Riding High Page 4

  His eyes roamed slowly over her body; it tightened in response, her nipples hardening and a ripple traveling over her stomach and straight between her thighs. Fuck him; two could play at that game. She dipped the sponge into the bucket of water, soaking it so that it dripped as she splashed on to the sweat patch on the horse’s back, feeling a rush of water splash back against her chest. She risked a sideways look; his eyes had narrowed slightly. She stretched up, her legs slightly apart, reaching over the horse to sponge the far side, her breasts rubbing against the part that was already wet. Pressing herself against the hot, damp animal, sliding back down, forcing the cold wetness of the skimpy T-shirt against her skin until it was molded to every part of her.

  Lather trickled down between her breasts as she dropped the sponge back into the bucket to gather more water; the hardening peaks of her nipples were chafing against the wet material and sending a buzz of expectation straight to her clit. For a second she paused, bent over with her bum in the air, knowing that her tight jodhpurs were like a second skin, clinging to every curve. She liked to wear thongs when she was working; thongs that didn’t leave a panty line, that didn’t interfere with the freedom she felt when she was riding. That didn’t interfere with anything. She could smell her own arousal, smell the juices that were already coating the thin strand of fabric and pooling out inside the tight, revealing cotton of her jodhpurs.

  She risked another glance. His knuckles had tightened over the leather saddle, and his darkened eyes were fixed on her bum. She moved to reach under the horse with one hand, sponging slowly down its inner thighs, feeling the trickle of water down her arm, the smell and sensation making her breath come quicker. Keeping her legs taut, she spread her thighs wider, reaching farther under, feeling her whole body sway as she sponged. She paused, shut her eyes. If he came in behind her now, put one large hand between her thighs, caressed her swollen cunt with those knowing fingers, she’d come. If he gripped her hips and shoved her full with that big, hard cock she’d come. Whatever he did would do the trick right now.

  Bugger. She snapped out of it, straightened up, and grabbed the bucket before looking straight at him. His dark eyes burned into her, not a trace of dolefulness, just a look that said any second now he was going to throw her on the straw and fuck her harder and faster than she’d ever been fucked before.

  “I’m done now if you want to talk.” Her words trembled in her own ears, pure lust. She’d been intent on teasing him, on turning him on and taking some control back, but her whole body was shaking with need as she pulled the stable door firmly behind her and put the bucket down, reaching into it for the sponge. Before she got there his hand was over hers, hard and unyielding.

  “Is that what you want?” He drew her up, his fingers biting into her chin as she straightened. One step forward and he was pressed against her so that she could feel the length of his cock, which she could have sworn was even bigger and harder than last night. “Is that what you want to do, talk?” He took another step forward, pushing her roughly so that she was trapped against the wall of the stable block, the hard brickwork against her back cold in contrast to the heat of his body.

  The soaking wet sponge was pressed between them, squeezed by the pressure of his body against hers, his hand tightening over the one she clutched it with. Water dripped down between them, soaking his shirt. A rivulet snaked into her cleavage, sending a shiver down her stomach.

  “Or do you want something else?” A large, warm hand moved to cradle the side of her face, a hand that was possessive, controlling, giving her no escape route even if she wanted it.

  Hard lips came down on hers, and there was none of the gentle touch of last night. This was a harsh demand, instantly rough and bruising, and she opened up to him instinctively. His tongue forced its way into the moist depths of her mouth, eliciting a moan that seemed to come from deep within her as his fingers tightened in her hair. She sucked hard, possessing the only part of him she could, felt him stiffen, and then there was a fresh rush of warmth between her thighs as he forced a knee between her legs, pushing them apart so that he could press his body hard against her, capturing her. A shiver ran through her body as his hips ground against hers, and as he pushed harder the feeling was so intense they could have been naked. She pushed back, tilting her hips so that his dick was pressed just where she needed it, hard against her clit, the heat burning through the thin fabric of his trousers, through the thin tightness of her riding pants. She pushed harder, panting as she felt the muscles deep inside her core start to clench. He dragged his mouth from hers, his fingers in her hair holding her fast against the wall. The pressure eased on her crotch and she mewed out an objection. He smiled, but this was no gentle smile, this was a wolfish smile that spelled out an animal need.

