The corner of his mouth lifts. “Who says I was talking to the horse?”
That surprises a laugh out of me. Always this man can surprise me, beguile me. Tease me into wanting something I’ve told myself would never work. “How long have you had her?”
“A few months,” he says, taking another few steps to the side, coming an inch away from touching her before moving away. “But I’ve only just started taking her out. She had abrasions on her legs when I got her, and a lung infection that hadn’t been treated.”
Unease moves through my stomach as I look at the beautiful animal. She’s dangerous and strong… and healthy. It hurts to imagine her as anything else. And underneath the rebelliousness I sense the dark tinge of fear.
“Someone hurt her?”
“They neglected her,” he says, his voice flat. “Which is the same thing when she needs to be taken care of. A friend of mine found her in a stall with someone he was doing business with. Bought her because he couldn’t stand to see the conditions she was living in. Almost put her down before he thought to call me.”
Steel squeezes my heart. “Put her down?”
Sutton takes another few steps, passing close enough to touch her but choosing not to. The horse snorts her protest but doesn’t move away from him. It strikes me that this is a dance, the athleticism and grace unmistakable, purpose imbued into his every movement.
“It takes quite a bit of money to take care of a horse. Especially one who already has health problems. One who will still need to be broken.”
His matter-of-fact tone takes my breath away. Does he think about people that way, too? Does he think about me that way? “Is that how you see her?”
“Of course not. That’s why—”
The pounding of my heart fills my ears. “With a dollar sign over her head? And if her medicine costs more than that, what’s the point of keeping her alive? She’s disposable anyway.”
Sutton walks toward me, and suddenly I’m backing away. The safety I had felt on the other side of the fence evaporates beneath his piercing blue eyes. He ducks between the horizontal slats, coming toward me, making me back away until I finally remember to stand my ground. Then we’re face-to-face, and I’m confronted with the sheer size of him. In the paddock it had been theoretical, more like artwork to be admired. Standing in front of me, he breathes and moves with potent hunger. More than something to be wanted, he’s someone who wants.
“That’s not how I see her,” he says, his tone gentle.
“I’m sorry,” I say, breathless. “Of course you don’t. You’re taking care of her.”
“She has a home here. Even if she never lets me ride.”
“Okay,” I say, my chest tight.
His eyes pierce my armor, seeing the secret fear I’ve worked hard to protect. That I’m only a series of numbers preceded by a dollar sign. That I’m a living, breathing line-item entry in a spreadsheet, no matter how much I pretend to be worth more than that.
“I’m surprised you’re even speaking to me,” he says, his gaze turning dark. He looks at my lips for a moment. “Figured you’d be pissed about the price tag for the library.”
“I thought you weren’t part of the company anymore.”
“Resigned my position, which means I didn’t have a say. But I still owned my share of the company and profited from the deal that Bardot made with you.”
“It was his decision to be an asshole. I just wish I hadn’t played into his hand.”
“Then why are you still doing it?” The words are soft, but they fall like bullets.
“I’m not.”
“You think he doesn’t want you back in Tanglewood? Back in the library?”
“He doesn’t care what I do.” I’m doing this for my mother, because I will do almost anything for her. Except for meet with the person from the hospice to help make her Death Plan. The name makes me shiver. Hurt and hurt and hurt, and then die. We don’t need a plan.
We need a time machine.
A quiet laugh. “Christopher Bardot is far from indifferent. He’s developing the luxury condominiums right next to the library, and guess who lives on the top floor?”
I stare at him, disbelieving. But even while my mind refuses to accept this, my body turns warm. “Whatever happens next to the library isn’t my problem. I’m only concerned with restoring it. Will you help me? It’s important for the city.”
And no one else will take the job.
Every construction company I’ve tried has told me to tear down the building and start again. The words not structurally sound have been used more than once. If I were smart, I would actually listen to them, but I’m the queen of lost causes.
Sutton looks away, toward the land. “I can’t say no to you, but it isn’t for the good of the damned city. And it’s not even for Christopher Bardot. Not anymore.”
“Why would you have done it for Christopher?”
He smiles without humor. “Why indeed?”
I take a step toward him, close enough that I have to look up to meet the sky blue of his eyes. “You never did tell me why you went into business with him.”
“My reasons don’t matter.”
That’s the only warning before his head lowers, before his lips touch mine. Warm. Insistent. He kisses me the way the sun shines on the land, certain of its welcome. My body opens toward him in instinctive surrender, pleasure washing over me in waves.
As quickly as he claimed me, he’s gone again. He steps back, leaving a cool breeze between us. There’s nothing sensual or intimate in his expression.
I touch my lips as if I can hold some of his warmth there. I told myself I wasn’t interested in dating, but I can’t deny that I want this intimacy. It feels like breathing after being so long underwater. It feels like air. His blue eyes track the movement, hungry, belying the air of indifference in his stance.
“You stopped,” I say, a little relieved, mostly sad. “Because I kissed Christopher?”
“That was a wake-up call for me, but no. I’m not angry with you, if that’s what you’re asking. You can kiss whoever you want. And I’m the last person to judge you.”
“Then why—”
“I’ll restore the library because you asked me to. Like I said, my reasons don’t really matter. But I can’t be with you, Harper. Not like before. I can’t go there again.”
My stomach lurches. I would have said I already knew that. That I’m not looking to be with any man, but the rejection hurts all the same. “Before, when you courted me.”
A slight nod.
That was the word he used. Courted. It only stopped when he found Christopher kissing me. And me kissing him back. Sutton may claim not to be angry about it, but what other reason could there be for him pulling back? Why else would he have left?
“That’s good,” I manage to say. And I almost mean it.
I’ve always been the girl every boy chased. The one who could always walk away.
I needed to be that girl so that I could keep myself safe, so that I would never end up desperate and alone and scared like my mother. Then two men made me fall for them. Hard. They both walked away at the same time. And look, I could handle the hit to my pride. I can pull up my big girl panties to deal with the humiliation of that.