Teach Me To Ride Page 2

  “Couldn’t wait, huh?”

  Two spots of color darkened her cheeks as she tilted her chin. “I’m not here for you, I wanted a look around the stables.” She snapped her gaze to a spot over his shoulder. “So this is your domain, is it?”

  His gaze drifted from her face to curve of her perfect neck, and down to the impressive mound of her breasts encased in starched cotton. “Something like that.”

  “I asked around about you after you left the arena.”

  He narrowed his eyes, all notion of flirtation disappearing on a puff of annoyance. “And?”

  She met his eyes. “And it seems you’re quite the celebrity around here.”

  “Is that so?” His words came through clenched teeth.

  “You’re the best trainer this side of the Atlantic, according to half the riders and spectators I spoke to. Is it true?” Her eyes flashed with provocation. “Are you that good?”

  He stared. She was stunning…but damn annoying. He blinked and tilted his head toward the arena behind her. “My best horse is about to compete in the jumping. Why don’t you go and follow Jack Henshaw through his events and see what you think of the horse he’s riding. She’s mine.”

  For a long moment, she said nothing and then spoke in a soft purr. “I’d rather talk to you than watch a horse jumping around a ring.”

  Oh, you want to play, do you? Michael smiled. Fire and someone getting burned came to mind. “You watch her today and then come and see me tomorrow.”

  Her eyes darkened and the soft smile playing at her full lips vanished. She pulled her shoulders back. “I write my stories as I see fit and standing in an arena watching a horse jump over a few poles is not where I’m going to find the story I want.”

  The anger in her eyes stoked his interest—and attraction—up another notch. “No?”

  “No.” She tilted her chin, her gaze flashing with challenge. “The real story is standing in front of me.”

  Okay, you win. Let’s play. Michael stepped closer and, he had to give her credit, she held her ground despite the pulse that beat in the sweet hollow of her throat. “Come back tomorrow and we’ll…talk. For now, go watch my horse. You’ll learn just how persuasive I can be, how careful and attentive. Then you’ll have your questions prepared and, if you’re good, I’ll give you the answers you need for the best damn story of your life.”

  The skin at her exquisite neck shifted as she swallowed, the tip of her tongue slowly wetting her bottom lip, and Michael inwardly cursed when his eyes followed the motion. Touché. He looked up and met her eyes.

  She smiled smugly. “You think a lot of yourself, don’t you?”

  The question caught him off guard. He was used to handling women, eager groupies keen to get close him, to get closer to the jumpers. Her boldness and confidence hummed between them, making Michael want to grip her shoulders, jerk her against his chest, and close his mouth possessively over hers.

  He took a step back, his heart pounding rhythmically. “Like I said, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  She opened her mouth to say more, but Michael turned and walked back to the stable without giving her chance to argue. He had a hard-on the size of Mount Vesuvius…and damned if he’d allow that woman to see what she did to him.

  Chapter Three

  The next day, Caroline strutted into the stable courtyard with an air of bravado in each shaky stride. Wearing skinny blue jeans and a crisp white shirt, she’d unbuttoned the shirt as far as decency allowed, and the black leather boots were as high under the same criteria.

  If Michael Canton thought he’d get the better of her with his handsome looks and knee-melting smile, he had another thing coming.

  She’d taken his advice and hung around yesterday, watching the horses he’d trained. They were beautiful, content, and so obedient to their riders…like puppies begging for a treat. Caroline swallowed. Which was exactly why her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. What if Michael had the power to make her equally as malleable?

  Drawing in a shaky breath, she shielded her eyes against the midday sun and scanned the yard. With no idea if he would be here or in the arena, she’d come straight to the stables to seek him out before nerves took over. Nerves. A whole new concept that pissed her off. Since when did she get nervous?

