“Yes,” I replied, already not liking the way he sounded.

  “I’m calling to let you know that we have hired our jockey for the upcoming races. I do appreciate your availability, and I hope that we might get a chance to work together in the future.”

  My jaw dropped. I turned into a service station parking lot, trying to figure out how in the heck this had just happened. Both of them canceling within ten minutes’ time? Had I done something wrong?

  “Uh, okay,” I replied, trying to find my words this time. “I—can I ask why you settled on someone already without even giving me a chance?”

  He sighed, and I winced. That was never a good sign.

  “It’s just racing. Don’t take it personal. We all want to win,” he replied with the most generic answer he could have mustered up.

  Yeah, we all wanted to win. But there was a reason why both had decided I wasn’t their jockey before even meeting with me. They’d been very interested a week ago. Begging me to come see them, offering to fly me to Kentucky.

  “Yes, well, thanks for letting me know soon enough to change my plans. Goodbye,” I said in a clipped tone even worse than the one I’d used on the last one.

  Slamming my hands on the steering wheel, I glared at the fast-food chain across the street. Didn’t seem like I was going to be racing a horse anytime soon. Shephard Ranch hadn’t called me either. I wasn’t sure if they ever planned to again. I might as well go get a milkshake and fries after filling up my tank.

  Almost six hours in total burned on a road trip that hadn’t actually happened and a thousand calories I shouldn’t have eaten, I pulled up into my driveway. My mood had gone from bad to worse. This day had started off so promising, then plummeted in a nosedive that I hadn’t expected.

  Getting out of the car, I slammed my door shut with more force than she deserved really. I loved my car, and she was getting up in age. I didn’t need to be so rough with her. Turning, I went to get my suitcase out of the trunk before making my way to the house. I was almost to the porch when my gaze fell on the familiar pink bakery box sitting in front of the door.

  The small rein I had on my temper snapped, and I dropped my suitcase and stormed up the steps to jerk the box up and rip it open to find one dozen lemon crinkle cookies. Gritting my teeth, I slammed it closed and turned, heading back to my car. Opening it back up, I tossed the cookies on the passenger seat, then went to get my suitcase and tossed it back inside before getting in and heading toward Shephard Ranch.

  I didn’t know what he was doing or why he was doing it, but Thatcher Shephard and all his broody, mysterious ways that kept everyone on edge had pushed me too far. He was leaving these cookies. He had to be. There was no one else who would know or even have a reason to do this. He didn’t have a reason either for that matter. Was he trying to screw with my head? What sick game was he playing here?

  I sped toward the street that most of the town stayed clear of if they could help it because they all believed the Shephards’ and Salazars’ homes here meant the Mafia owned this street. I, however, did not give one diddly-squat. Thatcher Shephard needed to stop leaving me cookies. I didn’t want anything from him, except to race his horses. Nothing else.

  The arched gate stood open when I arrived, and the security nodded when they saw me turn in. I forced a smile and slowed down as I approached the stables. King was walking toward his truck when I came to a stop. Reaching over, I grabbed the stupid box of cookies and got out of the car.

  “Capri,” King said. “I didn’t know you were coming today.” His eyes dropped to the box in my hand.

  I shrugged. “Yeah, me neither. Where is Thatcher?” I asked, not even attempting to act like I wasn’t angry as hell.

  King’s eyes widened, and he rubbed his chin, then nodded his head back toward the stables. “I’ll take you to him.”

  Fine. Lead the way.

  “Thanks.”

  He glanced at me one more time before heading toward the side entrance to the stables. I knew he was curious, and I hoped he didn’t stick around to hear what I had come to say to Thatcher because now that I was here, I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. I had the cookies, and I knew he was leaving them. I didn’t know why, but I knew it was him. I wanted him to stop it. He messed with my head. And he’d said those things in New York, then stormed away. I’d had to see him naked, screwing a woman. But I had come racing over here because of cookies.

  Was I really going to yell at him over cookies?

  No.

  It was much more than these stupid anonymous cookies. He was confusing me and playing games I didn’t want to play. If I was some form of amusement for him—or worse, a charity case—he needed to forget my name. I could live with not being in his league, but I could not handle the other.

  King opened the door to the lounge and walked inside first, leaving it open for me to follow.

  “Found someone looking for you,” King announced.

  Thatcher was standing at the bar with a cigarette between his lips, looking down at his phone. He took his time lifting his head to see who was looking for him, which was so freaking arrogant that I wanted to smash the cookies over his head. I was almost to him before he looked up to see me stalking that way.

  His expression didn’t change or show any surprise when I reached him.

  I took the box in my hand and shoved them at his chest. “Stop leaving the cookies,” I said through clenched teeth. “I don’t know what you are playing at or what your angle is, but I don’t understand it, and it’s confusing!”

