The Prince (The Original Sinners 3)

I am the Dominant, she’d told herself over and over again, even as she wanted to run or crumble. I will act like it.

And now, as Wesley’s father watched her in silence out of the corner of his eyes, as he drove her and Wesley back to the guesthouse, Nora told herself the same thing. Hitting a newborn foal with a riding crop should have earned her at least a year in prison for cruelty to animals. Even now she wanted to roll up into a ball, and cry or puke, or both. But her guts had told her all it would take for Track Beauty to find the will to stand up and live was to see her baby in pain. It had worked. Not only had the mare gotten to her feet again, but it had seemingly earned Nora the respect of Wesley’s father…or at least his fear. And in her world, they were one and the same.

The older man pulled up to the guesthouse and Wesley got out first. Extending his hand, he waited, and Nora took it with the grace of an English duchess descending from her carriage.

“Thank you, sir,” she said as her feet touched the ground. “And good night, Mr. Railey.”

Nora turned her head just enough to smile at Wesley’s father over her shoulder. Kingsley had taught her that little move, as well—no one flirted quite like that Frenchman.

“Good night, son. And you, madam.”

She walked to the house without waiting for Wesley. She could hear him whispering back and forth with his father. Usually she would have been rabid to know what they were saying about her, but now she didn’t care. All she cared about was getting into the house and finding the bathroom.

Five minutes, she prayed. Just stay out of the house for five more minutes, Wesley.

Nora made it to the bathroom, shut the door behind her and threw up everything she’d eaten since lunch. It came up and out hard and fast, so hard her eyes watered and her stomach ached as if she’d taken a punch to the abdomen. She flushed her vomit away and crawled into the shower. The hot water blasted down even as Nora struggled to remove her sodden clothes.

When she heard the door open, she quickly composed her face.

“I’m in the shower, Wes. I’m covered in horse placenta.”

“Yeah, me, too. Make room.”

Nora gave a mirthless laugh as Wesley shoved in next to her, also fully dressed.

“Good idea,” he said as he raised his hand and started to unbutton her wet shirt. “It’s a shower and laundry all at once.”

“I’ve got nothing but good ideas.”

“I’m starting to think that’s true.” He grunted in frustration when Nora’s shirt remained stuck to her soaking body. With a roll of his eyes he simply tore it and sent three small buttons to the floor. “Oops.”

Nora shrugged. “It was your shirt, anyway.”

“Damn.” Wesley laughed and brought his mouth down to hers, but Nora pulled her head away before he could kiss her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I have horse placenta breath. Let me brush my teeth before you kiss me.”

“That might be the grossest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“What? Placenta’s a good source of protein, right?” she asked, and laughed again.

“Nora…are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Of course I’m okay. Why not? I mean, why?”

Wesley looked down at her and Nora could barely meet his brown eyes, which bored into her with the fiery love of a guardian angel. God probably had eyes like Wesley’s…anyone who looked into them wanted to immediately apologize for any and all sins ever committed.

“You’re standing under hundred-degree water and shaking, for one thing.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Every time you laugh, I worry the mirrors are gonna shatter. Talk to me.”

He caressed her cheek, kissed her forehead and brought her head briefly to his chest. Goddamn tall men…she hated them. All of them. They made her feel so small and so weak by virtue of their size alone. And she hated feeling small and she hated feeling weak and hated Wesley for reminding her how much she hated that.

“I hit a baby,” she whispered into his chest.

Wesley sighed and pulled her even closer.

“You hit a horse, Nora. Not a baby. And he’ll be fine. Which he might not have been had his momma died on that stall floor or in a hospital room. Horses don’t mend well. They’re not like dogs and cats. They get sick, you just put them down. Track Beauty might not have survived a week even if the vet had got her in a sling. And—”

“You can stop talking now, Wes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Underneath the steaming shower spray, Nora stood in Wesley’s arms and cried, letting the water wash the tears away before they could even drip down her face. Ten minutes passed, maybe fifteen, while the pain and the shame she’d felt every time she’d brought the crop down with vicious strength on the little horse’s back eased out of her. Finally, she’d cried out all the tears she had, and found herself laughing against Wesley’s chest.

“Now that sounds like a Nora laugh. What are you laughing at?”

“Us,” she said, rubbing her face on his shirt to wipe her runny nose. “How come we always end up in the bathroom with me having a nervous breakdown and you keeping me together?”

“I dunno. The bathroom seems to be your favorite place to go have a breakdown.”

“It’s good for reading, too.”

“You’re so disgusting.”