His lips quirked up in a half grin. “Never. Nerves of steel.” When she narrowed her gaze suspiciously, he chuckled. “Just kidding. Hell yes, I was scared. But I learned fast, about the job and myself. Of what I needed versus what I wanted. It all worked out. I relied on myself, so I was never disappointed. The horses gave me everything I really needed.”
He spoke with a casual tone, but his eyes gave him away. It had been hard. Harder than she probably imagined, but he’d risen above and fought to make a name for himself. He’d ended up owning a business and winning the Irish Derby.
Harper stared at the lonely flannel blanket and stack of hay. What must it feel like to not belong anywhere? At least she had her family, who always supported her, and a home. Despite feeling alone and rejected at school, she’d always felt loved and a part of the bigger whole on the farm.
Ethan’s suggestion rose up and taunted her. She hesitated, torn between her head and her gut. Inviting this man into her home was an important decision. If they didn’t fit well together in a tight space or she felt uncomfortable in his constant presence, she’d regret the offer. And what if becoming roommates began to affect their working relationship?
But something about the hard lines of his face, disguising his own vulnerability from his past, touched her deep. She knew what it was like to search for a connection with others, only to find solace in the quiet of the barn. She’d also learned to rely on herself rather than offer her trust and be disappointed.
In that moment, Harper realized she didn’t want him to feel like a hired hand who meant nothing to them but a way to win. Didn’t want to think of him in a lonely hotel, unable to sleep, displaced and sent off like a spare part until another room opened up at the inn. She wanted him to know he could trust her, too.
She went with her heart. “You can bunk at my house.”
He cocked his head. “What?”
“When Ophelia has some openings, you can stay at the inn. In the meantime, I have a spare room where you can crash. It’s a short walk from here, so you can come to the barn whenever you’d like. Besides Bagheera and Baloo, I have a cranky cat named Figaro, but she’ll leave you alone. It’s tight quarters. I don’t cook, it’s always dusty, but I make a mean cup of coffee.”
He rolled to his feet and came close. A tic worked in his jaw. “You feeling sorry for me, love?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not offering up my home because I pity you, Irish. It just makes sense.”
He seemed to be battling something deep inside. His eyes seethed with primal emotion. “Ask me if I would have changed anything,” he demanded roughly.
Her breath caught. Dear God, he was fierce and prideful and strong. The intensity crackling beneath the surface tugged at her very soul. She tilted her chin in challenge. “Would you?”
“No. I may not have a bunch of stories to tell about chummy family dinners, but I got to live my life on my terms. I do what I love, and when my feet get itchy, I hit the road for the next big win. I learned how to not only survive but also thrive. Why would I ever want to change that?”
Her throat tightened. Her fingers curled into fists. Every cell in her body screamed to be close, to touch him, to feel the steady beat of his heart against her ear, to be surrounded by the whipcord strength and heat of his arms. She craved to give comfort; she craved to kiss him, part her thighs, and let him fuck her right here in the hay, in the place they both loved the most. She craved to let him really see her, and that was the most dangerous of all.
She closed her eyes halfway and fought her internal need like a wildcat. If she could walk away right now and not surrender, she’d be able to handle the next few months. If she could deny them both right now, the initial terms of their agreement would stay alive.
She crossed her arms in front of her braless breasts and stepped around him. “You’re the last man I’d ever feel sorry for, Irish,” she said lightly. “You can grab your bag and follow me.”
“And if I don’t?” His slow drawl gave her goose bumps.
She shrugged. “Then you don’t. It’s your decision. Your terms, remember? I’ll wait in the truck for two minutes before I leave.”
Harper walked out of the barn, got in her truck, and cranked the engine. Her slick hands tightened around the steering wheel as she waited. It’d be better if he didn’t show. This whole invitation was pushing fate. Maybe bunking in the barn wasn’t such a bad idea, after all. He liked it. He was comfortable. He was probably happy to stay. He—
The headlights illuminated his figure as he came out with his bag slung over his shoulder. He threw the latch and climbed inside the truck.
Without saying a word, she drove them both home.
Chapter Nine
Aidan sipped his Barry’s Tea and looked around.
The moment he walked into Harper’s home, familiarity surrounded him. The space was small and functional, from the well-worn smoke-gray lounging couch to the oversize chair situated by the large window that overlooked the woods. The coffee table looked handmade and built from tree trunks in a deep-red cedar. There was little clutter other than an overflowing bookcase, colorful braided throw rugs, and a few framed pictures. The only thing he disagreed with was the television. It was noticeably ancient. He would’ve upgraded so he could binge on Netflix or HBO on those rare occasions he had a rainy Sunday off.
The living room led straight to the kitchen with no walls blocking it off. He’d heard it termed open concept. She’d been honest about her limited cooking skills, obvious from the Spartan-like feel of the limited appliances and decor. A sturdy wood farm table and matching chairs held a vase full of wildflowers and some mismatched placemats.
But she clearly had her priorities. The counter boasted a fancy French press coffeepot, a red Keurig machine with expensive African blends, a coffee grinder, and a shelf full of every type of coffee bean he could imagine. Labeled.
The woman liked her coffee.
He’d gotten up at four thirty a.m., thrown on some clothes since he’d showered last night, and headed to the kitchen so he could at least have the coffee brewing and let the dogs out for her.
Of course, she’d already brewed a pot, the dogs had given him a standard greeting before settling back into sleep, and he heard the shower running. How much sleep did she really need? He’d always boasted he was good to go on five, but he had a feeling Harper had him beat. Another thing about her that turned him on. Nothing like a woman who was ready to go before the sun crawled up over the horizon.
Grinning, he rummaged in her kitchen, found some bread, and popped four slices in the toaster. The butter was fresh, and so was the blackberry jam, so he prepped breakfast in under five minutes. He ate at the table, waiting for her, his mind replaying the previous night.
He hadn’t intended to tell her about his childhood. It was something he kept private, those endless days after leaving his mother and his fear of failure. He’d never questioned his mother’s decision to kick them all out of the house so young, and hated to be judged. Mum had done the best she could on a limited income and with too many children his bastard father had abandoned. He’d meant every word uttered to Harper. He didn’t regret a moment, because everything that had happened had led him right here.