When she’d faced him, her eyes floored him. They were the brightest, clearest blue imaginable. They’d speared him right in the groin. He smiled and shook his head. As sexy as they were, they also shone with an intelligent hunger. Her bluntness and keen gaze ran over him like he was naked.
Clearly the woman viewed the entire world as a potential story. For the first time in a long time, someone had sparked his interest beyond the next training session. He drew in a ragged breath, hoping that she followed up on his invitation for more.
His own anger, his own frustration was taking a toll and he had a feeling this sexy woman with the extraordinary eyes might be just allow him to vent a little tension. Ambitious and steely as hell, he’d guess she wouldn’t want promises and declarations after a bit of up close and personal time.
He glanced around Marshall May’s empty stall and kicked his foot against the doorjamb. He’d had enough. His father’s taunting words were cutting deeper, edging harder and harder into Michael’s resistance. He clenched his jaw. If he succumbed and jumped during the trials—then what? His father would be proved right? If Michael cleaned up and took every medal, would it really mean he’d wasted years of his life working in the background of a world he was meant to own?
“God damn it. I’ve been happy behind the scenes. I’m not him. I’m not that son of a bitch.”
Anger blazed hot through Michael’s blood as his father’s mocking face filled his mind’s eye.
“Follow in my footsteps, son. What are you doing training them when you could be jumping them? Don’t you want the women? The money?”
His father’s words rang in his ears. How many times had they fought over Michael’s choice to train rather than jump? He cursed and marched from the barn.
Money and notoriety brought nothing but heartache and pain—so why the bloody hell was he feeling its pull now? He was twenty-eight, too old to think about a career in the ring, yet the need for the spotlight pulled at him more each day. Its fingers dug in and ripped at the flesh like sharpened talons…
“Mike? Are you all right?”
Michael blinked and looked across the courtyard. Jack, his best friend and favorite rider, strode toward him. Michael drew in a breath and forced a smile. “Sure.”
Jack frowned and put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. A feat in itself since Jack stood nearly a foot shorter. “You look as though you want to put your fist through a wall. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Pissed off training for Marlon. But it’s over now. The Trials have started and I can get back to working with you, not that jock strap.”
Jack’s hand slipped from his shoulder and he grimaced. “Right. So you’re not in the best of moods before I even tell you what’s coming next.”
Michael’s strained smile dissolved. “Christ. Now what?”
“Your dad’s coming.” He sucked in a breath slowly. “I’m sorry, man.”
Michael’s stomach tightened. “Are you serious?”
“The whole arena is buzzing with the rumor that Lewis Canton will be here tomorrow. They’re saying your dad is looking for someone to mentor for the next Olympics. That he’s pissed he didn’t have a protégé to train this year.” Jack shook his head and blew out a breath. “The press have been goading him about it behind the scenes. Yesterday, he snapped and took the bait.”
“For God’s sake.” Michael spun away from Jack’s concerned gaze and pushed his hand into his hair, pulling harshly at the strands. “Why here? Christ, there are events all over the world. He’s coming here for me.”
The skin at Jack’s throat shifted and he took a wary step back. “Look, I’ve got to go. Just try and get through these next few days and we’ll be out of here, ready for the next lot of shows in Tetbury.”
Michael glared. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better? God, Jack, you know my father. He wants me to ride.”
The two friends locked gazes before Jack raised his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, man.”
Turning, his friend walked back across the yard, leaving Michael to wallow in anger and resentment. A movement to the side of the courtyard caught his attention. The blue-eyed reporter stood a few feet away, her stance alert and ready as she studied him. Anger stirred in his cock rather than his chest when he saw that damn dart of shrewd concentration between her eyes once more.
Irritation skittered along his forearms and his blood heated. So she wanted a story? Well, that was fine. He’d give—and show her—a story she’d never forget.
Pulling back his shoulders, he plastered on a smile and strode toward her. When he neared, her expression changed from concentrated curiosity to something that looked very much like apprehension. His father might make him feel like a waste of space, but the awareness in the reporter’s eyes bolstered his ego, making him feel every inch of his six feet height. Oh, yes, he had a story to show her all right.
