The Virgin's Debt to Pay

‘Really, I would rather just—’ But her words dried up in her throat when Luc pulled her into his chest and put an arm around her back, then took her hand in his, holding it close to his chest.

Suddenly they were moving, and Nessa had no idea how her feet were even capable of such a thing, but suddenly she was being propelled backwards. No one was staring. Well, they were, but it was at Luc, not her.

Her tension eased slightly but then she became aware of how it felt to be so close to his body. Her eyeline was somewhere around his throat. She was still a full foot smaller than him, even in heels, and she felt very conscious of the taller and more swanlike women that glided past with their partners.

The more she thought about it, the more she had to wonder if she’d hallucinated what had happened in the stables. Right now, aside from her own thundering heart-rate and physical awareness of him, Luc could have been a total, polite stranger.

And then he looked down at her and said, ‘I never really congratulated you on your win today. If you perform like that again, you could be the face of a new generation of women jockeys.’

Had that been today? It felt like years ago. Nessa blushed, not expecting praise from this man. ‘It could have been a fluke. If I do badly at the next race it won’t help your reputation, or my career.’

Luc shook his head. ‘You handled her beautifully. Where did you learn to ride like that?’

Nessa swallowed. The air suddenly felt thicker. She looked at Luc’s bow tie. That seemed safer than looking up into the dark eyes that made her feel as if she were drowning.

‘My father, before he got too ill. But mainly Iseult; she’s got the real talent. I was never off a horse really, as soon as I got home from school and then every weekend when I came home from university—’

‘You went to university?’

Nessa looked up. ‘Iseult insisted we all go. She knew I wanted to be a jockey and she helped me, but she made sure I had something else to fall back on. The world of racing for female jockeys isn’t exactly...easy.’

‘What did you study?’

‘Business and economics.’

Luc arched a brow. ‘That’s a little removed from racing.’

Nessa felt self-conscious. ‘I know, and it kept me off the scene for a few years. But I didn’t mind, really. I wanted to learn how to take care of our business if anything happened again.’

‘Even though your brother-in-law is a sheikh and rich as Croesus?’

Nessa gave him a withering look. ‘None of us expect handouts from Nadim. Not even my sister, and she’s married to him! And anyway, Iseult hadn’t met Nadim by the time I began university, so things were still pretty grim. I knew I didn’t have the luxury of doing what I wanted and following a precarious career path.’

Luc had to admit to a grudging respect for Nessa and what her family had obviously been through. Unless of course it was all lies designed to impress him. But as much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t think it was.

Since he’d discovered she was a virgin and wasn’t putting on some innocent act, it had shifted his perception whether he liked it or not. Also, he could verify her story pretty easily if he looked into it.

She looked up at him again and he saw something like determination in her eyes. ‘You never did answer my question earlier...how you came to know so much about horses.’

Luc cursed the fact that they were so close and surrounded by couples. No escape. But then, what did he have to hide except a very banal answer?

‘An old man lived in the apartment next to my mother’s. He paid me sometimes to do odd-jobs for him, shopping, things like that. He used to be a champion jockey as a young man but an accident had ruined his career. I was always fascinated by his stories and the fact that every thoroughbred today is descended—’

‘From just three Arab stallions,’ Nessa finished. ‘I know, that’s always fasincated me too.’

‘Pierre became a chronic online gambler but in spite of knowing everything about every single horse’s lineage and form he always lost more than he won. He taught me almost everything, including how to invest prudently, which was ironic because he never took his own advice.’

Nessa felt ridiculously emotional to think of a young Luc Barbier spending all that time with an old injured jockey. ‘He sounds like an amazing person. Is he still alive?’

Luc suddenly looked more remote. He shook his head. ‘He died when I was a teenager. Before he died, though, he gave me Leo Fouret’s number and told me I should call him and impress him with my knowledge of racing, and that if I did he might take me on.’

Which he obviously had. Nessa was a little stunned. But before she could ask Luc any more questions she felt him pull her in much closer to avoid colliding with another couple. She’d almost forgotten they were on a dance floor, surrounded by people.

And then she felt it. The press of his body against her lower abdomen. His arousal.

She looked up, eyes wide, cheeks flaring with heat. Luc arched a brow in silent question as they kept moving, which only exacerbated the situation.

Nessa could hardly breathe. The previous conversation and revelations were forgotten. All she could think about now was the way he’d been so cold the other day in the changing rooms. What happened between us won’t happen again.