His Convenient Virgin Bride

“We can’t, Wesley.”

He reached for her hand once more, squeezing down. “But we’re so good together.” With the sun slanting across his tousled hair, and the pleading tone in his voice, he suddenly struck her as very young.

“We can be friends,” she offered.

His brow furrowed. “I don’t want to be friends.”

“Yes, you do. We’re already friends. We’re going to train together and nail Brighton.”

“And then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“After Brighton? If we still feel the same way?”

She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t feel the way she wanted to feel, and she didn’t see that changing.

He grinned, obviously taking her silence for agreement. The eager, puppy-dog look was back in his eyes. “I know we have something special.”

“We have friendship and mutual respect,” she offered carefully.

“There’s more than that.”

Stephanie took a step back. “Seriously, Wesley, I can’t let you-”

“Not right now. I get it.” He gave a vigorous nod. “But we both know-”

“No, we don’t know-”

Brittany shrieked, and Monica shouted, and Stephanie whirled to see the horse shy to one side. It refused the jump and sent Brittany bouncing into the soft ground.

The girl’s breath whooshed out as she landed with a thump on her rear end.

By the time Stephanie was through the fence, Brittany had grabbed two handfuls of dirt and tossed them down in disgust.

She was obviously more angry than injured, but Stephanie rushed to assist just in case.

Stephanie was angry with herself.

But she was also angry with Alec.

What was he doing to her? Why did he have to usurp Wesley? Why couldn’t she get the bare-chested image of him out of her head. And why hadn’t he been interested in her when she was standing half naked in front of him?

All he’d noticed was her stupid bruise.

It was the end of a long, frustrating day, and she marched through the front door. She stripped off her gloves and boots then came around the corner to find the object of her frustration stationed at the dining table, stacks of papers fanned out in front of him. There were magazines, newspaper clippings, financial reports and reference books.

He glanced up, expression unreadable.

She tried to think of a clever greeting, but nothing came to mind. She stood there in silence, her heart beating faster, her hormones revving too high, and her brain tripping up over itself.

“I finished the publicity and promotion calculations,” he finally offered. He slid a piece of paper in her direction. “Amber gave me your scrapbooks.”

Stephanie ordered her feet to move forward, keeping her attention fixed squarely on the printout as she crossed the hardwood floor. She lifted the paper, scanning to the bottom where each of the past ten years were listed with a corresponding total.

“That can’t be right,” she found her voice. The numbers were ridiculously low.

“You did get quite a lot of coverage,” Alec admitted, setting down his pen and crossing his arms over his chest. “But it’s in random placements.”

She glanced at him. “Some of those magazines charge tens of thousands of dollars for a single ad. I had the cover. I had the center pages. That’s priceless. Ryder International was mentioned over and over again.”

“As a targeted placement. Sure, you’re going to pay a premium price. But the Ryder International demographic is no more likely to be reading Equine Earth as they are to be reading People Magazine.”

“That’s not true.”

Alec scraped his chair backward and came to his feet.

“Horse people have money,” she repeated her earlier assertion. “They own businesses. They rent real estate.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But maybe not. Now, if Ryder International was in the equestrian equipment business, Equine Earth-”

“We’re in the equine breeding business.”

“Revenues from your breeding sales are a tiny fraction of the revenues from the real estate division.”

“You’re out to get me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not-”

She thrust the paper back on the table. “From the minute you walked onto this ranch, you’ve been out to prove that I’m not a valuable partner in this corporation.”

“These numbers aren’t my personal opinion-”

“The hell, they’re not.”

“They’re generally recognized calculations for determining-”

“Shut up.”

He stiffened. “Excuse me?”

She moved in. “I said shut up. I am so tired-”

“Of what?” he asked incredulously.

“Of you! Of you and your-” She ran out of words. What was she trying to say? That she was tired of being attracted to him? Of knowing that he wasn’t attracted to her? Of having his presence at the stable mess with her mind?

He waited, staring hard.

She mustered an explanation. “Of you trying to prove I have no value.”

His look turned to confusion. “Is that what you think?”

She gestured to his work with a sweep of her arm. “That’s what all this says.”

“It says you’re a financial drain on the corporation. And you are.”

“I’m an asset.”

“Not a financial one.”

Her throat closed up with emotion, and she hated it.

Why did she care what he thought? Her brothers weren’t going to accept this. What could it possibly matter that some opinionated, hired gun of a troubleshooter thought she wasn’t pulling her weight? It shouldn’t.

And it didn’t.

But then something shifted in his expression, and he cursed under his breath. “I’m trying to be honest, Stephanie.”

She didn’t trust herself to speak, and she needed him to think it didn’t matter, so she waved her hand to tell him to forget about it. She wished he’d back off now and leave her to wallow.

But he took a step closer, then another, and another. His eyes went dark, from pewter to slate to midnight.

She stilled, unable to breathe. Her chest went tight. Her heart worked overtime to pump her thickening blood. And she found herself gazing up at him, feeling the pinpricks of longing flow over her heating skin.

Suddenly he clamped his jaw and his hands curled into fists. “We can’t.”

No, they couldn’t.

Wait a minute. Couldn’t what? Did he mean what she thought he meant?

“Stephanie. You’re my client.”

Yes, she was.

And that mattered.

At least it should matter.

Shouldn’t it?