Tempestuous/Restless Heart Read online

  Keeping a watchful eye on the chestnut she picked up a brush and applied it briskly to his coat.

  “Here’s that soda you asked for, Mr. Haskell.”

  “Thanks, Heather, honey, ’preciate it.”

  The brush stilled on Terminator’s back as Alex looked out of the stall, her straight, dark brows drawing together in suspicion. Haskell accepted the can of soda, looking neither contrite nor annoyed. Heather C. set about her work cleaning tack without giving the man another glance.

  You’ve got to stop being so paranoid, Alex told herself. It was ridiculous to think Haskell had sent the girl on an errand for the sole purpose of getting her alone. Besides, there was virtually no chance of being alone in the barn, what with competitors going in and out continually. She was just wasting energy being nervous, and in view of the amount of work she had to do, energy was the last thing she could afford to waste.

  Terminator took advantage of his trainer’s lapse in attention, taking a swipe at her arm. Alex jumped out of her trance and scolded herself for being so careless. If the cross ties had been any looser, people could have started calling her Lefty. Where would she and Isabella have been then?

  “He’s got a lot of fire,” Tully observed, perversely pleased by the gelding’s nasty attitude.

  Alex bit back her opinion as she let herself out of the stall and began packing her equipment in her tack trunk. Terminator would have better served the world as a bag of kibble and a bottle of glue, but owners didn’t like to hear that kind of thing from trainers.

  “Let me help you with that, honey,” Haskell said, reaching for the saddle on the rack at the same time Alex did.

  His arms brushed her sides as he reached around her. His paunch bumped against her back. Alex grabbed the saddle and twisted out of his embrace, making sure he got a good poke in the ribs with a stirrup iron as she did so.

  “I can get it, Mr. Haskell,” she said, struggling to curb her reaction and form a polite smile. “Thank you anyway.”

  Rubbing his side absently, he gave her a brief scowl, then shrugged as if to say it was her loss. “Well, I’ve got to be taking off. I’ll stop by the farm one day next week.”

  Choking back the urge to tell him not to bother, Alex managed a nod, then breathed a sigh of relief as Tully swaggered off. She went about her work cursing herself under her breath in Italian all the while and throwing in a couple of colorful words for the odious Mr. Haskell. She had overreacted. She was a ninny. She was a coward. She was a fool.

  Tully Haskell was a man. That seemed enough of a curse to heap on his balding head. He didn’t mean anything by his flirtation. He was just testing the waters, seeing what kind of reception he would get. Any man would have done the same—curse them all. When the fact finally penetrated his tiny brain that he wasn’t going to get any encouragement from her, he would back off.

  It was simple, she told herself. She was sending out the right signals. As soon as she had ceased to be a novelty, and as soon as the male population of her professional circle figured out she wasn’t interested in fun and games, life would settle down to the kind of quiet routine she wanted for herself and her daughter.

  She finished her packing, still muttering to herself in the language she had grown up with. Her grandparents, who had emigrated from Italy to California after the Second World War, had insisted the Gianni offspring speak their native tongue while in their home. Alex still spoke it out of habit around the house and in the stable, much to the delight of her teenage students, who thought it very chic to pick up a word or two themselves.

  “I’m finished here, Alex,” Heather said, brushing her blond braid back over her shoulder. “Is it okay if I go watch?”

  Alex absently waved her away. “Si, si.”

  “Milh gmziel” The girl grinned and bounded for the stable door calling, “Ciao!”

  Alex smiled and shook her head.

  “Bon piorno, Sijjnorina Gianni.”

  The smooth male voice immediately sent her senses on red alert. Red-hot alert. Responses she’d forgotten she possessed rushed through her—heat and tingling and a strange, giddy pleasure. Alex throttled them guiltily, strangling them into control before she looked up to see Christian standing across the aisle from her, lounging against a stall. He had changed out of his riding clothes to trim, faded jeans, a T-shirt that matched his eyes, and a gold suede jacket that looked butter soft and infinitely touchable.