  She was there for a story. A real, bona fide local scandal that would make her editor realize that, no matter how much he felt she needed “reining in,” Caroline James always found out what was going on beneath the glossy public surface. The fact that Michael Canton looked at her as though she was naked and spread-eagle every time he turned those dark eyes on her was neither here nor there. She was a journalist, not some horse groupie, so he’d better watch what he said and did to her.

  Her gaze fell on one of the stables. Hmm…Since there was no one around, maybe this was the perfect time for a bit of pre-meeting research. Smiling, she walked forward and, with a furtive look left and right, pushed open the stable door and ducked inside.

  At first, she heard nothing but the soft nicker of a huge black and white horse in the first stall. He or she pricked its ears, huge brown eyes roaming over her, before it came forward to greet her. Caroline absently stroked the velvet smoothness of its nose, her gaze concentrated on the walkway ahead of her. She narrowed her eyes and strained her ears when the sounds of a distinctly different—human—noise drifted toward her.

  Her stomach knotted with excitement.

  As Caroline crept closer, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled. No one but her and whoever was currently and quite audibly enjoying a wholly animalistic pleasure. She stepped closer. Although she’d left her apartment this morning hoping for a financial or moral scandal rather than a sexual one, something like this would keep her editor happy until she could dig deeper into Michael Canton’s life. Sex sells. And judging by the grunts and pants emanating from a stall farther down the aisle, this was clearly sex that would sell.

  Sex in a stable. Jesus, the tabloids will have a field day. Especially if the participants were well-known. Caroline bit back a gleeful smile with difficulty.

  Please, God, let it be one of the top show jumpers banging a less than “suitable” stable girl—or boy.

  Caroline leaned back against the stable wall, took a deep breath, and leaned around to peer into the stall.

  The woman’s massive breasts swung back and forth as the guy behind her grunted and strained against her ass. He thrust into her like a machine, his face contorted in pleasure as he drove his cock into her pussy over and over. The slap of skin on skin added to the erotic atmosphere as Caroline stared, her eyes wide and her body heating.

  The woman’s dress and pink satin bra had been wrenched down beneath her breasts, while its skirt had been hitched up high on her waist. Caroline pursed her lips against the laughter tickling her throat. That would need ironing before she walked outside.

  Caroline’s nipples tightened. The guy was gorgeous. Sandy blond hair, a bare sun kissed, muscular chest, and a face so sculpted that he was almost too handsome. She preferred the ruggedly handsome type. Michael Canton came unbidden into her mind. Worse, she envisioned him banging into her from behind. Moisture pooled in her pussy. How long had it been since a guy had fucked her like that? Too bloody long.

  As she stared, the guy gripped the woman’s dark hair in one hand and reached around her hip to rub her clit with the other, his hips moving like pistons. He pulled her head back and thrust violently into her pussy—shit, maybe his cock was buried in her ass. The woman growled with satisfaction and Caroline shivered. Lucky girl.

  “Enjoying the show?” The low, masculine rumble of Michael Canton’s voice brushed over the hairs at the nape of her neck.

  Shit.

  Caroline’s heart stopped and her cheeks burst into flame. She spun around and he winked, pressing a finger to her open mouth.

  “Follow me.” He mouthed.

  Sliding his finger from her lips, he clasped her hand and dragged her away from the
stall. Under normal circumstances, she would’ve yanked her hand away from any man who demanded that she do anything. The thing was—being caught watching a couple fuck combined with the sight of Michael’s naked torso, sleek tan pants, and black leather riding boots—Caroline wanted to follow him anywhere.

  The situation had temporarily frozen her tongue and scorched her entire body.

  He led her across the dusty courtyard and into another barn. Pulling her inside a stall, he immediately pushed her up against the interior wall. Her heart pounded as his intense and unmistakably hungry gaze locked on hers. His eyes were black with desire, the lashes long and thick. In short, the man looked mind-numbingly hot. Ready for release.

  With his gaze still on hers, he kicked the door closed before turning away. The clang of the lock clicking into place made her flinch. When he returned to stand in front of her, his eyes gleamed with satisfaction in the dim light. Damn it, now he knew she was more than a little tense.

