Page 14 of Irish Thoroughbred (Irish Hearts #1)

“Aye.” Her smile spread as her eyes traveled over his face. “And Majesty as well.” His smile answered hers, and as the moment grew long, she felt the need to abort the contact. “I’m sorry Majesty didn’t win his race.” Her fingers smoothed the skirts of her robe.

“Hmm?” His hands were exploring the flickers of light in her hair, and she repeated her statement in a rush of words.

“Oh, well, he placed and made a good run. Winning takes time, Dee.” With a laugh, Travis ruffled her hair. “Time, patience, and strategy.… Look, I have something for you.” Reaching into his pocket, he drew out her cross. “I didn’t have the opportunity to give it to you earlier today.”

“Oh, Travis, thank you.” She lifted her face again to smile. “It means a great deal.”

“I know.” Instead of handing it to her, Travis opened the clasp and slipped the chain around her neck.

His fingers on her skin were warm and gentle, and Adelia lowered her eyes, struggling not to tremble.

“Better?” he asked when the clasp was secured, and she nodded, swallowing before the words would come.

“Much better, thank you, Travis.”

He studied her bent head a moment; then, taking her hand, he pulled her to her feet.

“Come on, close the door behind me and go to bed. You’re tired.

” Reaching the door, he paused, one hand on the knob.

“You look like a child.” Her chestnut hair hung loose and heavy over the shoulders of her robe, and he ran a hand down the length of it.

“A child can’t be bundled off to bed without a goodnight kiss,” he said softly.

Before she could step away, his hand had circled her neck, his mouth lowering to linger on her cheek while her lips parted in hunger.

Her hunger was to go unsatisfied, for his mouth barely brushed her other cheek.

As in a dream, she watched him straighten, then turn to leave, closing the door gently behind him. …

With Paddy’s return Royal Meadows threw itself into preparing Majesty for the Blue Grass Stakes.

The race was a preliminary for the most prestigious race in the country, the Kentucky Derby.

Majesty’s record was impressive, and his good showing in Florida had hopes running high for his next venture on the track.

Adelia leaned on the fence surrounding the track, chin resting on crossed arms, as Steve Parker, the young jockey, raced Majesty around the large oval.

There had been an immediate liking between her and the small man, an easy rapport born of a mutual love of horses.

She watched their progress around the track, enjoying their fluid harmony.

Pushing the button on the stopwatch he was holding, Paddy let out a loud whoop of approval before he handed it to Travis. “If he runs like that in Kentucky, there’s not another horse will come within five lengths of him at the finish. He holds the turns like a lover.”

“Aye, and he runs for the sheer love of it,” Adelia murmured, sighing as Steve brought the colt toward them in a slow walk.

“Let’s hope he loves it as much in Kentucky,” Travis put in and sauntered over to speak to his jockey.

“Are you excited about your first race, little Dee?” Paddy asked, ruffling her hair.

“You might say I’m a bit excited,” she returned with a grin. “My eyes will be glued to the television; not even a ton of dynamite could blast me away.”

“Television?” Paddy repeated, the skin crinkling around his eyes as he narrowed them. “What’s put it in your mind about television? You’ll be coming with us.”

“Coming with you?” She stared back in confusion.

“Of course, Adelia.” She spun around at Travis’s voice, her eyes making contact with his hard chest before she tilted her head back to meet his calm, controlled gaze.

“Now, why would I be doing that?”

“Because,” he answered evenly, “I say so.”

“Is that the way of it?” she demanded, infuriated by the tone of command in his voice. “Well, if it’s a groom you need, there’s others who’ve been here longer. Stan or Tom deserves to go more than me.”

“But, Dee,” Steve protested with a wide grin as he joined them, “you’re much prettier than those two. I’d rather look at you—you’ll give me inspiration.”

“Inspiration, is it?” she returned, amused by the compliment. “You’re mad as a hatter.” She turned to Travis again, shifting her eye level by several long inches. “I think you’d best take one of the men,” she began, but he cut her off, narrowing his eyes and grabbing her hand.

“Excuse us,” he called over his shoulder as he began to stride off, dragging Adelia in his wake. When at last he stopped some distance away, she rounded on him furiously.

“What the devil do you mean racing off like that and carting me behind you?” she panted, outraged. “Your legs are almost as long as my whole body, and I had to fair run to keep up with you.”

She glared up at him, a picture of righteous indignation.

“I prefer to argue in private, Adelia,” Travis said coolly, meeting her mutinous face with nonchalant command.

“I run Royal Meadows and I give the orders.” Even through her own anger, Adelia could see the signs of tem per held in check; his eyes hard and direct, he was suddenly the essence of the master.

“I will not have you countermanding my orders privately, and most certainly not publicly.” His words annoyed her further simply because she knew he was right.

“You’re going to have to get it through that stubborn head of yours that you are no longer in solitary control of what is to be done.

Now, I believe the issue here is your presence in Kentucky,” he went on calmly, his face expressionless.

“I was telling you—”

“I’m telling you,” he interrupted imperiously. “You’re going.”

Her eyes flashed at the order. Why, she thought, if it’s God’s pleasure for me not to be forever bursting with temper did He give me such a demanding one?

“Majesty responds better to you than anyone else,” Travis went on.

“I want you tending to him.” Anger receded slowly at his words, and she dropped her eyes, staring at the ground while she considered his statement.

“You’ll come to Kentucky because it suits me to have you there, and I’m accustomed to having what suits me.

” His smile spread in a rapid change of mood as her head snapped up with fresh anger.

His hands claimed her waist, then trailed slowly upward, resting on the sides of her firm young breasts as her anger faded into confusion.

Lingering, his thumbs caressed in a slow circle, then trailed once in a lazy arch over the subtle curves, pausing at their fullness before moving to rest under their soft swell.

Her lips parted, but she found no strength to protest against the unfamiliar intimacy, her body responding to his touch, eclipsing her will.

She felt herself rising from the ground, and her hands went to his shoulders automatically to compensate for the loss of gravity.

“Put me down.” The order emerged as a trembling whisper, and his smile grew wider before his mouth lowered.

“In a minute.”

His mouth was dominant and sure, and her fingers dug into his shoulders as the force of the kiss held her in its prison. With a final flash of lucidity, she knew she could never fight Travis on these terms. Then all was lost in the dark demand of need.

“Steve’s right,” he murmured, his teeth nibbling at her lip and sending shooting sparks of flame through her veins. “You are prettier than Tom or Stan.”

With a final hard, brief kiss, he dropped her back to the ground, to stride away with casual arrogance, whistling the first few bars of “My Wild Irish Rose.” Adelia stood gaping after him, trembling with a confusing mixture of indignation and longing.