Page 12 of Irish Thoroughbred (Irish Hearts #1)

Adelia watched his eyes drop to the lips still warm from his and felt his hand tighten on her hair. It relaxed slowly, and a smile moved across his face as his eyes rose to hers. “It also appears to be the only way to shut you up for any amount of time.”

He dropped her cap back on her head, then traced her cheek with his finger. “I find Irish tempers have definite advantages.”

He strode away, and Adelia contemplated his long, graceful stride in confusion, reaching up one hand to press the cheek his finger had touched.

Pushing away a puzzle she could not solve, she spent the rest of the day in a state of euphoria.

She was staying. She had found her place on the mammoth horse farm, and an uncle who wanted as well as needed her, and a job that was a dream realized.

And at least, she thought happily, she would be close to Travis, seeing him almost daily, feeding her need on the sight of his tall, powerful form, on a few snatched words of conversation.

That was enough for the present, and the future was something to be faced when it arrived. …

Long after her uncle had retired, Adelia remained wide awake. She had tried to relax with a book, but her spirits were too high for sitting idly, and she closed it and slipped outside.

She decided to walk to the stables, promising herself she would not touch one bridle but merely look in on the horses.

The night remained warm, the sky blanketed with stars, so clear and vivid that she reached up, imagining she could pluck one from the soft, black curtain.

At peace with the world, she meandered toward the large white building.

Entering, she switched on a low light to dispel the unrelieved darkness. She had gone no more than twenty feet when a soft moaning sound caught her attention, and she whirled in the direction of an empty stall. A man lay in a crumpled heap, and she caught her breath in alarm.

“Merciful heavens!” She hurried in and bent over him.

“What’s happened? Oh!” she uttered in disgust and stood, hands on hips.

“You are drunk, George Johnson, and a pitiful sight indeed. You smell like a poteen factory. What do you mean drinking yourself into such a state and lying about in the stables?”

“So, it’s pretty little Dee,” George mumbled thickly, hauling himself into a half-sitting position. “Did you come for a visit? Come to share my bottle?”

Adelia had found herself avoiding the groom. She had often found his eyes on her, and his leering smile had caused her to recoil instinctively. Now, however, she was angry and disgusted, and she took no pains to hide it.

“No, I’ll not be sharing a bottle with the likes of you—I’ve no patience for drunken sods. Haul yourself up and be on your way. You’ve no business in here with your mind fuddled with whiskey.”

“Giving orders now, little Dee?” He struggled to his feet and faced her.

“Too good to drink with me?” He raked her from head to foot with bleary eyes, pausing on the swell of her breast and moistening his lips.

“Maybe you don’t want to drink when there’s more interesting things to do.

” He grabbed her shoulders and closed his mouth over hers, the strong smell of whiskey assaulting her senses as she pushed against him.

“You filthy pig of a man!” she spat, infuriated that he had touched her.

“You great, sniveling, drunken buzzard, don’t you ever put your hands on me again.

You guzzling serpent, I’ll kick you into next week if you touch me again.

” She ranted at him until he grabbed her with such force that her breath caught in her throat.

“I’ll do more than touch you.” His hand clamped over her mouth, and he pushed her down roughly in the straw-filled stall.

She fought in wild fury, kicking and scratching as his hands began to bruise her body, choking back the sickness that rose as his lips violated hers.

Her blouse ripped away from the shoulder, the sound exploding in her ear.

Anger gave way to terror, and she struggled more violently.

Her nails dug into his arms, tearing his skin, and as he cursed with pain and raised his head, her scream pierced the still night.

A hand slapped hard across her cheek, numbing her face as he closed his palm over her mouth again.

She continued to thrash out as his free hand captured her breast and moved over her with cruel purpose.

Her strength was ebbing, and she realized she was helpless against the violation that was to come.

He was tugging at her jeans, his drunkenness causing his fingers to fumble at the snap.

The hand over her mouth was depriving her of air, and a foggy dimness floated in front of her eyes.

Please, somebody, help me, she prayed desperately as nausea swamped her.

Suddenly, she was released from his crushing weight.

