SWNOVELS Off to the Races: Chapter 10
It’s been exactly two weeks since Billie and I faced off. Not that I’m counting. Women throw themselves at me all the time. Either of their own fruition or at my mother’s behest. It made no difference. One hundred percent of those encounters did nothing but irritate me, and I treated the lot of them with respect, but a general lack of interest.
That night, with Billie pressed up against me, shouldn’t have felt different—but it did.
I wish I could say I hadn’t thought about the way she touched me. So confident and indifferent all at once. I’m not sure she even realized she had been slowly rocking herself on my leg as she brushed her soft lips against my jaw and bit down on my ear like the little vixen I hadn’t seen coming.
No one has ever made me that hard and then pushed me away. She’s a challenge now, and I am completely fixated.
I shouldn’t be.
God, I really shouldn’t be. It’s like she’s infected me with her recklessness because I certainly should not be giving that interaction any thought at all. But I have been. That she can effortlessly rattle my grip on control is driving me crazy.
That night has been keeping me up, it’s what runs through my head while I give in and grip my throbbing cock in the shower, spilling myself all over the tiles. I feel the swell of her breast against the pad of my thumb and her dainty fingers taking a fistful of my hair with a level of authority that does not befit her happy-go-lucky personality. But I can’t stop and continually promise myself that each time will be the last as I jerk myself off angrily.
I hate it. I’m self-controlled and meticulous. I always have a plan, and now one of the most annoying women I’ve ever met has me shaken. I’ve been in a foul mood since our family scandal hit the papers, and I’ve been running on fumes trying to save my grandfather’s crowning achievement, the farm he loved from the wife he cherished. But this encounter has really pushed me over the edge. I know I’m snapping at people who don’t deserve it. I’m distracted and agitated. I’m tired, and I’m tired of constantly thinking about bending my employee over my desk and having my way with her.
It’s beneath me, and it’s not even something I can just get out of my system and move on from.
Our family doesn’t need more scandal. I’m aware of how I’m portrayed in the media. The Harding family heir with a new woman on his arm every time he steps out in public. I’m the playboy and my brother the cold recluse. Ask Page 10 (or whatever page it is.) They would have an absolute heyday writing about me banging the new help.
I shake my head. Prime example, I know Billie isn’t just the help. She’s accomplished at her job. Despite what I initially thought of her, she’s proving to be perfect for the position. At our management meetings, both she and Hank report to me that all the horses are running better than ever. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that all the staff around the farm love her. Some have even told me as much. I can hear the upbeat and playful way she interacts with everyone. That boisterous laugh constantly echoes down the barn alleyway and floats into my office like some sort of cruel joke.
She doesn’t even give me the cold shoulder, like she’s on some sort of holier-than-thou mission to be the bigger person. Every day she waves a hand through my door as she walks past and gives me a, “Hey there, Boss Man,” as she continues past, completely unaffected by the fact she almost ate me alive the other night. I can’t even bring myself to tell her to stop calling me that ridiculous name. If only her professional facade would crack again, just a little, it would give me a good reason to get even with her.
I see her playing My Little Pony, or whatever it is she does with Double Diablo, who so far just looks like a shiny black hole that we’ve thrown almost a million dollars into for shits and giggles. Every morning she has coffee by his fence, and every night she brushes him until he shines like an oil slick. I can hear her talking to him every time I walk to my car, and I try to convince myself she’s probably unstable but truthfully can’t help but admire the way she’s turned the horse’s attitude around. Even the grumpiest horse in the world likes her.
She is inescapable.
Which is why I’m here, pulling up to the farm late on a Saturday afternoon. The junior trainers do most of the training work early on the weekends. So, it’ll be a ghost-town. And Billie doesn’t work on the weekend at all right now, which means I don’t have to hear her voice, or breathe in that sunshine and lemon scent I associate with her now.