  He took the box and placed it on the bar.

  “You can go, King,” he told him instead of acknowledging me.

  “No, I think I’d better stay,” King replied.

  Thatcher’s expression darkened, and a chilling gleam settled in his eyes. I didn’t have to touch Thatcher to feel the tension rolling off his body.

  Finally, some sort of emotion. Even if it was a frightening one.

  Reminders of King and his gun made me care a little more than I wanted to, and I turned back to look at King.

  “It’s fine. This is between us. Go,” I told him.

  King’s jawline was so rigid that I expected him to refuse, but when he looked over my head toward Thatcher, his shoulders eased as he shook his head, then walked to the door.

  “Close it,” Thatcher snarled.

  King paused, and for a moment, I didn’t think he was going to do it, but he did, and the room was silent. We were alone, and now, I was rethinking being left with him. Not wanting to let my fear or insecurity get the best of me, I reminded myself why I had come and why I was furious.

  “Why are you leaving cookies at my doorstep?” I demanded. “You barely acknowledge my existence. Then, after YOU said those things to me in New York, I am treated like I did something wrong.” I said the last sentence while poking his chest with the tip of my fingernail in hard jabs without realizing it until his eyes dropped to where I was attacking his chest. The hint of disgust on his face only made it worse.

  “I’m a damn good jockey,” I shouted, taking a step closer to him. “And this—whatever you are doing, replacing me or no longer using me—isn’t fair. I won. And getting rid of me because you think I’m going to become some clingy female like the rest of your harem is wrong. I will never join that club—I can promise you that. Sending me cookies to make up for taking away an opportunity of a lifetime doesn’t make it better. I’m not a five-year-old.”

  Thatcher grabbed my wrist as his eyes locked in on me. “You are stepping too close to fire, little doll.” His voice sounded deep and raspy.

  The sinister glint in his dark depths made me pause for a moment. What if I had stepped too far? I didn’t know what this man was capable of, but I couldn’t accept that he would actually hurt me. I just knew he wouldn’t. Maybe that was foolish, but I decided I’d come this far, so I might as well finish it.

  “I’m not scared of you,” I told him. “Your threatening looks won’t send me running like they do everyone else.”

  He leaned closer to me, tightening his grip on my wrist until it was borderline painful. “You’re fucking naive.”

  It was just a second, if even that, but I’d seen a flash of something I hadn’t expected. My body reacted to it, even before I could find a word to label it.

  Stepping closer to him, I tilted my head back so I could hold his heated glare. “Why don’t you fix that?” I challenged, shocking myself.

  He released my wrist, but before I could cradle it in relief, I was spun around and slammed up against the wall beside him. His hand held me there by my neck. I could breathe, but not deeply. Panic stirred in my chest for the first time. The depravity that others believed lurked in his soul began to make its way to the forefront. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to plead for my life or try and push him further.

  “Stop begging me with those eyes for things you can’t handle.” He glowered as he bent his head down to inhale my hair. “I’m not for you. What you want and what I do are two different things.”

  The tip of his tongue ran across my temple. I shivered as my nipples tightened to the point of throbbing.

  “You think you can handle straddling my lap and fucking me in a room full of people?” he groaned. “Or sitting down and opening your legs up for me to play with that pussy while others are there to see? Hmm? Think you can handle that? Or what about me tying you up, spanking your ass with my belt, calling you a dirty little slut, and forcing my cock down your mouth until you gag and tears roll down your face? Do you really think you can handle having that soft skin on your cheek slapped for not sucking me deep enough?” His hand left my throat and moved down to my chest as he pressed me harder against the wall. A sinister grin curled his lips. “Tell me, little doll, have you been fucked, or is that pussy still untouched?”

  Lie. I wanted to lie. Why hadn’t I just had sex and gotten it over with before now? The fear of God and hell was going to be my ruin. If God didn’t want me having sex before marriage, then he should have put a man in my life I wanted to marry.

  “I haven’t,” I admitted.

  He jerked his hand off me and stepped back from me as if I’d just admitted to having a disease.

  “Leave,” he barked at me, pointing to the door.

  No, I couldn’t leave. Whatever it was that he made me feel, I didn’t get that anywhere else. Not with anyone, and I wanted it. If I had felt it before now, then I wouldn’t be a virgin. I shook my head, feeling desperate. He was the only one who could make my body react like this. I didn’t want to leave.

  “Please, don’t,” I beg. “Do it. Whichever. Something.”

  The cold, uninterested response in his eyes was more painful than anything else he’d done to me. “Virgins don’t interest me. They’re boring.”