  The door of the adjoining stable crashed open as he pushed her in, ricocheting against the wall. It slammed shut behind them, the metallic click of the catch the only sound apart from their shared erratic breathing.

  He hooked a foot deftly beneath her legs, sending her sprawling onto the thick bed of straw. “Don’t play games with me unless you mean it.” His voice was ragged and her nipples tightened against the wet, cold material that clung to her body as he stared down at her. He paused for a minute, giving her time to object, and then he was next to her, his mouth closed around her breast, biting and sucking through the damp covering so it was plastered even tighter against her skin. Cursing, he pulled his mouth away, then dragged at the soaked T-shirt, pulling it roughly over her head, exposing a flimsy lacy bra.

  One yank and the delicate material gave way, her breasts spilling out, exposed and ready for his mouth. His lips closed around a nipple already taut with awareness, and then she gasped as firm fingers grasped her crotch, pressing against the warm dampness of her panties.

  Roisin reached down, panting, struggling to peel the tight jodhpurs off, needing to feel the heat of his fingers inside her for real, and the instant there was room his hand filled it. He pulled at the lacy thong, the thin fabric tearing as she lifted her hips. His mouth closed tighter around the tightened bud of her nipple, biting, sending a sharp pain of pleasure straight through her as he thrust two fingers deep inside her slick cunt.

  She screamed out at the sudden blissful intrusion, fingers tightening convulsively in his hair, twisting deeper as the orgasm shot through her body, bucking her hips with a need she didn’t know she had. She was still pulsing around his fingers as he turned her over roughly onto her hands and knees. He yanked at her jodhpurs, pulling them down to her knees as she pushed desperately against the material, trying to open her legs wider, fighting against the restriction but only managing to part her legs a few inches. But he ignored it, straddling her legs with his own and forcing his way into her tight pussy, sinking deeply inside her with one hard thrust.

  His hands squeezed her waist; strong thighs pushed hers closer together so that her pussy gripped him even tighter. Her arms gave way, her hands spreading out at her sides, clutching at the straw as she matched his rhythm. Then she couldn’t think of anything else, could only feel the sensation as he pounded into her. Her greedy pussy closed even tighter around him, squeezing, wanting, until she hadn’t any control left and she had to let the waves of her orgasm roll through her body. As they did, he gave one final thrust and grunt of satisfaction and she knew she’d been well and truly fucked for only the second time in her life.

  ***

  Saul eased his grip on her waist, the imprint of his fingers like a brand on her skin as she sank down onto the soft straw. He waited for his breathing to even out, then ran his fingers through his hair, pushing himself up unsteadily to his feet.

  Shit, that wasn’t supposed to have happened. He felt out of control, drunk with lust. Last night should never have happened, and now this. And right now all he really wanted was to know that it was going to happen again. And again. Shit.

  She rolled over with a soft groan and
looked up at him, and despite himself he had to smile. There were bits of straw sticking out from the mass of red curls, and she looked thoroughly shagged out. He picked up the torn G-string, dangling it on one finger. “Normal riding wear?”

  “I like to feel unrestricted when I’m riding.”

  “Oh yeah, I gathered that, Lady Godiva.” He dropped the grin. “Was that a good idea?”

  “It was good”—her voice was husky—“but not a good idea.” She ran her tongue over her full lips and he felt his cock stir again in response.

  “Was that part of the plan too, then?” It was a quiet, sexy drawl, but he could hear a note of doubt in it, an uncertainty that made him feel a complete bastard. Even though, since he’d realized who she was, every part of the plan seemed to have gone flying out of the window. The fact that she thought he operated like that left a sour taste in his mouth; the fact that he knew people who did made him wonder for the first time if he was in the right game.