  He looked comfortable and sexy, and that blasted come-hither grin of his invited her to come be comfortable and sexy with him. The worst of it was, a part of her wanted to—badly.

  She scolded at him as he sauntered toward her, moving with a lazy, subtle grace that spoke volumes about both his athleticism and his background. His eyes caught hers in their powerful tractor beam, and he let his slow, I-know-how-good-we’d-be-in-bed smile ease across his face.

  “Mi fa molto piacere veder la,” he said, his pronunciation smooth and perfectly accented. The words rolled over Alex like the caress of silk.

  “Well, I’m not delighted to see you,” she replied tartly, stiffening her resolve.

  He gave her a sad-hurt look that made her stomach somersault, and lifted his hands in question. “Perche?”

  “Why? Why!” Alex fumed, taking a step toward him. She lifted an accusatory finger under his nose. “I’ll tell you why—” She caught herself just before planting that forefinger on his chest. Control, Alex. Calm, control. No wild emotional outbursts, no show of temper, no show of passion. She pulled her hand back, then flung it downward as she stepped away from him, trying to dodge his magnetic field. “No, no, just go away. Va al diavolo! Mi lasci in pace, per favore!”

  Christian listened to her order to leave her alone but didn’t heed it. He was already far too curious about who this lady was. He wanted to know why she kept yanking back her emotions every time they threatened to melt the ice that surrounded her. He wanted to know why she was so anxious to escape when the spark between them was so obvious and so compelling.

  He stepped closer and felt the level of heat between them rise. “Don’t be angry with me,” he said sincerely, his eyebrows lifting in an endearing look of penitence.

  Alex sniffed indignantly, determined not be swayed by his handsome contrition. “I’ll be angry if I want. You’re not sorry for what you did. You’re sorry I slapped you.”

  “A—well, I expect you’re right about that,” he admitted with a brilliant grin that invited her to grin back. She didn’t. Gads, she was a tough one! That was his best bloody smile! He’d melted more resolves with that grin than he could remember. Sobering, he cleared his throat and apologized in earnest. “Look here, Alex, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. I didn’t mean any harm.”

  “That doesn’t make it all right,” Alex muttered, thinking of another wealthy, privileged man who had thought he could get away with anything, too, then make it all better with an apology.

  “Then let me make it up to you… over dinner? Nick does an excellent pollo del padrone.”

  “I’ll have to try it sometime.”

  “But not tonight…” he said slowly. “And not with me.”

  “No.”

  He sighed heavily, as if he were finding this whole thing tiring in the extreme. Fine, thought Alex, let him get bored and lose interest. That was, after all, the plan, she reminded herself while trying to ignore the stirring of disappointment inside her.

  “I have to ask myself why,” Christian said, his eyes narrowing in speculation as he leaned closer. Alex tried to back away, but once again he had managed to corner her.

  “There’s the obvious reason,” she said, sticking her chin out defiantly. “Maybe I don’t like you.”

  One corner of his mouth hooked upward. “That’s not what your kiss told me, darling.”

  “What did my slap tell you?”

  “That you’re tempestuous.”

  “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

  “No,” he murmured
. “I haven’t a clue about who you really are, Alexandra Gianni. But I mean to find out.”

  The fear that flashed through her eyes was instantaneous. Alex couldn’t stop Christian from seeing it. Damn him! Why couldn’t he just accept her rejection and walk away like the half-dozen others who had gone before him?

  The predatory gleam in his eyes softened to something warm and curious as he took in the tension in Alex’s expression. What a pretty little puzzle she was—fire and ice, arrogance and uncertainty. Without even trying, she was weaving a spell around him, and he had no doubt that she would not have been happy to hear it.

  “I’ll take a rain check on the dinner,” he murmured.

