Pride After Her Fall

As if sensing the shift in her thoughts he lifted his lashes and there were his intense blue eyes. Lorelei found her pulse was fluttering wildly out of control. He was looking at her as if she was naked under him in bed.

Mon Dieu, other people would see...they would know...

The hum of conversation died away and there was only an incredible stillness. It seemed to happen between them again and again—his eyes and her heartbeat and that elemental force that shook her when she was in his arms. Only his arms. Only him.

What was going on? She couldn’t fall so far and so fast for this man.

Almost to rip herself free from the spell he’d cast, she reminded herself that Nash was a public figure because of his sport, and he was about to enter that arena again. Did she really want to be the woman on his arm? To face that sort of intrusion into her personal life?

‘Lorelei St James,’ said one of the women, her voice a little too loud. ‘I knew that name was familiar.’

All of a sudden her musings ground to a halt. In that instant she felt Nash’s hand close over hers under the table.

‘Pardon?’

‘It has to be over a decade ago now, but I remember seeing you at the World Equestrian Games.’

Lorelei released a hurried breath. ‘Ah, oui—many years ago.’

‘I jump myself. My family breed Arabians.’

She felt Nash’s hand turning hers over, his fingers finding those calluses on her palm. All of a sudden she felt horribly exposed, and she didn’t quite know why, but to pull her hand away would be the first step to getting up and walking out, and she was done with that sort of reactive behaviour. It didn’t serve her. So she mastered her nerves and continued to smile at the woman. To answer questions. To discuss the relative merits of each breed.

Couples were dancing to an old Cole Porter tune outside, and Nash suddenly pushed back his chair, interrupting the woman’s flow. He got up, offered Lorelei his hand.

‘What a brilliant idea,’ said another of the women.

Lorelei followed him out, and the moment she was in his arms he caught one of her hands and turned it palm-side up. She didn’t want to struggle to free herself so she let him.

He rubbed his thumb over the calluses.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about these?’

He didn’t sound accusing, just genuinely surprised.

‘You never asked.’

‘You’re right. I haven’t asked. But I’m asking now.’

She tugged her hand away. He let her.

‘They bother you? The calluses?’

‘They’re not very feminine,’ she said tightly.

‘I disagree.’ He put his hands around her waist, drew her close. ‘You’ve got capable hands.’

Lorelei leaned in against him. ‘They used to be my gift,’ she said unthinkingly, seduced by the sudden proximity of his size and strength.

‘Your gift?’ he prompted

‘I evented. Rode horses in dressage and show trials. I was quite good.’

‘How good?’

‘Good enough.’ She felt slightly awkward. ‘International standard.’

Nash stopped swaying her in his arms. He was looking down at her as if she’d said she once had two heads.

‘I’ve surprised you,’ she said, a little more crisply.

‘You’ve impressed me,’ he said slowly. ‘But you said you rode, in the past tense. Why did you give it up?’

‘I had an accident. It’s made any sustained time in the saddle difficult.’ She hated this part. It was the reason she never talked about it. People either felt sorry for her or dismissed it as a minor disappointment. Both rankled. Almost in sympathy she felt the echo of phantom pains in her hip flexors.

‘How did it happen?’

His voice was low, and it was easy to forget they were on a dance floor. It was as if they were in their own private little world.

‘I was twenty-two. I came down over a jump, and so did the horse. He landed on me.’

Nash stilled.

‘I survived—obviously. It took several surgeries and a lot of physio, but I’m able to ride recreationally again.’

‘How long were you in recovery?’

‘Two years.’

She saw him absorb that information.

‘Those marks on your hips?’ he said a little roughly.