Page 5

The Empire State Grand Prix, held in North Salem, New York, began on Tuesday and wound up with the Grand Prix competition at two o’clock Sunday afternoon.

Jake had been at the show grounds all week, watching the events and giving Ellie Fletcher as much of his attention as he dared.

His shadow as he had come to call the unknown man who followed him, appeared occasionally, but since Jake had made the decision to focus on his job, he found himself more and more successful at ignoring him.

Maggie Delaine was still on business in Los Angeles, for which he was grateful.

One problem at a time.

At the moment, that problem was getting Ellie Fletcher ready for the competition in Europe.

Every day, she’d been competing in three or four events, riding three different horses.

She’d ridden several times against Flex McGrath and Shep Singleton, two of her team members, and held her own, but nothing seemed to challenge her efforts more than a round against Clay.

Each time they’d competed, Whitfield had placed ahead of her.

“Competition brings out the best in a person, Ellie,”

Jake told her as she worked in her stall on Friday afternoon, “but it isn’t supposed to eat you up.

Or is there more to beating Whitfield than just winning?”

“I just want to be the best.

If Whitfield’s number one, then he’s the man I have to beat.”

Ellie didn’t add that as usual Jake’s perception wasn’t far off.

There was a whole lot more to beating Clay than just the fact he was the top rider in the country.

“You rode well in the open,”

Jake told her.

“But you misjudged the strides between the fourth and fifth jump in the modified and pushed your mare too hard.”

“I know.”

She’d done well enough, but she needed to do better.

“You going to the party?”

“No.”

“Well, if you change your mind and go, remember I expect you to be working that Dutch warm blood, Cookie’s Delight, by six a.m.

tomorrow morning.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

Later that afternoon, she was surprised when Clay showed up at her tack room.

Sitting on a bale of straw, she was cleaning alfalfa from the bit of Jube’s show bridal when he walked up.

“Did you get the invitation I left with your groom?”

Standing in the doorway, he filled the room with his booming voice as well as his imposing presence.

“I got it.”

Her fingers tightened around the metal bit.

“I won’t be going.

I’m working a couple of different horses tomorrow and I want to get plenty of rest.”

“How old did you say you were?”

Clay teased.

“I didn’t, but I’m twenty-four.”

“Surely you’ve still got enough stamina to spend a few short hours with friends.

Flex and Shep will be there.

You’ll know several others.”

“Flex and Shep have more experience than I do, as you so helpfully pointed out.

I have to make up for it by working harder.”

“All work and no play make Ellen a dull girl,”

he teased.

“What makes you so concerned with my private life? Or did you intend to get me drunk and make the same lewd proposition you made in Aachen?”

A muscle twitched in Clay’s cheek.

“Actually, the invitation tonight was my way of apologizing, but right now, I don’t think I regret my actions at all.

Good luck on Sunday,”

he said coldly.

Turning his broad back to her, he stalked out the door.

Ellie felt like a fool.

Clayton Whitfield had been trying to apologize, and she had insulted him.

She rubbed the snaffle so hard her fingers ached.

Damn it! Damn him!

Ellie worked on her equipment till well after dark, then flicked off the lights and left the tack room.

Driving a rented Toyota, she drove to the Cross River Motel where she was staying, unlocked the door, checked the closet for intruders as was her habit, and stripped out of her grimy, sweat-stained riding clothes.

It wasn’t till after a long soak in the tub that the idea of attending the party began to take root.

She could apologize to Clay, she rationalized.

Tell him she appreciated his invitation and try to encourage his friendship, since they’d be traveling together through Europe.

She’d also have a chance to get to know Flex McGrath and Shep Singleton a little better.

She’d just have a quick glass of wine and come home.

She blow-dried her hair, leaving it in loose curls down her back, then stepped into a yellow cotton sundress and a pair of white high-heeled sandals that went with everything in the minimal wardrobe she had packed for the trip to North Salem.

With a white knit sweater draped over her shoulders, she grabbed her car keys and a white clutch purse and headed out the door.

The directions to the party, written on the back of the invitation, were a cinch to follow, just a few miles out of town on State Route 124 then turn onto Deveau Rd.

The driveway was a quarter mile past the Hammond Museum and Gardens on a hill overlooking the lake.