  “Hey, don’t look at me like that. It was you who started the wet T-shirt competition.” She gave a self-conscious grin. “But no, that wasn’t part of any plan; do you really think I’m that kind of a man?”

  “No, maybe not.” She shrugged, sat up, and pulled her bra back over the gentle curve of her breasts. “Not really.” A soft sigh escaped, and she frowned as though she was straightening everything out in her head. “Just checking. I don’t usually act like this, so I don’t know the rules.”

  “If it’s any help I don’t usually act like this either, and as far as I know there aren’t any rules.” He spoke softly and offered his hand, her small one nestling briefly in his as he hauled her to her feet. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to let go of it.

  ***

  “You did know your husband had run up debts?”

  Roisin cradled the warm coffee cup and looked at the man opposite, who didn’t look at all like a stranger; he looked comfortable, like he owned the place, which it was beginning to look as if he did. “I knew Toby was piling up the debts, yes, but I didn’t know how bad it was until he died. He told me he was sorting it. I never knew it was too late, that he’d already defaulted.”

  “Ah.”

  “Don’t say ‘ah’ like that, as though it makes any kind of sense.”

  He ignored the interruption. “And you didn’t know he’d put up this place as collateral?” He took a sip and put his mug down. “You don’t remember signing anything?”

  “Look, this place is my home—it’s my job, everything, the one thing I’ve got left. I’ll pay you back or whatever; there must be some way I can…” He met her gaze, but she could tell if he’d been anyone else he’d be looking the other way. It was either worse than she could possibly imagine, or he just wanted this place to sell on. To make money, more money than she could offer him.

  “If you can raise the money, then fine, I’ll sell to you.”

  Oh yeah, the words “hope in hell” sprang to mind. “At a profit?” Why was she even asking?

  “Just enough to cover my costs. This is just a business deal for me, Roisin.”

  “And that makes it okay, does it? Just business?” She stood up abruptly, the chair legs screeching against the hard flags of the kitchen floor. She needed to separate herself from him, from this. It was easier with her back to him, except she was looking out at her riding school, her horses. The things she’d just been told weren’t anything to do with her anymore. None of it was, which left her with precisely nothing. She bit down on her lip, the sweet taste of blood seeping into her mouth as she stared out blindly, fighting the tears that burned the back of her eyes.

  The soft voice hit her harder than anger would have done. “No, it doesn’t make it right, but it isn’t just my money and I don’t see how I can help you.”

  ***

  If there was one thing Saul wanted to do right now it was go over and say the right thing. Not sit here like some dork staring at her slim back, the tense shoulders; not shut himself off and watch her fight her internal battles on her own. But he didn’t know what to do about it; he felt impotent. Totally bloody useless.

  His hand closed tighter around the coffee mug until the heat burned painfully against the palm of his hand. He had come here to do a job. To look around the place, decide how to break it up. And then do it. Make money. Do his job. And now some sexy slip of a girl in jodhpurs was appealing to the one part of his anatomy that he usually had control over, except something told him it wasn’t just his dick that was reacting. She was tugging at something inside him, making him feel a complete loser. Making him feel like he was breaking the rules, which maybe he was—well, bending not breaking. He’d bided his time, moved in at the right time for the pickings, and he hadn’t reckoned on her. On guilt. On feeling like a vulture.

  “Let’s go through your books.” He shouldn’t be saying this; he really shouldn’t be saying this. “We’ll see if there is any way you can salvage enough of this business to offer us a solution we can go with, see if you can afford to rent part of the place or something.”

  “Offer us a solution?” The flat voice made it worse.

  “Okay, me. Deal? Or shall we just get this over and done with now? Your choice.”

  She turned slowly from the window and looked at him. Emerald eyes meeting him head on, flickering over his features as though she was trying to strip the layers away, which he guessed was slightly disconcerting. He couldn’t remember the last time—no, any time—a woman had looked at him like this. Properly. Those eyes were the clearest green he’d ever seen, deep and calm. If it hadn’t been for the hint of a tremble in her bottom lip he’d have fallen for it, which he guessed would have made it easier to do what he should be doing. But it was that hint of a doubt in her that was disconcerting. That made him want to forget what he should be doing.