“Couldn’t wait, huh?”
Two spots of color darkened her cheeks as she tilted her chin. “I’m not here for you, I wanted a look around the stables.” She snapped her gaze to a spot over his shoulder. “So this is your domain, is it?”
His gaze drifted from her face to curve of her perfect neck, and down to the impressive mound of her breasts encased in starched cotton. “Something like that.”
“I asked around about you after you left the arena.”
He narrowed his eyes, all notion of flirtation disappearing on a puff of annoyance. “And?”
She met his eyes. “And it seems you’re quite the celebrity around here.”
“Is that so?” His words came through clenched teeth.
“You’re the best trainer this side of the Atlantic, according to half the riders and spectators I spoke to. Is it true?” Her eyes flashed with provocation. “Are you that good?”
He stared. She was stunning…but damn annoying. He blinked and tilted his head toward the arena behind her. “My best horse is about to compete in the jumping. Why don’t you go and follow Jack Henshaw through his events and see what you think of the horse he’s riding. She’s mine.”
For a long moment, she said nothing and then spoke in a soft purr. “I’d rather talk to you than watch a horse jumping around a ring.”
Oh, you want to play, do you?
Michael smiled. Fire and someone getting burned came to mind. “You watch her today and then come and see me tomorrow.”
Her eyes darkened and the soft smile playing at her full lips vanished. She pulled her shoulders back. “I write my stories as I see fit and standing in an arena watching a horse jump over a few poles is not where I’m going to find the story I want.”
The anger in her eyes stoked his interest—and attraction—up another notch. “No?”
“No.” She tilted her chin, her gaze flashing with challenge. “The real story is standing in front of me.”
Okay, you win. Let’s play.
Michael stepped closer and, he had to give her credit, she held her ground despite the pulse that beat in the sweet hollow of her throat. “Come back tomorrow and we’ll…talk. For now, go watch my horse. You’ll learn just how persuasive I can be, how careful and attentive. Then you’ll have your questions prepared and, if you’re good, I’ll give you the answers you need for the best damn story of your life.”
The skin at her exquisite neck shifted as she swallowed, the tip of her tongue slowly wetting her bottom lip, and Michael inwardly cursed when his eyes followed the motion.
Touché
. He looked up and met her eyes.
She smiled smugly. “You think a lot of yourself, don’t you?”
The question caught him off guard. He was used to handling women, eager groupies keen to get close him, to get closer to the jumpers. Her boldness and confidence hummed between them, making Michael want to grip her shoulders, jerk her against his chest, and close his mouth possessively over hers.
He took a step back, his heart pounding rhythmically. “Like I said, we’ll talk tomorrow.”
She opened her mouth to say more, but Michael turned and walked back to the stable without giving her chance to argue. He had a hard-on the size of Mount Vesuvius…and damned if he’d allow that woman to see what she did to him.
Chapter Three
The next day, Caroline strutted into the stable courtyard with an air of bravado in each shaky stride. Wearing skinny blue jeans and a crisp white shirt, she’d unbuttoned the shirt as far as decency allowed, and the black leather boots were as high under the same criteria.
If Michael Canton thought he’d get the better of her with his handsome looks and knee-melting smile, he had another thing coming.
She’d taken his advice and hung around yesterday, watching the horses he’d trained. They were beautiful, content, and so obedient to their riders…like puppies begging for a treat. Caroline swallowed. Which was exactly why her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. What if Michael had the power to make her equally as malleable?
Drawing in a shaky breath, she shielded her eyes against the midday sun and scanned the yard. With no idea if he would be here or in the arena, she’d come straight to the stables to seek him out before nerves took over. Nerves. A whole new concept that pissed her off. Since when did she get nervous?
She was there for a story. A real, bona fide local scandal that would make her editor realize that, no matter how much he felt she needed “reining in,” Caroline James always found out what was going on beneath the glossy public surface. The fact that Michael Canton looked at her as though she was naked and spread-eagle every time he turned those dark eyes on her was neither here nor there. She was a journalist, not some horse groupie, so he’d better watch what he said and did to her.