I worked out hard all morning, burned off my angst, and now I need to deal with month-end spread sheets and compose an email to our public relations firm about how we should best approach rejoining the very public racing circuit in a few months. I need to focus.
Afternoon bleeds into evening as I hole up in my office, working. I take a break to eat the protein bar I packed for my dinner. It’s not appealing at all, but cooking alone isn’t either. I spin my desk chair around to face out towards the window, half expecting to see Billie down at “DD’s” paddock.
I chide myself for feeling disappointment at not seeing her down there. What would I do anyway? Just sit up here like a stalker and watch her?
“Yup, pretty much,” I murmur to myself. “It’s what you do most days, Vaughn.”
I shake my head at my foolishness and continue to gaze out the window. The longer I stare, I realize I can’t see Double Diablo at all. I stand and peer out the window, hoping a higher angle will help me see him standing in the far corner of his paddock, probably chewing on company cash and swatting flies with his tail.
But it doesn’t. He’s not there.
I stride out of my office, calm but admittedly feeling a little concerned. I jog down to his pen, making that kissing noise that horses seem to love. It sounds sweet when Billie does it, and just kind of lame when I do it. But it makes no difference. Here at the fence, holding the post I’d had Billie pushed up against, I can see that he is not in his pen. Not in a corner, not in his shelter, not lying down.
Blood roars in my ears, and my pulse thumps heavily against my sternum. Horses don’t just go missing.
I scrub my hands through my hair and stare at the empty paddock. The gate is latched and all the fences are intact, which means he hasn’t left on his own. But no one has been psychotic enough to risk taking him out of that paddock in the time that I’ve been here, so I turn in a circle, hoping he might just be chilling in a neighboring paddock.
He’s not.
A vise constricts my throat, because I don’t know what to do in this situation. I work with files and papers. They don’t have a mind of their own, and they usually just stay where you leave them. I’m out of my element here.
So, I do the only thing I can think of—I run.
In a full sprint, I race back to my car, hop in, and speed down the back road to Billie’s cottage, rounding the corner into the driveway with a spray of gravel. I’m driving like a maniac, and I know this. Unfortunately, I realize it a little too late as I come to a screeching halt by the front porch.
To the left of the cottage, I see Double Diablo standing up on his back legs, wildly showing the whites of his eyes. Billie, legs wrap around his ribs with no saddle to hold her in place, gripping his mane in her hands, leans forward to meet his vertical motion, almost hugging his neck. She’s glued onto him like a little fly on his back, gritting her teeth in concentration.
The pause at the top of his motion almost makes time stand still, and the surrounding sounds bleed into nothingness. Before I know it, his front hooves are lowering to the ground and she has one rein away from his body, turning him in a tight circle. The sound of her murmuring to him in a low, soothing voice filters into my awareness.
I lean my head back against the headrest and close my eyes, running both hands through my hair. The breath that’s been a hard knot in my chest for the last several minutes leaves my lungs in a shaky exhale. Relief flows over me like a cool shower on a hot day. The horse is here, and I didn’t accidentally kill an employee in my moment of panic.
Lifting my head to glance out the window, I see Billie sitting securely on Double Diablo’s back. His flanks heave with the weight of his breaths and his head turns towards where her foot hangs at his side. She leans down to his face, rubbing his neck with gentle caresses.
Thank fuck.
I open the door and step out of my car. The inky black horse startles at the sound and swings his head up to look at me. Billie’s head follows, but slower. Like a predator.
Beneath the shadow of her wide-brimmed black riding helmet, her lava-like eyes narrow. I know her well enough now to recognize her angry face. But two can play this game, so I stand in place and give it right back to her. I refuse to let her make me feel bad. She shakes her head and turns her attention back to the horse, slowly flipping onto her stomach to slide gently down his side, constantly running her hands over him and talking to him reassuringly.
