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“Don’t tell me,” Brig continued. “Your brother had something to do with that, too.”

Becca was intrigued. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” was the clipped reply.

“Dean thought the publicity would be good for the stables and Sentimental Lady. I didn’t see that it would hurt.”

Brig’s hand reached out and touched Becca’s wrist. He forced her to turn away from the view to look into his eyes. “There’s a subject I’ve been wanting to discuss all night. I’d like to see your horse. She’s the reason I’m here.”

Becca tried to manage a smile. “I know,” she replied, wondering if he was going to release her wrist. He did.

“Then you’ll show her to me?”

“Of course. We can drive there tomorrow.”

“Why not tonight?” he demanded.

“It’s a three-hour drive,” she responded before she began to think clearly. Was he serious? “Besides, it’s late . . . and then there’s the party. Mrs. Van Clyde would be offended if we left. That is what you’re suggesting, isn’t it?” Becca wasn’t really sure she had understood him correctly.

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

“I don’t know . . .” The night wasn’t going as she and Dean had planned.

“Don’t worry about Mrs. Van Clyde. I can handle her.”

“But my brother . . .” Becca was grasping at straws, but things were moving too fast. There was an arrogant self-assurance to Brig Chambers that unnerved her. And then there was Dean—he had wanted to talk to Brig in private about a job with Chambers Oil.

Brig’s smile became cynical. “I’m sure your brother can take care of himself.” His hand touched her bare elbow, guiding her toward the door to the salon and the noisy crowd within. “Make your apologies, get your coat and whatever else you brought here, and meet me on the starboard deck.”

“What about transportation? We’ve got to be more than a mile out.”

His gray eyes stared at her as they reentered the room and the din of the party made it impossible to converse. Brig leaned over to whisper into her ear. “I’ve already arranged it. Trust me.”

For the first time in Becca’s twenty-six years, she wanted to trust a stranger, completely. She found Dean leaning over a well-endowed brunette, and pulled him aside to tell him of the change in their plan. Dean wasn’t pleased and had trouble hiding his anger, but he didn’t argue with Becca. He couldn’t. He was smart enough to realize that Brig Chambers was used to doing things his way. Any argument would fall on deaf ears and only serve to anger the son of one of the wealthiest men in America. Dean could afford to be patient.

A motor launch was waiting and took Brig and Becca over the cold water to the dock, where Brig’s car was parked. The drive through the dark night should have taken nearly four hours, but was accomplished in less than three. Becca should have been nervous and restrained with the enigmatic driver of the car, but wasn’t. Their conversation flowed naturally and the only fragments of tension in the air were caused by the conflicting emotions within Becca. The man driving so effortlessly through the winding, country roads was a stranger to her, but she felt as if she had known him all of her life. She had never felt so daring, nor so trusting.

His laughter was rich and genuine, yet there was a dangerous glint in his gray eyes that made Becca tremble in anticipation. How many of her thoughts could he read in her smile? She couldn’t dismiss the awareness she felt for his masculinity. It was a feeling that entrapped her and sent shudders of expectation skittering down her spine.

Throughout the long drive, she had managed to keep her poise intact and tried to ignore the voice of femininity that begged her to notice Brig Chambers as a man. But as the sleek car began to twist down the rutted lane toward the farm, she felt all of her composure beginning to slip away. The headlights flashed against the white buildings near the paddock and Becca’s pulse jumped. The disrepair of the little farm seemed glaring. Perhaps it was better that Brig had come at night. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice what was so painfully obvious to her: rusty gutters, wooden fences mended with baling wire, and chipped paint, which was peeling off the boards of the barns. She swallowed back her embarrassment. It was all worth it. Money that should have gone to renovation and repair was well-spent on Sentimental Lady and her training. Becca knew deep within her heart that all of the money used on the horse would come back a hundredfold once the filly began to race.

Becca attempted to disregard her hammering heart. She was home; that thought should calm her, but it didn’t. The fact that she was virtually alone with a stranger, a pampered rich boy of the social elite, unnerved her. He would walk through the barns and into her life, scrutinizing it under the same standards of the Kentucky breeders. Starlight Breeding Farm was a far cry from the glamorous blue-grass establishments of the East.

The tires ground to a halt on the gravel, and Brig cut the engine. He reached for the handle of the door, but Becca reached out to restrain him. “Wait.”

Brig’s hand paused over the handle. “Why?” He turned to face her. She could feel his eyes upon her face in the dark interior.

“This isn’t . . . I mean, we don’t handle things the same way you do.”

“Pardon?”

“I mean we don’t have the facilities or the staff to . . .”

His fingers touched her shoulder. “I just came here to look at your filly, Rebecca. I’m not here to judge you.”

“I know Oh, damn!Whyare you here?” The question that had been teasing her for the past week leapt to her lips.

“I told you, I came here—”