Her gaze fell on one of the stables. Hmm…Since there was no one around, maybe this was the perfect time for a bit of pre-meeting research. Smiling, she walked forward and, with a furtive look left and right, pushed open the stable door and ducked inside.
At first, she heard nothing but the soft nicker of a huge black and white horse in the first stall. He or she pricked its ears, huge brown eyes roaming over her, before it came forward to greet her. Caroline absently stroked the velvet smoothness of its nose, her gaze concentrated on the walkway ahead of her. She narrowed her eyes and strained her ears when the sounds of a distinctly different—human—noise drifted toward her.
Her stomach knotted with excitement.
As Caroline crept closer, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled. No one but her and whoever was currently and quite audibly enjoying a wholly animalistic pleasure. She stepped closer. Although she’d left her apartment this morning hoping for a financial or moral scandal rather than a sexual one, something like this would keep her editor happy until she could dig deeper into Michael Canton’s life. Sex sells. And judging by the grunts and pants emanating from a stall farther down the aisle, this was clearly sex that would sell.
Sex in a stable. Jesus, the tabloids will have a field day. Especially if the participants were well-known. Caroline bit back a gleeful smile with difficulty.
Please, God, let it be one of the top show jumpers banging a less than “suitable” stable girl—or boy.
Caroline leaned back against the stable wall, took a deep breath, and leaned around to peer into the stall.
The woman’s massive breasts swung back and forth as the guy behind her grunted and strained against her ass. He thrust into her like a machine, his face contorted in pleasure as he drove his cock into her pussy over and over. The slap of skin on skin added to the erotic atmosphere as Caroline stared, her eyes wide and her body heating.
The woman’s dress and pink satin bra had been wrenched down beneath her breasts, while its skirt had been hitched up high on her waist. Caroline pursed her lips against the laughter tickling her throat. That would need ironing before she walked outside.
Caroline’s nipples tightened. The guy was gorgeous. Sandy blond hair, a bare sun kissed, muscular chest, and a face so sculpted that he was almost too handsome. She preferred the ruggedly handsome type. Michael Canton came unbidden into her mind. Worse, she envisioned him banging into her from behind. Moisture pooled in her pussy. How long had it been since a guy had fucked her like that? Too bloody long.
As she stared, the guy gripped the woman’s dark hair in one hand and reached around her hip to rub her clit with the other, his hips moving like pistons. He pulled her head back and thrust violently into her pussy—shit, maybe his cock was buried in her ass. The woman growled with satisfaction and Caroline shivered. Lucky girl.
“Enjoying the show?” The low, masculine rumble of Michael Canton’s voice brushed over the hairs at the nape of her neck.
Shit.
Caroline’s heart stopped and her cheeks burst into flame. She spun around and he winked, pressing a finger to her open mouth.
“Follow me.” He mouthed.
Sliding his finger from her lips, he clasped her hand and dragged her away from the stall. Under normal circumstances, she would’ve yanked her hand away from any man who demanded that she do anything. The thing was—being caught watching a couple fuck combined with the sight of Michael’s naked torso, sleek tan pants, and black leather riding boots—Caroline wanted to follow him anywhere.
The situation had temporarily frozen her tongue and scorched her entire body.
He led her across the dusty courtyard and into another barn. Pulling her inside a stall, he immediately pushed her up against the interior wall. Her heart pounded as his intense and unmistakably hungry gaze locked on hers. His eyes were black with desire, the lashes long and thick. In short, the man looked mind-numbingly hot. Ready for release.
With his gaze still on hers, he kicked the door closed before turning away. The clang of the lock clicking into place made her flinch. When he returned to stand in front of her, his eyes gleamed with satisfaction in the dim light. Damn it, now he knew she was more than a little tense.
He smiled. “Do I frighten you, Miss James?”
She huffed out a laugh and turned her gaze from his to look at the stall behind him. “I don’t think so.”
“Then why are you trembling?”
Caroline snapped her gaze to his, steadfastly refusing to let her eyes roam over his golden brown chest, smoothly defined pecs, or washboard stomach accented by a line of dark hair from his navel to the waistband of his breeches.