  Unable to resist, he bent his head and brushed his lips across hers, again tasting the sweet yearning, the longing to respond, then the abrupt retreat of her emotions. He stepped back quickly and caught the hand she lifted to slap him. Though she resisted, he raised it easily to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

  “Until we meet again, darling,” he said with a grin, backing gracefully away from her. “Arrivederci, Alexandra!”

  four

  “POMPOUS, PRESUMPTUOUS, ARROGANT … man!” Alex spat the last word as if it were the vilest of curses.

  The rigid tension in her muscles was telegraphed to her horse. Terminator’s head came up, and his haunches bunched beneath him as he hopped forward nervously. He snorted and jogged sideways as a rabbit rustled the budding leaves of a low bush along the trail.

  Alex spoke to him in a gentle voice, mentally scolding herself for letting her mind wander. When she was on this one’s back, there could be no room in her head for thoughts of anything but surviving the excursion. As she had been telling herself for the better part of a day, there should never be any room for thoughts of Christian Atherton, and yet her brain stubbornly persisted in conjuring up his image every five minutes. She chased the apparition away with manufactured anger, wasting another five minutes of time and energy. Damn him anyway.

  She wanted only peace, a place to raise her daughter, a chance to establish herself in her profession. It made no sense that men insisted on pursuing her when she made no effort to lead them on. It made no sense that a man like Christian Atherton would look her way twice, let alone steal a kiss from her.

  She bit her lip and sighed with no small amount of despair when the tingling sensation of his lips against hers came back to her as real as if it had just happened. She could still taste him, warm and sweet. She could still feel the temptation to lean into him.

  Damn him for making her want again! Damn him for awakening needs she would sooner have left behind.

  Perhaps the most frustrating thing about this business of attracting men was the fact that she had gone to considerable trouble to make herself less noticeable. The waist-long wild mane of black ringlets Michael had delighted in had been shorn off. She no longer wore makeup. The bottles of fragrance she so loved stood unused on her dresser. With the necessary exception of her riding breeches, her clothes were baggy and mannish, enhancing no part of her feminine anatomy. She had made a concerted effort to subdue her naturally outgoing personality, to speak quietly, coolly, evenly, to show little of the hot Italian temper and volatile emotions that ran beneath her surface. She had even shortened her name to its least feminine form.

  In short, she was sure she had done nothing to attract or encourage Christian Atherton, and still he had made it clear he intended to pursue her.

  Sensing her lack of concentration, Terminator bolted suddenly beneath her. Only lightning reflexes and an excellent sense of balance kept her from being unhorsed. Sawing gently on the reins, Alex rose in the saddle and let the big horse move into a ground-eating canter. She had discovered that Terminator quickly soured on arena work and so had chosen to take him for a gallop in the woods that ran up the hill behind her farmstead. He had earned a day away from fences, and Alex herself had had a longing to escape. That she could never really escape her thoughts or her memories was a reality she didn’t care to accept.

  With an effort she focused on her horse. He moved with unwavering strength and grace up the old logging trail. The forest they swept through was still half-naked, drab with the dead leaves of last season, but brightening with the new leaves of this one. The air was heavy and sweet with the promise of rain and new growth. Alex breathed deeply of it, letting it fill her lungs and clear her mind… and still she thought of Christian Atherton.

  Christian eased his horse along the trail. His position was perfect—head up, heels down, back straight—but his mind was elsewhere. On the far side of the hill, to be precise. He didn’t have a plan as yet, but he hoped something brilliant would come to him by the time he reached Alex’s stable. He had yet to be at a loss for either words or actions around a lovely, intriguing woman.

  The taste of her was still lingering on his lips. The memory of that instant when her body had swayed ever so slightly into his was still fresh. So was the memory of her flashing amber eyes, her hot tongue, and the stinging slap she had delivered along with her words. A grin curved his mouth at the thought. The lady had a temper. He suspected the lady had a lot of other equally strong feelings as well, but she seemed determined to keep them on a short rein.