She heard a muffled curse and the soft thud of flesh on flesh.

Crawling to the stall’s opening, she breathed deep to force back the queasiness.

Travis, she thought dizzily, as she made out his powerful figure in the dimly lit stable.

He was beating the smaller man with a ruthless determination, knocking him to the floor with crushing blows, only to drag him up again by the shirtfront and send him sprawling once more.

George offered no resistance; indeed he could not, she realized as her mind cleared.

He was already unconscious. Still, Travis’s fist pounded, pulling the man up on his watery legs again and again.

He’s killing him, she thought suddenly, and sprang to her feet, running toward them.

“No, Travis, you’re killing him!” She grabbed the hard, muscular arm. “For the love of God, Travis—you’re killing him!”

He jerked back, and for a moment she feared he would brush her off like a fly and finish the man who now lay in a motionless heap on the stable floor.

As he turned to face her, Adelia stepped away, frightened by his expression of rage.

His face seemed to be carved from granite, his eyes steely blue and penetrating as he stared at her.

She trembled at the strong, harsh mask and offered up a silent prayer that she would never have that deadly fury directed at her.

“Are you all right?” His voice was clipped, his eyes boring into hers.

“Aye.” She swallowed convulsively, dropping her eyes from his stare. “Oh, Travis, your hands!” Without thought, she took them in her own. “They’re bleeding; you’ll have to tend to them. I have some salve that’s—”

“Damn it, Dee.” He yanked his hands away from hers, taking her by the shoulders and tilting her head back so her eyes once more met the icy fury in his.

He surveyed the torn blouse, the bruises already in evidence on the creamy skin, the rich hair tousled around her pale face.

“How badly did he hurt you?” His voice was low and uneven.

Dee struggled to keep her own voice calm and not give way to the hysteria bubbling below the surface.

“Not badly—he just frightened me. He only hit me once.” Travis’s face suffused with color, dark and angry at her words, his hands tightening uncontrollably on her shoulders.

“Is he alive?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

Travis let out a long breath, released her, and turned to study the crumpled form.

“Yes, more’s the pity. Heaven knows he wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t intervened. The police will see to him now.”

“No!” Her cry of protest brought Travis’s attention back to her.

“Adelia…” he began slowly. “The man tried to rape you, don’t you understand?”

“I know very well what his intentions were.” She hugged herself to control the spasmodic trembling assailing her.

“But we can’t call the police.” She rushed on as Travis made no protest. “I don’t want Uncle Paddy to know about this.

I won’t have him worrying and upset because of me.

I’m not hurt, and I won’t have Uncle Paddy upset—I tell you, I won’t!

” Her voice rose, and he slipped a gentle arm around her shoulders.

“All right, Dee, all right,” he soothed, tightening his grip around her shuddering. “I’ll call a couple of men and have him taken off the property. No police.” He began to lead her from the stables. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

The room began to lurch sickeningly as a roaring sound filled her brain, the dim light ebbing until she could barely see.

“Travis.” Her voice sounded strange and far away over the deafening roar in her head.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to faint.” As she spoke, the darkness closed in and swallowed her.

Adelia opened her eyes slowly, experimentally. There was something cool and wonderful on her forehead, and someone was stroking her cheek and speaking her name. She sighed and closed her eyes again, enjoying the new sensation of pampering, before opening them once more to focus on her surroundings.

The room was lit with a warm glow, the walls a cool, soft ivory trimmed with carved dark wood. She made out a wingback chair and a dark mahogany table on which stood an antique globed lamp that softly lit the room. Her eyes traveled over to the man who knelt beside her and rested on Travis’s face.

“I’m in the main house,” she stated matter-of-factly, and his expression of concern was transformed into an amused smile.

“Leave it to you not to say the usual ‘Where am I?’” He removed the wet cloth from her head and sat down beside her on the long sofa. “I don’t know anyone else who could calmly announce she was sorry, she was going to faint, and then proceed to do so.”

“I’ve never fainted before in my life,” she told him, mystified. “I’m sure I don’t like it.”

“Well, your color’s better now. I’ve never seen anyone go so white. You scared the daylights out of me.”