn’t tell me the full story. She didn’t tell me about the debt she owed. And now Quinn Cane wants his money's worth, and he’s going to make me pay whatever way he can.
“A debt needs to be paid.”
The woman who came to meet me didn’t owe me money. I could tell by her innocent eyes. Still, the debt will be paid either way.
She was something to play with and use as I saw fit, but something about Emily Brooks made me want to keep her. So she became my dirty girl. Pure. Innocent. Mine.
Then she whispered my damned name and invaded my world, changing its reasoning.
She wasn’t meant to break the rules. But she rolled my dice and won.
Shame. Forgiveness. Dark. Erotic. Romance. Mafia.
This book is intended for mature audiences. 18+ only.
The Stained Duet
Once Upon A (Book 1)
Alana Williams is three published authors. She has been for years, but now she wants to add another voice to her whirlwind of deadlines and unachievable targets. Trouble is, she knows nothing of her latest literary undertaking.
*****
Alana
It began as research. Just research. The technical approach. One that delivers the content necessary for a hidden culture to seem plausible, even if it’s not. Readers expect perfection from me. They want the experience. They need to be taken on a journey. That’s my job as
a writer.
Blaine Jacobs is his name. He’s my research. A man who seems as logical and focused as me. A man who agrees to help. A man who, regardless of his stature in the community, seems to offer a sense of realism to this strange section of society. And even if he does occasionally interrupt my data with dark brooding eyes and a questionably filthy mouth, what does it matter? It’s just research, isn’t it? It’s not real. None of this is. Nothing will come of it or change my mind.
So why am I confused?
I’m becoming lost.
Falling apart.
And Blaine Jacobs, no matter how calm he might have seemed at first, now appears to linger on the edges of sanity, pushing my boundaries with every whispered word.
18+ ONLY. Intended for mature audiences.
This book is followed by The End (Stained Duet Book 2)
********
A Sorrow of Truths Page 17
