He was just as arrogant as he’d been in Aachen—and just as rakishly handsome. She’d never forget that evening after the show. She’d been exhausted as she’d led Jubilee back to his stall. The afternoon had been excessively warm with only a few sparse clouds to block the sun. She’d been hot and tired and dusty. All she wanted was a bath and a good night’s sleep. Instead, as she neared her assigned stall, she heard laughter and women’s voices, the clink of glasses coming together in a bawdy toast.
Beneath the yellow-striped canopy shading his entourage from the sun, Whitfield’s Fox Hollow Farm’s stalls were overflowing with expensively dressed celebrants. Bright green Astroturf covered the dirt, protecting the women’s high heels.
Ribbons and plaques decorated the rough wooden walls along with pictures of Clayton Whitfield soaring over dozens of jumps in competitions all over the world.
Ellie’s grip tightened on the Jubilee’s reins, and she started walking faster. Her stalls were right next door. She could have used a little peace. Obviously, she wasn’t going to get it.
Her groom, Gerry Winslow, walked up beside her. “You look beat,” Gerry said, always solicitous. Tall and lanky, with a thatch of brown hair, Gerry had worked for the Fletchers for the past five years.
“I’m exhausted.” She glanced toward the man lounging nonchalantly against a stall, knee bent, one booted foot propped against the wood. A slinky blonde in a green silk dress arched against him, her arms wrapped possessively around his waist.
He laughed at something she whispered in his ear, his voice husky. The look he gave the blonde steamed with sexual heat.
“Hecertainly doesn’t look any the worse for wear,” Ellie said, tipping her head toward Clay.
“He always looks like that. Disgusting, isn’t it?” Gerry took Jubilee’s reins and led the stallion away to begin his grooming ritual.
As she draped her dusty red hunt jacket over the back of a dark green canvas director’s chair, Ellie glanced up and was surprised to see Whitfield untangle himself from the blonde and make his was over to her.
“Nice ride,” he said, referring to the last event of the day in which she’d placed fourth. He, of course, had won. She caught a whiff of liquor on his breath and a hint of his cologne. He was still dressed in his riding breeches, smelling of horses and leather. The combination was masculine and sexy, and butterflies rose in her stomach.
“I misjudged the oxer on the jump off,” she said, determined to make conversation. “I’d been over it once, I should have known better.”
“Are you always so hard on yourself?”
Ellie felt his eyes on her face and heat rushed into her cheeks. “I expect a lot of myself. I won’t settle for less.”
“I’ve already learned you’re a tough competitor.”
She wondered if that was meant as a compliment and found herself hoping it was. His eyes moved down her body, judging the size of her breasts beneath her white cotton shirt.
“Nice,” he said, returning his gaze to her face.
Ellie flushed even more and realized how drunk he really was. “I think your lady friend is missing you.” She hoped he’d go back to his friends, but she couldn’t deny the soft thudding of her heart as he moved closer instead.
“Why don’t we leave her to Flex and the boys and find someplace of our own?”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Whitfield.”
“Clay,” he said. The soft way he said the word moved fine strands of auburn hair beside her ear. Self-consciously, she tucked the loose strands under her riding cap. “You’d really better be going. You have guests.”
“To hell with myguests. I’m in the mood for a little diversion. We’ll go out to dinner at the Heidelberg, dance awhile, then go screw. How does that sound?”
Shock rolled through her. Ellie stared at him in dismay. As hard as she tried, no words came out of her mouth. For an instant she’d been flattered. She’d actually believed Clay was leaving the beautiful blonde, asking her out on a date.
“How does it sound? It sounds like you’re a conceited, arrogant ass.” She tried to brush past him, but he caught her arm and pulled her up close.
“No sense of humor, I see.” He chuckled. “No sense of adventure, either. Or are you just frigid, like everyone says?”
“Let go of me.”
“If you don’t want to fuck, at least give me a kiss.” Before she could stop him, his mouth swooped down over hers. When she gasped and tried to jerk free, he slid his tongue inside and Ellie felt the warmth clear to her toes. For an instant, the delicious sensations held her immobile.
Then her senses returned, and she pressed her hands against his chest until she broke free. Embarrassed and angry, she slapped him hard across the face. The ringing crack brought Gerry Winslow from his place around the corner but was lost in the noise and laughter of the crowd next door.
Whitfield rubbed his cheek, his brown eyes dark.
“Are you alright?” Gerry asked.