  “And if I can’t, Saul? If I can’t magic up some hidden asset, some income I never knew I had?”

  She was searching him for answers and he felt like he should be providing them.

  “Then we’ll have to deal with that, won’t we?” Which he shouldn’t have said. “But I can’t make any promises.” Which made her frown, and the twist of unease in his stomach grow.

  “Fine.”

  God, he hated that word, a kind of pleasant defiance. She finally dropped the inquisitor’s stare and gave up on searching his soul—maybe, he reflected, she couldn’t find it in the first place—and headed across the kitchen in that graceful, controlled, way she had.

  He tried not to smile as she lifted the pile of record books effortlessly from the dresser; she looked such a waif, so delicate, as though one rough move would break her. But she was steel—or, at least, there was a core of it running straight through her. She dropped the books in front of him with a heavy thump, then sat down again.

  He’d look at those records with her, listen, and then he’d explain again just how bad it was. Because however bad he felt about the whole thing he couldn’t see she had a hope in hell of clambering out of the hole her dead husband had dropped her in. He’d watched holes like that being dug so many times, and no one got out.

  He shouldn’t have touched her; he wouldn’t have if he’d known who she was. And now he should keep his dick in his pants, tell her the truth, and hammer the final nail in the coffin. Probably convincing her for good in the process that all men were bastards, but men like him were the biggest bastards of all.

  He’d driven up here expecting to deal with some rich bitch; been prepared for a frosty reception and a dressing-down from some snooty cow who thought he was beneath her. That would have made it easier; not nice, but easier. But he’d found Roisin. Empathy wasn’t his bag; he was used to open warfare, which he felt a whole lot more comfortable with.

  But these rich, spoiled country girls were always given everything on a plate, weren’t they? Even if she was cute, and sending him on some kind of guilt trip
he couldn’t fathom, even if she was different, at the end of the day she was still one of them. Still born with the silver spoon in her mouth, even if it was about to be smelted down.

  “You don’t have a rich daddy who can bail you out, have you?” Whoa, if there was a look that could kill she’d just shot it his way. He didn’t need to be Einstein to work out he’d just said something very, very wrong indeed.

  Chapter 3

  “What the hell has my father got to do with you?” Roisin crossed her arms and glared at him. The type of look she gave the kids when they were running wild around the stable yard; the type of look she used to give Toby when he came in drunk and useless with yet another excuse. It worked. Normally. Always. Well always, apart from now. He just looked at her with those smoldering intent eyes, and leaned back casually in his chair, totally unbothered. Bugger.

  “This is my money we’re talking about, lady, so I’d say any”—his eyes traveled slowly down her body—“hidden assets you have should be considered.” And he was doing that—that thing again. She was glad her top had dried out because her nipples were already tightening under his scrutiny and the last thing she wanted him to know was just how much that lazy look affected her. God, one minute he was explaining what hell looked like and the next he was reminding her of heaven, and she really needed to get a grip.

  “Well? I thought all you girls had a rich daddy hidden away somewhere?”

  Shit, he was annoying. And turning her on, which made him even more annoying. She tried not to squirm. “Well, this one doesn’t.” She sounded snippy, she knew she did, but she couldn’t help it. The last thing she wanted to talk about was her family and here he was poking around as though he had some divine right. She couldn’t afford to get angry, lose control. He was studying her as though he’d found the weak spot and was going to prod her with a stick to see which way she jumped.

  “I haven’t seen my father for years and that’s not going to change. Okay?” Obviously not, judging from the long silence that she felt compelled to fill. “He’s dead, okay? And no, before you ask, there is no inheritance, nothing. Dead, gone, kaput, nothing.” What was it with the men in her life always managing to leave her with exactly zilch?