Her throat tightened with emotion. She stared at him and wondered how many other women had experienced his tender side. The way he nurtured the people and animals he cared about. The man had a gigantic heart buried under a bit of Irish gruff. He was everything she’d ever wanted, and she needed to try and savor every single moment he was hers.
She rose and walked toward him. Jeans rode low on his hips. His T-shirt was stretched out and faded from too many washings. His feet were bare. His jaw was covered in rough stubble.
Harper rose on her tiptoes, fisted his shirt in her hands, and yanked his mouth to hers.
He growled with pleasure, hitched her high up in his arms, and carried her to the bedroom. “Good, I wasn’t ready for breakfast, either,” he muttered, his tongue diving deep and claiming her in the thrilling way that made her toes curl. He laid her on the bed, stripped off their clothes, and slowly pressed his lips over every inch of her body. With slow, teasing kisses, nibbles, and strokes of his tongue, he journeyed from the curve of her collarbone to the swell of her breasts and worked his way downward. She felt practically worshipped as he sucked on her nipples, dipped into her navel, and settled his hot mouth right over her sensitive clit to lick and pleasure, his fingers curling and plunging deep inside until she cried out his name and begged for him to take her.
He lifted her hips and slid home in one perfect thrust.
Buried to the hilt, he pushed back her hair and stared deep into her eyes.
“Watch me, Harper. I want to see your face when you come.”
She shuddered. He moved. With graceful, deliberate strokes, he surged deep, rolling his hips to hit that magic spot that shimmered with electricity, then slowly pulled out.
And slammed back inside her.
Again.
Again.
Her nails bit into his back. Her heels dug into his ass. She writhed and reached and still his gaze locked on hers, refusing to allow her to hide, and the raw vulnerability of the intense connection broke down the last barrier. The orgasm shattered through her, breaking her apart with agonizing pleasure, and he saw it all.
His lips took hers, his tongue plunged deep, and he came, his body jerking as he gave himself to her. She clutched him tightly, limbs wrapped around his, and knew her heart had been waiting all this time for the man she was meant to love.
Tears stung behind her lids. She buried her face in his shoulder and prayed she’d be strong enough to let him go.
When it was time.
Chapter Nineteen
The Champagne Stakes held at Belmont Park was a highly anticipated race in the quest toward the ultimate Crown. Harper wasn’t a person easily impressed by either celebrity or money, but when she caught Todd Pletcher, William Mott, and Bob Baffert—with his trademark gray hair—wishing her good luck on the race? Well, she almost lost it.
Aidan didn’t bother to hide his amusement at her sudden starstruck, temporary muteness meeting the famous horse trainers. He’d called her cute, and the insult was enough to snap her out of the fog.
Now, she was ready to watch Phoenix race.
The fall afternoon was crisp with the perfect bite of chill in the air. Elmo looked striking in his robin’s egg–blue silks, and Phoenix was in good spirits, prancing toward the starting gate with his blinkers wrapped snugly around his head. Harper’s belly jumped with nerves, but it was the other gut feeling that threw her off the most.
The instinct that Phoenix was going to win the race.
She snuck a glance at Aidan and studied his profile. He’d been comfortable greeting all the players in an industry that was known for a sharklike ruthlessness among gentle beasts. The television crews, reporters, and announcers brought a certain chaos she wasn’t used to. Aidan had warned her beforehand, schooling her appropriately on the proper responses to specific questions, drilling her like a lawyer with a witness about to take the stand.
She’d hated every moment, but today, she was grateful for his lessons, knowing if Phoenix did what she hoped, there’d be only more press and craziness to deal with.
The announcer broke into her thoughts. “And they’re in the gate.”
Aidan reached out and took her hand. Seemed he didn’t give a crap who knew about their relationship, even in public. He refused to hide her as a dirty secret, even if they did have a professional working relationship.
Good. She didn’t care about gossip, either. After all she’d been through, she’d emerged stronger. Hard lessons had been learned in the battleground of high school. They’d serve her well now.
“And they’re off!”
The field was big this year, and talented. The well-known trainers had a few entries, with a mix of unknowns from various barns, but she was probably the most green out of all. At first, she’d devoured the newspaper stories, trying to handicap the field, but when the majority of analyzers threw Phoenix out as a poor choice and a “lucky onetime winner,” she stopped reading.
Action was better than words any day.
Gaze glued to her binoculars, Harper watched the one-mile race, which took place on a fast, dry track. Phoenix had a good break, and Elmo got him to the front without much fuss. She could tell the ride was easy, and Phoenix was comfortably breezing past the first-quarter pole, his legs eating up ground and space like he was meant to fly rather than run.
The announcer’s voice echoed over the loudspeaker. “Phoenix takes the early lead in the twelve-horse field, but Lacey’s Due and White Cliff are right behind. In the Money is three and a half lengths back, with Dangerzone on the far outside, and Wicked Wind, the favorite, is trailing behind.”
“He’s running like a champion,” Aidan muttered, his voice full of excitement and a touch of fear.
She couldn’t answer. Nerves shredded, she nibbled at her lip and prayed while Phoenix battled for the lead as an entire field of horses chased him.
“Phoenix, Lacey’s Due, and White Cliff barrel around the far turn, with Dangerzone falling back, and In the Money at the rail. Steve’s Sad Sister is now four lengths behind and beginning to challenge for the lead, but it’s still a tight race as they head to the backstretch.”
Nausea mixed with excitement in a cocktail she doubted she could handle. The impulse to close her eyes was strong, but she battled through, forcing herself to watch every tension-filled second as Phoenix barely maintained the fragile lead that she prayed he’d be able to hold.
“Down the backstretch they come! Phoenix is still in the lead with Lacey’s Due and White Cliff a length back, and here comes Wicked Wind making his move! Wicked Wind passes Dangerzone and In the Money, and they’re thundering down the final stretch! It’s Phoenix still in the lead, with White Cliff a length behind. Lacey’s Due is two lengths back, but Wicked Wind is closing the gap in a spectacular move! White Cliff falls behind to make way for Wicked Wind, and Lacey’s Due can’t keep up. Here comes Wicked Wind, the closer, as they near the finish line. Phoenix is hanging on. Wicked Wind is now two lengths back in the final challenge, and it’s . . . Phoenix! For the win! Wicked Wind is second, and White Cliff is third, in the official running of the Champagne Stakes!”
Her heart stopped.
The crowds roared, and cameras flashed. She watched as Elmo stood up in the stirrups, kissing his fingers and putting them up to the sky in his trademark thank-you, and that beautiful, perfect, gorgeous horse with a fierce heart and temper pranced down the track.