  He frowned as he recalled her spontaneous bursts of emotion and the way she had instantly throttled each one. His frown deepened as he thought of the bright smiles that had lit up her face only to be extinguished, doused by the wariness in her eyes.

  “Secrets, secrets, Alexandra,” he murmured, a strong, undefinable emotion of his own surging through him. “I’m going to learn them all, whether you like it or not.”

  The two riders broke through the trees at the same time. Christian grinned as he recognized the rider in the scarlet jockey cap and black sweater, then scowled as he recognized the horse. He turned his gray to the right to avoid a collision. Alex and Terminator turned in the same direction, and the pair of them cantered up the slight incline of the high meadow.

  The horses drifted toward each other. Terminator pinned his ears and surged against the bit. Alex hauled back on the reins and cursed under her breath when she got no response for her actions except an increase in speed. Ahead of them lay a mile-long stretch of open field, and Terminator was determined to reach the end of it ahead of the horse running beside him.

  “Dammit, Christian, pull up!” Alex shouted. “He thinks it’s a race!”

  Christian eased the gray back half a length, then a length, but Terminator surged on, faster still, out of control. Rising in his irons, he kicked his gelding ahead, urging him with hands and legs. The gray responded with a burst of speed that brought the two horses even once again.

  Alex was leaning back, sawing on the reins with every ounce of strength and determination she had and making no impression on her animal whatsoever. Taking his own reins in his right hand, Christian stretched his left arm out, his fingers grasping for Alex’s rein, then curling around it.

  “Let him go!” Alex ordered as Christian sat back, his movement pulling the two horses closer together.

  Alex frantically tried to pull Terminator the other way, but the chestnut had already changed his course and his mind. He was no longer bent on winning the race but on beating the daylights out of his opponent. Ears flattened, he willingly turned his head in Christian’s direction and lunged at the gray.

  Christian’s startled mount bolted sideways to escape his adversary’s teeth, stumbled, and went down, sending Christian sprawling. Alex overbalanced to the right, and Terminator neatly dodged left, ducking out from under her. She hit the ground with a teeth-jarring thud and slowly pushed herself to a sitting position just in time to see Terminator disappearing down the trail for home.

  “Damn!” she said, tearing up a clump of grass with her gloved fist and throwing it away.

  Christian’s mount had righted himself and stood near the edge of the clearing, alternately grazing and staring at his fallen master with wide eyes. Alex’s heart went to her throa
t as her own gaze fell on Christian. He seemed ominously still.

  “Christian?” she called, her voice trembling as she scrambled over to him. She unbuckled the chin strap of her jockey’s helmet, which suddenly seemed to be strangling her, and still couldn’t get a decent breath.

  Christian lay like a mannequin in the grass, unnaturally still. What if he were unconscious? He wasn’t wearing a helmet—he might have hit his head or been kicked. What if he were—Alex swallowed hard and refused to finish the thought. On her knees she bent over him looking for blood and bruises. “Christian?”

  He opened his eyes and smiled weakly. “I do love how you say my name, darling.”

  Relief washed through Alex like the waters of a burst dam. And in their aftermath came a tide of anger. She pushed herself to her feet and swore at him in Italian. “You’re not hurt at all!”

  “Try not to sound so disappointed,” he said dryly. He sat up gingerly, mentally assessing the damage. A few aches, no major pains, all extremities attached and working.

  “Madre di Dio!” Alex flung her hands at him, amber eyes flashing. “I thought you’d been killed!”

  “Is that a goal of yours or something?” he questioned suspiciously, rubbing an aching shoulder through his dark leather jacket. “This is the second time I’ve found myself on the ground because of you. Of course, I wouldn’t mind if you were down here with me,” he added with a roguish grin.

  Alex just growled at him and paced, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

  “I say, you won’t be able to talk with your hands tucked up against you.”

  His teasing earned him a baleful glare. He chuckled. The lady didn’t want him to know how badly rattled she’d been at the prospect of his death. It was a start.