There could be no future for her and Dillon Caxton; aside from all else, he didn’t know who she really was, and in the present circumstances, that was a secret she would do well to keep from him.
The door opened; he entered, carrying a large tome.
Eyes immediately drawn to it, she felt her nerves tighten, felt expectation well.
He shut the door, then came to the desk. “It’s heavy-let me set it down.”
She shifted to the side. He slid the register-a ledger more than six inches thick, more than a foot long, and nearly half again as wide-onto the desk; it settled with a solid
Hand on the cover, he glanced at her as she moved closer. “Any particular entry?”
She shook her head. “I just need to see what information is listed.”
He raised the cover, opening the book to a page filled with entries; with a wave, he gestured to it, then stepped back.
Pris stared at the fine writing crowded on the page. She glanced at the lamp; Dillon was already thumbing the wheel, increasing the light. Shifting to stand directly in front of the ledger, placing her hands on the desk, she leaned over it and studied the wide pages.
Columns marched across the double width, some narrow, the last on the right-hand page taking up half that page’s width. Each entry was at least a few inches deep, neatly ruled to separate it from its neighbors.
The first column gave the horse’s name, the second listed the date and place of foaling, the third gave the dam and her lineage, taking up many more lines. Next came the sire and his lineage, again in considerable detail.
From there, the minutiae dramatically increased. The last two columns took up nearly the entire right-hand page, one a physical description complete to the most minute color splash, the last a listing of “points.” Pris knew enough about horses to understand what she was reading, but how could such details be illegally used? If Rus saw such entries, what would they tell him?
She read on, searching for some hint of the clue she was convinced must be there.
From alongside the desk, Dillon studied her face. Saw concentration claim her, watched her eyes track the small, precise lettering of his clerks.
What was she searching for? Would he know when she found it?
Would she?
That last question hung in his mind. Reaching the end of one entry, she paused, then, frown deepening, the worry clouding her lovely eyes darkening, she tracked back across the page, and started on the next.
His restlessness increased; stirring, he walked to the bookcase and stared at that instead. And forced himself to some semblance of patience.
Last night, he’d decided there was only one way forward, one clear and obvious path. He had unequivocal plans for Pris Dalling, but before he could implement them, he needed to free her, and himself, from the tangled knot her involvement with a racing scam it was his duty to eradicate had created. While she remained caught up in what ever it was, regardless of how innocently, his loyalties were compromised, and that he couldn’t afford.
That was what he told himself, how he rationalized his actions. How he tried to excuse the compulsion that gnawed at him, that had had him offering to show her the register in flagrant violation of his until-then-absolute rule.
All lies. Or if not an outright lie, than less than half the truth.
Behind him, he heard her turn a page. Glancing around, he watched her smooth the page, then lean over to read, her profile limned by the golden lamplight.
He drifted nearer, drawn to where he could see her expression. The look on her face, unguarded, spoke clearly of anxiety, of escalating concern.
Of confusion and ultimately fear.
The sight struck like a lance through his shields, impelled him to draw closer.
The truth was…in his heart, in his soul, in his bones, rescuing her came first.
Not for one instant had he forgotten there was danger-real danger-involved. Danger from a man who had shot at her, danger as evidenced by Collier’s demise. What ever was going on, whoever was involved, they weren’t above stooping to murder, and she, with her as-yet-unexplained interest, had stepped into the arena.
He was prepared to do what ever proved necessary to remove her from the field, to sequester her safely away. Then he’d deal with whoever the villains were, and then he’d deal with her.
He’d make a deal with her, what ever it took.
Her attention remained on the ledger’s page. He drew nearer, then, halting behind her, a little to the side, unable to help himself he slid one hand around her waist. Distracted, she glanced briefly back and up at him, then looked again at the page.
The feel of her, warm and supple beneath the figured silk, soothed, a reassuring sensual balm quieting the aroused and now-prowling beast. He settled his hand, fingers splayed, across her waist. When she made no demur, he edged closer, shifting so he stood directly behind her, effectively caging her between him and the desk.
Her exposed nape beckoned. He bent his head, inhaled, filled his lungs and his brain with the intoxicating scent of her. Seduced, he set his lips to the beguiling curve, traced the exquisitely fine skin.
She shuddered, caught her breath. For one instant raised her head, evocatively responsive, then he lifted his lips from her skin, and she sighed and returned to her task.
His other hand rose to join the first, bracketing her waist, holding her before him while, breath bated, he waited for the sudden pounding in his blood to subside.
Distracted, Pris gave a low chuckle, content to have him near; she found the sensation of his strength engulfing her comforting, not threatening. Focusing on the neat script, she tried to concentrate. Absentmindedly responding to his comfort, she shifted her hips against him, side to side…
His hands tightened, gripped.
Blinking to full awareness, she felt the hard ridge of his erection riding against her bottom. Her senses leapt; excitement sizzled down her veins. She paused, then resumed her slow swaying.
Fascinated that she could arouse him so easily.
Wondering what he would do.
He pressed closer yet; his hands rose, sculpting her body, rising to cradle her breasts. She straightened, allowing the caress, encouraging it.
Tilting her head back against his shoulder, she savored the feel of his hands on her silk-screened flesh. Marveled that she could have so acutely missed and craved something she’d known for less than a day.
His head dipped beside hers; his lips cruised the junction of throat and shoulder, warm, deliberately arousing. His hands closed, gently kneaded; his fingers stroked, caressed, found, and played.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
The words stirred the curls by her ear; the warmth of his breath caressed like a flame.
“I don’t know.” Her words were as low, but more breathless. “I can’t…interpret it.”
His lips cruised her throat, found the sensitive spot at the corner of her jaw. “If you tell me why you’re searching, I could probably help.”
The urge to tell him was strong, but…“I need to know more before I’ll know if I can tell you.”
His hands, now restlessly, increasingly possessively, roaming her body, paused, then he asked, “What do you need to know?”
She glanced down at the ledger spread before her, at the columns marching across the page. She moistened her lips. “I need to know how the information in the register is used.”
A long pause ensued, then his hands slid across her gown, one splaying over her waist, the other smoothing down her stomach to the hollow between her thighs, fingers pressing inward, through her skirts suggestively covering her mound. In a blatantly explicit manner, he tilted her hips against him.
“Are you sure?”
The words whispered past her ear, laden with heat. With the same ruthlessly seductive power she’d encountered last night.
It was the wild and reckless man in whose arms she stood, the one man who could show her the stars and sweep her to heaven.
“Yes.”
The word slipped from her lips.
