Sabbath lunged forward, toward the water. Under her, she could feel his tension spike but he didn’t turn away and his stride was full and purposeful. They approached with good speed and, whether it was from internal fortitude or sheer momentum, he took the jump. Not attractively, not confidently, not with style.
But they got over it in one piece.
A.J. had been prepared for him to refuse and for her to pull a floater in the pool. Instead, she’d been pleasantly surprised to see water passing under them while in midair.
“Way to go!” Devlin called out, as she cantered Sabbath around the ring. Chester, standing at the rail, was clapping.
A couple more tries and the stallion, uncomfortable but still not refusing, was clearing the water with enough confidence that they began to land a little more smoothly. As she reined him in, A.J. was thinking she should feel a triumphant surge of accomplishment. Or tremendous relief, at least.
Instead, she felt numb. Sure, they’d gotten over the water, she thought, but on his home turf with only Devlin and Chester as the audience. What was going to happen in all the chaos of the Qualifier?
She directed the stallion over to Devlin, her eyes dark with conflict.
“They won’t be judging you on form,” he reminded her. “Just whether you get over it in one piece.”
“We’ve got six days left. We need more training.”
“That’s true of every competitor in the ring.”
“I know.” A.J. dismounted, removing her helmet. “It just seems especially true of us.”
“Look at me.”
Her eyes rose to his.
“You should be proud of yourself. You’ve done a terrific job.”
She felt his hand caress her cheek. She turned into the palm, seeking his skin with her lips.
“You know, you’re pretty good at this supportive stuff,” A.J. said softly.
“Just trying to keep my woman happy.”
His thumb brushed against and then lingered on her lower lip. As they went on to discuss plans for the Qualifier, her mind drifted to when they’d been alone together last. The afternoon before, Devlin had joined her in the tub, teasing and tempting her until he’d lost control and they’d made love amid the bubbles and the fragrance of lavender. It hadn’t ended there. The hours before dinner had been lost to a haze of pleasure until the hunger in their bellies had forced them downstairs to forage for food. Too impatient to cook, they’d eaten cold meat loaf and raw carrots and felt, as they stared across a single candle, that the meal was a feast beyond measure.
Just goes to show passion is the best condiment, she thought. Puts A.1. in the shade any day.
“A.J.?”
“Sorry?”
“Penny for your thoughts.”
She smiled.
“They’re yours for free if you make them come true again.” Her look was full of sensual promise.
Devlin moved closer, his body throwing off unmistakable signals. “Tell me. I want to hear the words coming out of that sweet mouth of yours.”
Sabbath tossed his head, stamping a foot.
Looking at his expression of disapproval, they laughed.
“He hates when your attention wanders,” Devlin said as they left the ring.
“He does seem to want my eyes on him all the time.”
“I know the feeling.”
Two days before the Qualifier, A.J. went to the mansion to get some things she’d wear at the event. She’d left most of her show clothes back in her old bedroom and had a specific pair of boots she was looking for.
In the intervening days since Sabbath and she had taken the water jump successfully, they’d made some more progress. The two of them had gotten to the point where they could tackle the water in the middle of a course but there were still problems. Whatever rhythm they had would be broken as soon as they faced the jump, and their pace would slow. Although it wouldn’t hinder them in the first round, if they got as far as a timed jump-off, it could be a liability.
And then there was her arm. She had real concerns about it lasting through the rigors of competition. From a stamina point of view, how effective she could be in the saddle would depend on how much Sabbath fought her and how much pain she could handle. It was an equation she wished she had more influence over. The ibuprofen went only so far and she knew better than to hope for a miraculous recovery or for Sabbath to behave like a perfect gentleman.
As she opened the door to her bedroom, she was thinking she should probably soak in a hot bath later on in the evening.
A.J. stopped dead as soon as she walked into the room.
For a split second, she wondered if she was lost. Or had really lost it.
Boxes choked the floor and were filled haphazardly with the trophies and ribbons that had been on the walls. The mouths of her dresser drawers were yawning open, showing loose teeth made up of her shirts and slacks. Even her canopy bed had been savaged, the drapery peeled from its perch and the pencil posts unscrewed and lying on the floor.
In a daze, A.J. stepped over a pile of books and made her way into the bathroom. It was in a similar condition.
Stunned, she went into her walk-in closet, grateful that at least her show clothes were still hanging up and unwrinkled. She took out two blazers and a couple of her starched shirts and reached into a darkened corner to pick up the boots she wanted. Carefully laying the clothes inside a garment bag, she zipped them in securely, feeling as though they needed the protection.
In a stupor, she sat on the bed, wondering what she should do.
Which, in itself, was a change.
Until recently, her first instinct would have been to race down the corridor, take two lefts and a right and pound on Peter’s door until it was answered or she peeled it off the hinges with her bare hands. Only he could have created the chaos. No one else would have had the gall to move her out of her own bedroom.
But, sitting amid the ruins of her personal space, she didn’t want to find him. She just wanted to walk away.
Then Peter showed up in the doorway.
“I didn’t expect to see you,” he said, stepping over the threshold. He was wearing his casual uniform, tinted brown. “Sorry about the mess but my painters are coming tomorrow.”
He didn’t sound very sorry.
“Where are you taking all of my things?” she asked. “And when were you going to tell me you’re moving in?”
“The groundsmen are putting everything in the attic. And there’s nothing to tell. You left on your own accord.”
“Why are you doing this?” She was more curious than hurt.