a little different. The tests are used to help the horse progress through his training, not just evaluate his progress, and certainly not to trip him up by springing something new on him. And besides, over the course of four years the horse is bound to move up a level or two.' It seemed he understood. At least his eyes weren't glazing over.
'If you know a lot about it, why don't you compete? It seems to me Henry would be top notch support.'
My smile went rigid, and I straightened in my chair despite reminding myself that his sucker-punch was unintentional. I hedged my response. 'I think he would like me to, and I might someday. It's more important to me to learn, though. I guess I got caught up in the education.'
But I saw where this conversation was going and it depressed me. Any second now he'd smile in that condescending male-way they all did, tell me to cowboy up and not be so sensitive. After all, if I really loved dressage I'd take my reward from the doing of it, and other people's opinions wouldn't matter. I'd had this chat so many times before with Jonathan and others that I could have faxed it in.
'I can understand that.' Paul sipped his drink and watched me for a moment. 'It's easier to risk failure when you're not related to someone who's been remarkably successful at the same thing.'
Okay, this was different. Maybe. I had the uneasy sense of being transparent until perception spoke loud enough to be heard over the grumbling of my good buddy, defensiveness.
'Sounds like the voice of experience.' I tried to sound casual, but I was probing and not sure if I should.
'Yeah, I guess.' He swirled the ice cubes around in his glass. 'I became the family renegade and a teenager simultaneously. Made a big deal about not following my dad into medicine. Told my parents I wanted to do things my own way.'
'Was that when you joined the Army? Right out of high school?'
'You could say. I joined the Army, then finished high school.'
'You dropped out?' I never would have guessed, and couldn't help the amusement in my voice.
'Pretty funny, now, isn't it?' A corner of his mouth turned up and he met my gaze.
'I think it's admirable you've done so much.' I sincerely meant it.
He shook his head, picked up the salt shaker, and moved it as if it were a chess piece. Still looking at it, he shifted in his seat, and what must have been his knee, brushed the inside of mine. A jolt sizzled up my thigh and collided with the base of my spine before sending its heat radiating into my belly. I gulped – and waited for another touch. He shifted again, and I knew he'd moved his knee away.
'Mostly, I made things difficult for myself and everyone else. My folks are proud of what I do now even though I'm not a doctor like my dad and brother. Looking back, I think I was so scared I would fail I took a short cut to reduce the misery.'
'But you didn't fail, you're doing something you love. And you did end up making your own decisions.' Without thinking, I reached across the table and briefly touched the back of his hand.
His laugh was soft as his gaze met mine. 'Not a waste of time in your book, then?'
'Hardly.' His gentle humor made my heart flutter. He cared what I thought of him. 'It's made you what you are. Nothing wrong with that.'
It occurred to me, as our conversation drifted back to shared acquaintances, unique family members, and other subjects with varying in degrees of seriousness, that I could talk to him without being wary. I forgot my earlier discomfort. There was none of the judgmental posturing I was so used to, and so distrustful of, with Jonathan. Paul listened.
The waitress interrupted our sharing of grad school woes, clearing her throat at a decibel level we couldn't ignore. 'More of the same?'
My glass had been empty for a while. I think she'd attempted to refill our drinks before and we ignored her. Whoops.
'Would you like another?' Paul asked.
'No, I'm good.'
'Why don't we leave then? I haven't had a chance to look around downtown yet. Are you up to playing tour guide?'
'Yeah,' I said. 'Sounds like fun.'
Paul left a sizable tip. Maybe it was an apology.
We strolled down First Avenue, looking into the windows of the various merchants and abundant antique shops, now closed for the evening. Nearby bars and several restaurants were hopping. Parking would be at a premium for the remainder of the evening.
'I've never seen so many antique shops crammed into one place,' Paul observed. 'What's the history of this town?'
'Hmm…' I dug around in my inadequate memory and improvised a lengthy tale.
'So these buildings on First Street are original?'
'Yes. With a considerable amount of restoration and maintenance, as you can imagine.'
'Do you know what any of them were?'
I pointed to a two-story wooden building on the river side of the street that housed a sandwich and pie shop. 'I believe that was a tavern. And the one next to it a bordello.'
Paul regarded both establishments briefly, then shook his head once. 'You're making that up.'
I looked up at him, wide-eyed, blinked, and fought to keep my mouth from turning up in a smile.
'Look at you – you can't lie and keep a straight face!'
The laughter leaked out. 'I am. But it sounds good.'
He chuckled and took my hand as we crossed the street. Stepping onto the curb he released my hand, placing his on the small of my back as if to guide me. His touch was light, but lingered. I held my breath. Maybe he just liked the feel of my cashmere sweater. With my pulse flying, I imitated his gesture, barely touching him as I slid my arm around his waist. I could turn it into a 'you first' kind of movement, if necessary.
Ah, no. Not necessary.
His arm settled across my back and his fingers cupped my waist with a brief, acknowledging pressure. A headiness surged through my veins. As I settled my hand more securely on his waist I tripped on a bump in the sidewalk. In an instant I grabbed at his body with one hand and his belt buckle with my other. He steadied my sprawl with a two-armed embrace.
'I'm okay.' The words tumbled out of my mouth before I'd regained my balance.
'You sure?'
'Yes, sorry.' I unhanded his belt and snatched my hand from his waist. 'I, um… I just saw the perfect Christmas present for Aunt Vi.' I took a hurried step to a shop window where a porcelain tea set was displayed, gulping down my embarrassment.
'You start early.' Paul stepped beside me and looked in the window. Humor touched his voice.
'I try to keep an eye out.' I kept my gaze glued to the shop's display.
We continued along the sidewalk, occupying our own individual space, conversation nonexistent, pretending interest in the other store's we passed. But I couldn't stay away from him. He was like a magnet. I brushed against him twice, three times as we walked. The last time the backs of our hands touched. He didn't seem to notice.
Crossing the next side street, I summoned my courage and reached for his hand. His response was immediate. He engulfed my hand in his. Without a word, we stopped to look in a storefront window. I glanced up at his reflection, meeting his eyes in the glass.
When he turned from our reflection to me, my pulse leapt, and time hung suspended. Gently, he brushed my cheek with the tips of his fingers, and the caress drew me in. His gaze swept my features. This time there was no confusion. His eyes and touch conveyed an unmistakable statement. He wanted me.
I wanted to kiss him so badly my lips ached. He accepted my invitation, kissing me with an electric, lingering, restraint that dismantled, down to the very foundations, any excuse that remained standing. With eyes closed, I drank in the exquisite, intoxicating tenderness of his soft lips, the delicious, warm, male scent of his skin. And when the kiss ended I opened my eyes and fell into his. He pulled my body into his, gentle at first, and led me into a kiss that fast became crazy with desperation to possess, consume. I didn't know where I stopped and he began and I didn't care. This was the kind of kiss I read about in trashy novels. The kind that can't be sated. The kind your
