“I have an image of his passport,” I whispered.
“Horses have passports?”
Oh, this wasn’t going to go well, was it? Still, I appreciated the sentiment. “Yes, all horses in the UK and Europe do.”
“Then send me the details.”
He extracted a business card from his inside pocket and passed it to me, navy-blue cardstock with cream print. Alaric McLain. Sirius Consulting. Sloane had been right—he didn’t work for Blackwood—and yet he’d referred to Emmy as a colleague. Did he freelance?
A chink of light shone through the clouds, distracting me. The rain was still coming down, albeit not quite so hard, and vivid colours lit up the sky.
“Look—a rainbow,” I said before I caught myself. Piers had always poo-poohed me when I’d tried to show him nature’s gifts. Called it childish. But Alaric turned and leaned on the stable door beside me, his expression a mix of contentedness and awe.
“The world never ceases to amaze me. That out of darkness, we get such beauty.”
It was a moment. One Chaucer interrupted by pushing his head in between us to see what all the fuss was about.
“Hey, you big oaf!” I ducked under his neck to get back to Alaric, only to find he’d got tangled up in yet more cobwebs. “Uh, you have a little… Actually, a lot… Here, let me…”
As I brushed Alaric down and picked dusty bits of cobweb off his back, head, and trousers, I realised that being on my own at the yard wasn’t so bad after all. If anyone had seen us, I’d have had to answer a million questions, and knowing my luck, word would somehow get back to my mother as well. And I also realised that up close, Alaric’s backside was every bit as nice as I’d suspected.
Be still my dirty mind.
“Okay, all done. The rain’s eased off, so we should probably leave now.”
He didn’t answer, just caught me by surprise when he swept me into his arms, bridal style. Chaucer leapt back at the sound of my shriek.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“The shoes, Bethany. Have you forgotten why I came here in the first place?”
Oh, yes, the shoes. They really were very nice ones. I might have got rid of most of my dresses, but the shoes were a different story. Selling them would be a last resort, and they wouldn’t raise much anyway. Not many people wanted to buy used footwear. Much as I disliked being manhandled, I hated the thought of ruining a pair of Manolos more.
“You can make it the whole way to my car?”
Alaric just looked at me. Oops. Maybe I shouldn’t have insulted his masculinity? Men took that sort of thing very seriously, which Mother assured me was the reason Piers felt the need to go out and shoot at things every other weekend. Clay pigeons mainly, but occasionally grouse. Luckily, he missed most of the time.
I reached for Chaucer, and Alaric stepped closer so I could pat my horse on the nose. Then I fumbled with the bolt on the door while Alaric waited patiently. About halfway to the car, I became conscious of two things. Firstly, that Alaric must spend plenty of time in the gym because his hard chest matched his arse perfectly in terms of muscles, and secondly, I didn’t mind being carried after all. Which was perhaps why my left arm found its way around Alaric’s neck and clung on as he picked his way around the puddles in the car park. It struck me as odd that he obviously took care of himself and yet he wasn’t wearing any aftershave. All I could smell was his own musky scent, which wasn’t a bad thing in the slightest.
“Got your car key?” he asked.
“Yes.” I’d zippered it into an inside jacket pocket this time, and my shirt rode up as I tried to tug it free. Yes, it was a very good thing Pinkey wasn’t back yet. “Right here.”
Between the two of us, we got the car door open, and Alaric lowered me gently into the driver’s seat. But he didn’t release me right away. No, he stayed there with one arm around my back and the other under my legs, his lips just inches from mine. Was he… Was he going to kiss me? I held my breath as my heart thudded against my ribs. What would I do if that mouth touched mine? Pull him to me or push him away? Logic said to shove him back and slam the door, but my fingers itched to curl around his lapels. Or tangle in that thick brown hair. Or explore the muscles rippling in his back.
How would he kiss? On a scale of Piers’s sloppy mauling to Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard’s rain-drenched smooch at the end of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I bet Alaric would rate at least as high as a Mr. Darcy.
But I never got to find out. He withdrew his arms and stood, bracing his hands on the car roof as he studied me.
“I’d better give you Emmy’s address,” he said finally.
“What?” It came out as a whisper, and I sucked in air when I realised my lungs had none left.
“To park your car?”
“My car? Yes. Right. Car.”
“Are you okay?”
The lie came automatically. “Of course. Thank you for saving my shoes.”
“Can you drive in those things?”
“I’ve had plenty of practice. Hey, where are you going?”
Rather than answering, Alaric pushed away abruptly and stepped back. Why? What had I done? Was it something I said?
CHAPTER 22 - ALARIC
ALARIC STALKED AROUND Bethany’s car, cursing under his breath. What was he playing at? He’d come to her in an attempt to fix some of the problems he’d caused, not to complicate his life even further.
Those fucking shoes.
Delicate feet, slim calves, strong thighs…
Shit, he’d almost kissed her. That hadn’t been part of the plan.
He took a breath to steady himself, one hand on the passenger door handle. When Bethany told him she’d been fired, he knew at once that Emerald’s curse had struck again. Until he crossed paths with that damn painting, he’d never believed in bad luck or negative energy, but on his travels, he’d met everyone from a Chinese philosopher to a Malaysian shaman, and he’d come to the conclusion that there were forces at work in the world that he didn’t fully understand. That no one understood. Dark and light, day and night, good and evil, yin and yang.
Bethany stared at him as he slid into the passenger seat, her eyes the colour of the lightening sky flecked with the deeper blue of Mogok Valley sapphires. Alaric had visited there on his sabbatical, seen the city and met the locals, all the time wondering whether he’d ever return to his old life or anything like it. Now, he was closer than he’d ever been before, but those stubborn fugitives—love and reputation—still remained out of reach.
Although…
Bethany’s head tilted in confusion, but he wasn’t planning to answer her unasked question about his own stupidity. He busied himself with her satnav instead.
“I’ll be in front of you all the way, but I’ve set the postcode in case we get separated.”
“The postcode. Okay.”
She knew, didn’t she? She knew that his self-control had almost deserted him. What would be next to go? Willpower and any sense of rational thought? Dammit, he needed to keep his faculties.
“The traffic always seems to snarl up close to London. Just call if you get lost, and I’ll find you somehow.”
He didn’t mention that “somehow” would involve calling Naz and asking him nicely if he’d mind tracking Bethany’s cell phone again. Or one of Emmy’s team if Naz had decided to take a nap. The guy went through fads like Alaric went through underwear. Last month, he’d been eating blueberries with every meal because a woman he met on the train told him he needed to detox. The month before that, he’d taken up roller skiing, then left all the kit in Judd’s basement when he went to visit his grandma in Georgia. Georgia the country, not Georgia the state. And this month? This month saw Naz extolling the benefits of polyphasic sleep, which basically meant he was kipping whenever anyone wanted him to do anything.