Flora had just finished riding Juke and was unsaddling him. Dylan approached her from behind, making her jump.
‘Sorry, Flora, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ He smiled, looking into her fresh, rosy complexion. How he’d missed her. Her hair had grown slightly, giving it a tousled look, and he longed to brush it away from her face.
‘What do you want, Dylan?’ she asked flatly, refusing to give him eye contact, but instead carried on tending to the horse.
‘A minute of your time,’ he answered.
‘I’m busy, in case you haven’t noticed.’
‘Please, Flora,’ he pleaded.
Turning to him, she saw his blue eyes filled with hope, which sparked her curiosity. Flora had thought of Dylan often – too often, if she was being honest with herself. Initially she had been heartbroken by his actions, but then pure anger had taken over. Now after six weeks of not seeing him she hated to admit it, but she had actually missed him. Keeping herself busy had helped, and there was always something to do in the stables.
‘I can’t speak now, Dylan, I’m working.’ The corners of Dylan’s mouth twitched. That had never bothered her before when they had romped in the hay.
‘Of course. Let’s have dinner,’ he held his hands out in surrender, ‘as friends. There’s something I’d like to ask you.’
Now she was more than curious. ‘OK. Meet me in The Templar at seven.’
‘Done.’ He held his hand out to shake hers, anything to touch her. She gave him a withering look and ignored it. Turning her back on him, she proceeded to take off the horse’s saddle and barged past him into the stables. What a woman, thought Dylan, wanting the evening to arrive quickly.
Later that evening, Flora dressed carefully for dinner. Not wanting to appear keen, yet still sexy was proving to be a difficult task. Finally she plumped for skinny jeans and a red sleeveless top with a neckline low enough to show a glimpse of cleavage, without showcasing too much. She wore her hair down, freshly washed and scrunched dried. Entering The Templar, she saw Dylan at the bar talking to Finula and caught her breath. He looked stunning in his dark suit, which matched his black curls, and a blue shirt the same colour as his eyes. Suddenly she felt underdressed in her jeans.
Turning to see her, Dylan leapt up from the bar stool and greeted her. ‘Flora, you look beautiful.’ He took her hand and kissed it.
‘Don’t overdo it, Dylan,’ she replied drily, commending herself for such composure.
Finula beamed at the pair of them. ‘This way. I’ve reserved one of our best tables for you.’ She led them towards the restaurant area, to a secluded alcove. A table for two was prepared with a lit candle and champagne on ice. Flora was impressed, but refused to show it. ‘I’ll take your order shortly.’ Finula smiled at Flora as she eased her into a chair, then deftly opened the champagne and left them. Dylan poured them each a glass. The bubbles fizzed up Flora’s nose, making her splutter. So much for the composure, she cursed herself.
‘Flora, I’ve got a proposition for you.’ Dylan stared intently into her eyes, then outlined his plans to open a training yard at Treweham Hall and asked her to be his assistant trainer.
Flora was gobsmacked. She took another gulp of champagne to stall for time. Eventually she spoke. ‘But I don’t know what being an assistant trainer entails.’
Dylan, anticipating this response, was quick to reply. ‘Basically, it would mean being my right-hand man. You would plan the horses’ training schedules and be in charge of the stable staff. You’ve got a way with horses, an instinct. I’ve seen how they respond to you. You’ve also got a way with people.’ He looked deep into her eyes. ‘You care. You’re a sincere person and I trust you. The rest you can learn from me.’ He sat back and waited for her answer. He sensed her hesitation and added, ‘Give it some thought. Promise me you’ll at least think about it. And I know it’s not about the money, but I am offering a competitive wage.’
He was right, conceded Flora, it wasn’t about the money, more about working so closely alongside the man himself. Would she be able to resist those dark, gypsy looks every day? Feeling those piercing ocean-blue eyes burn into her? Seeing those capable hands at work, knowing how they had roamed over her body? ‘I’ll think about it,’ she answered in a cracked voice.
Dylan slowly smiled: he’d done it. The charm had worked. Now all he needed to do was back off a little, give her space and she’d come running.
‘Ready to order?’ Finula asked, looking at Dylan for some form of sign.
‘Yes, I think so,’ he smiled.
‘Good. What can I get you?’
They both settled on the steak with peppercorn sauce. Flora was beginning to relax; the fizz had eased her butterflies and the food tasted delicious. Dylan chatted constantly, telling her about his aftershave commercial, making her giggle in delight. She had forgotten how much he had entertained her, regaling her with tales from the riding circuit and celebs he had encountered. She in return told him about her family, of her brother going off backpacking at the start of his gap year and her parents buying a campervan to go travelling round Europe.
‘So you’ll be living alone?’
‘Yes, temporarily.’ It struck Dylan how mature and able Flora was for her years. He considered what he was like at her age and winced at the comparison. She underestimated herself, he suspected, and was anxious this didn’t influence her decision in being his assistant trainer.
‘Flora?’
‘Hmm?’ She looked at him, slightly glazed.
‘Say yes.’
‘We’ll see.’ Make him sweat, let him wait, she told herself. She wasn’t about to jump to his tune, not like before. Now it was different. She had learnt the hard way.