  He smiled. “Do I frighten you, Miss James?”

  She huffed out a laugh and turned her gaze from his to look at the stall behind him. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then why are you trembling?”

  Caroline snapped her gaze to his, steadfastly refusing to let her eyes roam over his golden brown chest, smoothly defined pecs, or washboard stomach accented by a line of dark hair from his navel to the waistband of his breeches.

  She swallowed. “I am not trembling because of you.”

  “Then why?” The soft timbre of his voice was laced with torment.

  She glared. “I’m embarrassed, okay? It’s not every day I get caught watching people…do what they were doing.”

  “I see.” He flashed a wry smile. “You usually don’t get caught. Is that what you’re saying?” He reached out and ran the backs of his fingers slowly down the curve of her neck, leaving them to linger against her pounding pulse.

  Bastard. “Funny.”

  He smile stretched to a grin. “I thought a serious journalist, such as yourself, wouldn’t be so easily embarrassed.”

  His condescension lit her up like a spark to a flint. Caroline scowled and pushed him away with her hand flat against his chest. Her fingers burned with the urge to explore, but she would not give him the satisfaction. “How does catching me watching some guy bang a groupie have any bearing on how good a journalist I am?”

  He stared into her eyes a moment longer, before his gaze trailed to her lips. “Did it turn you on?” he growled.

  She pulled her hand away and pressed it to the wall behind her, resisting the temptation of him. There was no mistaking the arousal in his voice. Why did she suddenly feel like the prey rather than the predator? “No.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. Another wolverine smile. “No?”

  She glared, her heart racing. “No.”

  “Not even if I tell you the guy fucking the groupie is none other than Steve Marlon, married father of two?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  Caroline stared as her center pulsed. God damn her inability to remain cool and aloof when the scent of a new and possibly lurid story wafted its potency like an aphrodisiac under her nose.

  “Fine.” She smiled. Time to take some control back. “You have my attention. The question is, Mr. Big Shot trainer, what are you going to do about it?”

  His lips came down hard on hers, his teeth grazing, his mouth taking. Caroline sank into his heat. The man gave her an opening into a new and scandalous story. What else was a girl to do?

  Chapter Four

  He hadn’t meant to lose control. Hadn’t meant to kiss her and reveal his attraction to her. He’d wanted to torment her. Tease her. Let her come to him, not fall on her like she was a fountain and he was dying of thirst. But he was. For her. Her eyes would be the undoing of any man and watching them widen with curiosity and arousal was more than Michael could stand.

  His lips and tongue explored her mouth as a whimper escaped deep from inside her. His hands moved to her waist and hitched her closer. Her breasts, full and lush, pressed against his chest and he slipped one hand down to grip her ass, pressing her against his erection. The whimper turned into an exhaled moan into his mouth.

  Christ, her ass was hot. A fuckable ass. Those skinny, flat-chested cover models could never compare to Caroline James’ curvaceous and entirely fuckable body. She was gorgeous. She had the figure of a nineteen fifties movie star, and he wanted to fuck her in a stable.

  He jerked back from her. What the hell was he doing? Since when did he behave like his father? He would not stoop to that asshole’s level.

  Their eyes locked, hers wide with shock and her pulse beating hard in her neck. He wanted to press his tongue to it. Michael cleared his throat and steeled himself against the urge to walk away. He would not walk away from her—but he wouldn’t fuck her in a damn stable either. He wanted her in his bed. One way or another, he’d have her hot and wet pussy clamped around his cock. But not right then.

  As their breathing slowed, she narrowed her eyes. “So…you’ve kissed me and you’ve named the guy showing that woman a good time. What’s next? Because neither is worth a lot on its own.” She paused, her eyes challenging.

  Michael smiled. Oh, she was good. Acting as though he was some kind of pervert and she was unaffected by his kiss and touch. The woman trembled and he would bet two hundred bucks that if he slid his hand between her thighs, her panties would be damp with her juices.