Facing away from me, she takes the reins of the bridle and slowly lifts them over his head, like he’s made of porcelain or something. I try not to check her out but, as usual, I fail. The thick brown braid hanging down her back is like an arrow directing my eyes straight to the way she fits in her skintight jeans. Start here! it says, pointing my focus to her slim waist, then the feminine curve of her hips, and finally to her firm round ass. It isn’t one of those skinny flat asses either, she’s sporting some curves. She isn’t willowy and weak; she’s slender and strong. I assume working on a farm and spending long hours in the saddle are to thank for that.
It cuts my perusal of her body short when she spins around and spits fire.
“What the fuck do you think you are doing? Flying in here like a bat out of hell? Scaring the bejesus out of my horse?”
“You must be confused,” I bite back, resting one elbow on the roof of my car trying to look more casual than I feel. “That is my horse. And you removed it from my property without my permission. I came to work to find one of our most valuable assets missing, and now I probably have dings in my Porsche from having to race around on gravel roads looking for him.”
She sniffs haughtily and tips her chin up defiantly at me.
“Sounds like you should look into a more practical car. Minnie Mouse’s slipper isn’t exactly an ideal farm vehicle.”
“I feel like I’ve said this to you before but… that’s your takeaway here?” I reply, raw disbelief bleeding into my tone.
“Yeah, Vaughn, it is,” she continues, absentmindedly holding a cookie out to Double Diablo who is watching us intently with wide black eyes. “I have a phone. Presumably you know how to call and text people. That would have been a good place to start.”
She has a point.
“This is still your property. I rode him through the pastures up to the house so I could work with him. On my day off,” she emphasizes.
I cross my arms and look at the ground. “Okay,” I grumble and give a pebble a swift kick.
She looks at me like I’ve grown extra heads and then launches back in, “Incredible! And now, you’ve got the gall to stand here and sulk about your stupid car while accepting zero accountability for almost killing me?” She scoffs. “Typical trust fund baby behavior.”
I. See. Red.
I hate that implication. It’s one I’ve grown up having to shoulder. In my mind, I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. I’m not completely naïve, though. I’m aware of the boosts my privilege has bought for me. The doors my family name has opened. The struggles I’ve bypassed. But I haven’t sat back and coasted either. I don’t need a participation medal for showing up, but I despise being lumped in with my peers who spend all day golfing at the country club and collecting interest payments on their investment accounts. I’ve put myself to use.
I can feel the heat of the ruby stain crawling up my neck. I hate I’m offended, that her words have landed in the worst way possible. Full of tension, I turn to take a few clipped steps back to my impractical car when I feel something thump me right between the shoulder blades.
I freeze, facing away from her, and hear muffled giggling.
“Billie,” I bark out, “did you just throw something at me?”
The giggling morphs into a loud snort.
I turn around in slow motion to find her laughing into the hand plastered over her mouth, reins drooping in the other. Her saucer-sized eyes glitter with unshed tears.
“You are unstable.” She is unbelievable. “Did you seriously just throw something at me?”
She nods her head, lips pressing together, obviously trying to hold back laughter.
“It was a treat,” she chokes out. “Throwing them seems to have brought DD around.”
I want to say I don’t find this funny, because I shouldn’t, but her amusement is infectious. And the aftereffects of all that tension make me feel giddy.
I smirk. “I’m pretty sure you haven’t been throwing them at him.”
She shrugs. “He doesn’t make me as mad.”
Point taken. Giving her a curt nod, I turn to leave.
“Vaughn,” she calls out, “stop.”
I keep going, opening my car door.
“Good lord, don’t be such a bitch baby.”
I can’t help it. I bark out a harsh laugh against my will and turn back to take her in.
“Billie Black, did you just call your employer a bitch baby?” I say, giving her an incredulous look.
“Yeah, yeah.” She grins as she walks towards the small pen beside the house. “Turn your fine trust fund ass around and come have a beer with me. I owe you an apology.”
This woman is absolutely astonishing.
Almost as astonishing as the fact I am turning my “fine ass” around and waiting for her by the front steps. What am I thinking?