As she pulled up in front, yellow lights glowed through the windows while laughter and the music of classical guitar drifted across the manicured lawns.

A bit hesitantly, Ellie climbed the steps to the double mahogany front doors.

Having paid little attention to the invitation, she assumed this would just be a casual lawn party.

It appeared she was wrong.

“Your wrap, madam?”

A tuxedo-clad attendant stood in the entry.

Ellie removed the sweater and handed it over.

Through the opening to her left beneath crystal chandeliers, she could see men in black suits and women in silk cocktail dresses.

Some wore sequins.

Horrified to be there ridiculously underdressed, she caught the attendant just as he handed her sweater to the uniformed girl in the cloak room.

“I’m afraid I’ve changed my mind.”

Hastily grabbing the sweater, she started for the door.

Clay Whitfield’s voice froze her where she stood.

“Not so old after all,”

he teased.

“I didn’t...I mean I’m not dressed appropriately.

I just...I came to apologize for what happened this afternoon.”

Why couldn’t she stop rambling? He was doing it to her again.

He looked magnificent in his black evening clothes.

She looked like a surf bunny.

“Don’t be silly.

You look lovely.”

He slipped an arm around her waist.

“Come on.

I’ll introduce you to Virginia and her husband, our host and hostess.”

Ellie hung back.

“Please, Clay.

I wouldn’t feel comfortable.”

Silently, she pleaded with him to understand and surprisingly, he seemed to.

“All right.

We’ll go for a drink someplace else.”

She managed to nod.

The man was so imposing she’d have followed him into the party if he’d pressed her, knowing she’d be making a fool of herself.

He tugged her down the steps and gave instructions to one of the youths parking cars to retrieve his Ferrari.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,”

Ellie said.

“I have to be up at five-thirty.”

“You do keep the most god-awful hours.”

Her head came up.

“How do you know what hours I keep?”

Clay chuckled.

“My spies are everywhere.”

“I almost believe you.”

Clay stopped at the edge of the driveway.

“I know because I’ve returned to the show grounds at dawn a few times and seen you working one of your horses.

Jake says you do that every day.”

Ellie made no reply.

If she wanted to be as good as Clay, she had no choice.

The car arrived and the valet opened the passenger door.

As Ellie climbed in, Clay’s gaze roamed over her legs.

Rounding the car, he slid in behind the wheel, leaned over and reached in the glove box.

“Here, put this on.”

She eyed the white silk scarf, a distinctly feminine article of apparel.

“Always prepared, I see.”

Clay didn’t miss the barb.

“Jealous already?”

“Hardly.”

She sat up a little straighter, tied the scarf around her head.

“We barely know each other.”

“The night is young.”

Clay grinned at her worried expression as the engine roared to life.

He tore off down the driveway, stirring up dust and the dogs in the kennel, and turned onto the road.

Driving like a speed demon, he seemed surprised to find Ellie smiling instead of objecting.

“So you have some adventure in your blood after all.”

“What?”

“The speed.

You don’t seem to mind.”

“I love it.

I like the rush, just like taking the fences.”

He tossed her a glance.

“What about men? Most women find men the most exciting sport of all.”

“I don’t have time for men.”

Clay arched a brow.

“No lovers, not even a boyfriend?”

“Now you’re getting personal.

But no, no boyfriends.”

“Or lovers?”

Clay pressed.

She turned wary.

“Don’t you ever think of anything but sex?”

Clay grinned.

“Actually, I think about show jumping a lot more than sex, but when I’m sitting beside a beautiful woman, the latter seems to spring to the front of my mind.”

Ellie flushed at the compliment.

Clayton Whitfield had called her beautiful.

She’d discovered she was attractive four years when she’d looked at herself in the mirror.

Without her thick glasses and wearing a little make-up, she was someone pretty.

Clay pulled the Ferrari into the parking lot of a small roadside tavern.

A neon sign above the door flashed Willow Creek Inn in big red letters.

“I’ve enjoyed the ride Clay, really I have.

But I think I’d better Shep the drink and be getting back.”

“One drink,”

he cajoled.

“Then I’ll take you to your car.”

One look in those warm brown eyes, one quick flash of his dimpled grin was all it took.

“All right.

But we’d better make it quick.

