But then, she’d really awed him. Without asking for help, even though she looked ready to pass out from exhaustion, she’d carefully tended to the stallion’s needs as meticulously as if she’d spent a lazy afternoon puttering around the barn. Her time in the ring had been about determination but her behavior outside of it was character.
“I think it’s time to call it a day,” he said, hanging the clipboard back on its nail.
“Let me just check on the tack.”
“I’ll take care of that,” he said. “You need to head home.”
“It’ll just take me a—”
“Go home and get some rest.” He watched as she tried to hide a yawn with the back of her hand. “What time can you be here tomorrow?”
A.J. grimaced.
“What?” he said. “Don’t tell me you want to sleep in here with him. Haven’t you had enough for one day?”
“Actually…”
“You can be sure he’ll be fine here. You want one of those baby monitors?”
“I want your couch.” Her words came out in a rush. “Mind if I bed down in your living room again tonight?”
Devlin looked surprised. “Are you that tired?”
“No.”
He frowned. “Your father’s mansion is big enough to house a small liberal arts college. He suddenly decided to offer classes or is this more fallout from the split with your family?”
“Space is not the problem.”
“This isn’t just for one night, is it?”
“No.”
Devlin’s eyes grew remote and she could see his mind working.
“I can pay you,” she offered.
He rolled his eyes. “Not that again. Like I said, money’s not a big enticement to me.”
“I wouldn’t want to take advantage of your hospitality. I know it’s an imposition.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” he said under his breath. He wasn’t sure he could share a bathroom with someone who made him feel like she did.
This woman moves in, he thought, and he’d be lucky if he didn’t grind his teeth to stumps with sexual frustration. He’d be sucking meals through a straw and mumbling incoherently inside of a week.
Abruptly, Devlin pictured her coming out of his tub, skin flushed from hot water, mist swirling around her like an incantation of ecstasy. He tried to derail the fantasy and failed. With a harsh movement, he stuffed his hands in his pockets to be sure he kept them to himself.
If she stayed here, it would make training easier, an inner voice said. Less commute time for her, more time with the horse.
An argument ensued in his head between his professional responsibilities and his base instincts, a pair of dueling mental banjos that drove him nuts.
Finally, he decided. “If you want to trade in a feather bed for an old couch, it’s okay with me.”
A.J. sagged with relief. “Thanks. I know you don’t have to do this.”
“Right now, I’m thinking of it more as a public service. You don’t look like you should be operating heavy machinery and that includes flashy red convertibles.”
They walked out to the car to get her luggage, both fully aware of the position they were now in. They were two people linked by a powerful attraction they were committed not to give in to. Who were going to cohabitate for two months. Right before one of them faced the most grueling event in the equestrian world.
I can’t believe I’m doing this, A.J. thought, feeling like she could begin giggling with hysteria at any moment. She was going to live with Devlin McCloud.
“Good thing you came prepared,” he said, picking up one of her bags.
“It was either you or the exotic one-star motor lodge, Nero’s Palace.” She took out the other one and then put up the roof.
When they got to the farmhouse, Devlin held the door open for her and she brushed against him as she went inside. She felt a shock from the contact.
“I’ll take care of dinner,” he said, dropping her bag next to the couch. “You know where the shower is.”
A.J. thought he seemed in a big hurry to leave the room. After he left, she put down the luggage she was carrying, hung up her coat and wondered whether she should follow him into the kitchen to help. Looking down at her dirty hands and feeling her hair itch from having been under a helmet for the afternoon overrode her desire to be polite so she headed upstairs.
The bathroom wasn’t big but it had every modern amenity, including a whirlpool bath, which she eyed with naked lust. Cranking on the water, she watched greedily as the deep tub started to fill and the jets began working their magic. She fished through her bag and found some bath salts, which she sprinkled into the frothing water, releasing a delicate lavender scent.
When was the last time she’d taken a bath? Some dim memory from the previous winter came to mind. She’d been sick, if she recalled, with a nose that looked like a clown’s and a honking cough to fill in for her lack of a circus horn. At that time, her submersion had been medicinal.
Now it was going to be pleasurable.
Despite her exhaustion, A.J. shed her clothes with glee and stepped into the undulating, perfumed water. The tub was big enough that she could lie down and be fully immersed while the jets sent pulses of warm water to her aching muscles. When she stepped out much later, pink and glowing, she felt renewed. Toweling off, she slipped into a comfortable pair of khakis and a cream knit sweater. She left her hair to dry in loose waves over her shoulders and headed downstairs feeling more herself.
Things only got better when A.J. hit the ground floor. Some heavenly smell was drifting out of the kitchen and her stomach grumbled with appreciation as she walked into the room. Devlin was at the stove, stirring the contents of a pot. On the table, there were two deep bowls flanked by man-sized spoons on neatly folded dish towels. The only other things on the rugged surface were wooden salt and pepper shakers and a basket of bread.
“Take a seat and I’ll dish it up,” Devlin said.
“Smells wonderful.”
All the obvious attractions and talents and he cooks, she thought as she sat down and spread the gingham towel across her lap.
When Devlin reached over to pick up her bowl and returned it filled with a hearty beef and vegetable stew, she smiled. The meal was a far cry from the sparse gourmet food served on delicate china that she got at the mansion. The menu that came out of Regina’s kitchen was restricted to skeletal pieces of meat or fish that were accessorized with flamboyant but insubstantial vegetables. For someone whose only exercise was admiring herself, it was a fine diet, A.J. had always thought. It was far from sufficient for an athlete, however, and she’d long before learned to tuck a spare sandwich under her arm on the way to bed.