  He quirked an eyebrow. “You want more?”

  She swallowed, a faint blush staining her cheeks. “I want more.”

  Michael drifted his gaze over her face, enjoying every aspect of it. From the arch of her pretty eyebrows to the flush of pink at her cheeks, to the full rosy red and perfectly bowed lips. He willed his libido under control.

  “Then I have a proposition for you.”

  “A proposition.”

  He nodded. “You want a story and I want my father silenced once and for all.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Your father?”

  Michael stared. Did she really not know anything about the horse world? She’d been sent into the arena like a lamb to the slaughter? He swallowed back the ball of protectiveness that rose and lodged like a rock in his throat. He needed her. He’d guide her through the gauntlet.

  “My father, Lewis Canton. He’s a bully, a manipulator, and a user. I want him away from the Trials, away from me. For good.” His words strained from between his clenched teeth.

  She studied him. Her gaze alert and intense. “Why?”

  “One step at a time. Can I trust you?”

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “I should be asking that of you under the circumstances, don’t you think?”

  The teasing, confident purr of her voice slid over his chest and down to his cock like he imagined the wet, slip of her tongue would. He took a step closer and, without thinking, cupped one of her ample breasts in his hand, the thumb circling the nipple. Her intake of breath whispered between them but she didn’t slap his hand away or demand he release her.

  “You’re intelligent, sexy, and as ambitious as I am. That turns me on. We could make a good team.”

  Her cheeks darkened once more as her body ever so slightly trembled beneath his fingers. “Maybe we could.” She tilted her chin.

  He slipped his hand from her breast and stepped back. Her released breath sounded loud in the silence and satisfaction rose in his chest. He’d spooked her. Had her wanting him. A lethal combination.

  “Then let’s get started.” He gestured toward the stable door. “After you.”

  She hesitated before drawing in a shaky breath. “Great.”

  As she brushed past him, Michael couldn’t help but stare at her ass, mentally patting himself on the back for not spinning her around and ramming his rock-hard cock into it. Self-control was paramount—what his reputation was built on. He’d make sure Caroline James realized that too.

  Whether she acknowledged it or not, he sensed the same low hum of self-deprecat
ion in her that his father brought out in him. On the outside, they both were self-assured and strong. Hers showed in the sway of her hips, the lick of her lips, and the unwavering stare of her phenomenal eyes. Her weakness showed in the occasional nervous flit of her eyes and the shift of the smooth skin at her throat. For Michael, it was the tension that rippled through his blood like poison whenever anyone mentioned his father.

  His jaw tightened. The man who would be there the day after tomorrow.

  He stopped a few paces across the yard. “Caroline.”

  She stopped and turned, her brow furrowed. “What?”

  “You don’t really know who I am, do you?”

  Her brow smoothed as a smile curved her sinful lips. She slowly closed the space between them and tipped her head back to meet his eyes. “You need to give me a little credit or we might as well go our separate ways right now.”

  Her husky, intimate tone slid over his skin, pinching at his dick. He lifted an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I went home last night and did a little research on you.” Her eyes were alight with self-satisfaction. A soft gleam that couldn’t compete with the heavy-lidded lust he’d witness in her gaze after he kissed her. This was one woman to be wary of…to possibly avoid at all costs. Yet, Michael knew there wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening.

  A lump of foreboding dropped heavy and unwelcome into his stomach. Irritation heated the skin on his arms, making it itch. “And?”

  “And I couldn’t care less who bangs who at these Trials but I do care that the famous show jumper, Lewis Canton, is on his way for a possible reconciliation with the son he disinherited five years ago.”

  Michael’s heartbeat picked up speed and his stomach quivered. “There will be no reconciliation.”

  Her gaze wandered over his face. “You seem pretty sure about that.”

  “I am,” he growled. “I don’t want him near me.”