Five-thirty comes early.”

They went into the bar, a softly lit room with a juke box playing Sinatra.

The patrons were locals, some watching the television behind the bar, others waiting for a table in the dining room.

Clay chose a quiet spot in the corner.

When the barmaid arrived, he ordered Ellie a glass of white wine and himself a Dewars and soda.

Clay leaned back in his chair.

“All right, I know you’re twenty-four, you love to ride jumpers, and you’re a speed freak.

You don’t have a boyfriend, but you may have a lover.

What else should I know?”

Ellie fought a grin.

“You should know I’m not in the market for a one-night stand.

You should also know I have every intention of beating you on Sunday.”

Clay grinned.

“Now I also know you’re a dreamer.”

“I’ve beaten you before,”

Ellie reminded him.

“A fluke,”

he declared.

They bantered back and forth, Ellie feeling a little more relaxed with every sip of wine.

True to his word, when they finished, Clay pulled out her chair, helped her up, and escorted her out to the car.

When she fumbled with the seat belt, he leaned across to help her, snapping it easily across her lap.

He didn’t move away.

Instead, his head came down and he covered her lips in a leisurely kiss that made her stomach drop out and warmth spear through her body.

His lips were soft and teasingly insistent.

Ellie prayed he hadn’t heard her tiny purr.

Another brief kiss and he eased away and started the engine.

Ellie leaned back against the head rest, enjoying the memory of his mouth moving hotly over hers.

She shouldn’t have done it.

She knew what he wanted.

But God, his kiss felt good and dammit, she wasn’t a saint.

Why shouldn’t she kiss him?

She found out the answer when he turned the car south instead of north—opposite the party and her rented Toyota.

“Where are you going?”

Nervously, she glanced around.

“I’ve got to get back to the motel.”

Clay’s white teeth flashed in a wicked grin.

“That’s exactly where I’m taking you, love.”

“But I need to pick up my car.”

“We’ll pick it up in the morning.”

We’ll pick it up in the morning? The words rang a warning bell in her head.

“Stop the car, Clay.”

The words came out so high and strained, he pulled to the side of the road.

“What’s the matter, love, are you sick?”

Ellie didn’t answer.

She popped her seat belt, opened the car door, and stepped out onto the roadside.

The lights of a passing truck flashed by, closer than she would have liked.

Without a glance at Clay, she slammed the door and began walking back toward her car.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Clay’s voice was no longer warm.

Jamming the car in reverse, he backed along beside her as she marched down the sandy road, high heels sinking into the dirt.

“Home,”

she said through clenched teeth. “Alone!”

“Dammit, get back in the car before you get us both run over!”

“Not a chance.”

Clay slammed the car into park and opened the door.

In a few long strides he’d caught up with her.

“Look, I’ll take you back to your car.”

“No.”

She kept on walking.

Clay stepped in front of her, and she collided with his chest.

“All right.”

He tried for a smile.

“So now I know something else about you.

You’re easily insulted, and you don’t want to make love—at least not tonight.”

Ellie wanted to kill him.

She ground her teeth and tried to brush past him.

“Leave me alone.

I don’t trust you. I don’t believe you—and I don’t like you.”

Clay held her immobile.

“You kissed me like you liked me.”

“Damn you!”

She drew back her hand to slap him, but he caught her arm.

“Not this time.

I let you get away with before because I deserved it.

Don’t try it again.

I said I’ll take you back and I will. I just forgot for a moment how untouchable you really are.”

Ellie watched him closely, trying to read his expression.

The lines of his face were set, his jaw clamped tight.

With a sigh of resignation, she relaxed in his grip.

“I guess for a moment, I forgot that, too.”

Clay released her arm and together they walked back to the car.

They rode along in silence.

The wind on her face cooled her temper but did nothing for the nerves in her stomach.

When they reached the house party, Clay parked the Ferrari beside her Toyota, helped her out, and waited while she unlocked her car door.

“Thanks for an interesting evening,”

he said dryly as he settled her inside the car.

She could tell he was still angry.

Not trusting her voice and the knot that lodged in her throat, she only nodded.

Clay left his car where it was parked and headed for the house.

She watched him till he disappeared inside, then started the engine and drove away.

She hated that she suddenly felt so alone.