  I was sure they were, just as I would probably bore him too. The burning in my chest was clawing its way deeper inside. I had to leave without letting him see he’d done more than insult me. He’d crushed me, and I’d let him. I had laid it all out there to a guy I knew was not interested in me sexually. He just wanted to feed me cookies.

  Taking a deep breath, I focused on the door and walked toward it. One foot in front of the other. I held my head as high as I could manage, and when the handle was in my hand, I opened it, escaping a room I never wanted to see again. Wishing I could be numb and not a walking billboard of humiliation, I tried not to make eye contact with anyone. I would get to my car and leave. I’d recover—hopefully.

  What had possessed me to put myself out there with a man like Thatcher? When you looked at it that way, I deserved this.

  “Capri?” Sebastian called, but I didn’t want to talk to him.

  I kept walking.

  “Capri!” he called out louder.

  I was almost out the side door when a hand touched my shoulder, and I jerked away without looking to see who it was.

  “Capri?” Sebastian said again.

  He wasn’t going to let me leave without some answer. I looked at him and wished I could just lie. But even attempting a lie at the moment seemed impossible.

  “What happened?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as he studied me.

  His eyes were scanning me for what? A sign of struggle?

  I clasped my hands behind my back to hide my wrist from his prying eyes. I hadn’t checked, but there was a possibility T left a mark.

  “Nothing. Misunderstanding with Thatcher. My fault,” I said.

  “Your fault? I don’t believe that. It’s Thatcher.”

  I couldn’t even force a smile. I shrugged. “It’s fine. But I do need to get going.” I didn’t wait for him to say more or ask anything else.

  Pushing open the door, I walked into the bright sunlight. One day, I wouldn’t care about this. Perhaps I’d even laugh at my stupidity.

  At least I had accomplished something among my mortification. There would be no more cookies left at my door.

  • Twenty-Four •

  One look from those doe eyes of hers, and I was suddenly her fucking protector.

  Thatcher

  For seven years, I’d known this entrance into the house, yet until this year, I’d never had any desire to use it. Watching her from the backyard was good enough. It had given me the peace I required. It seemed drawing her into my world and not just observing her life without interaction was creating new necessities.

  Watching her sleep, the unique scent of honeysuckle and lemon saturating every breath I took, listening to her soft sounds that weren’t a snore but entertaining, was enough to appease me. I often sat for hours before I realized I was smiling. When she mumbled words that made no sense, I had to press my lips together not to laugh.

  Leaning against the frame of her bedroom door, I held the panties she’d worn today against my nose while she slept peacefully. I’d been here for an hour, and she’d yet to move or make any of her amusing sounds. That was easier to watch than seeing her restless. The expression on her face when she’d left the stables today twisted me up in ways I couldn’t get control over.

  Once the sun had set, I’d come straight here to stand outside and watch her. It was the only way to ease me. Knowing she was safe.

  The corner of my lips curled up as I thought about the cookies outside her front door. Would she come back to the stables with those gray eyes of hers heated until they looked like liquid silver, that sweet mouth telling me off and demanding truths that she couldn’t handle?

  My hand fisted the satin scrap of fabric that I knew barely covered her ass since I’d watched her walk around the house in them before she took a shower. Every time I thought about the way her eyes had flared and gotten fucking excited when I told her things that should have sent her running, my blood would pulse, I could hear my heartbeat, and my cock only got harder. That perfect, sweet face shouldn’t have stared up at me with her lips parted, panting, and her eyes pleading for shit she was too good for.

  Capri Jewel was kind, forgiving, gentle with others’ feelings, selfless, and innocent. Somehow, even before I’d known her, my soul had read hers clearly. The twisted fuck that it was couldn’t see her hurt. That was the only reason I’d reacted the way I did the first time. One look from those doe eyes of hers, and I was suddenly her fucking protector.

  She hadn’t asked for that or me. Unfortunately for her, she had no choice. Hell, I had no choice. Maybe if I’d stayed away nine years ago and not come looking for her, if that face had stayed out of my dreams, I could have. The woman that she’d turned into had shaken me more than I realized. I hadn’t lied to her today when I said virgins bored me. All I ever wanted was women who matched my depravity.

  I couldn’t ruin her.

  Dropping her panties back into her white wicker laundry basket, I silently moved over to stand beside her bed. She’d put lighter streaks of blonde in her hair. I wanted to wrap a strand around my finger and feel the silk against my skin.

  My gaze drifted over her face, pausing at her slightly parted lips. She’d fucking licked them today when I mentioned shoving my cock down her throat until she gagged. I was still hard. I had been since she’d left. My sweet little doll shouldn’t want that, but knowing she had liked the thought was going to taunt me. Reminding me of what I couldn’t have.

  Her hand moved and slid up over the pillow as she mumbled something that sounded like crop. I started to smile until my eyes stopped on her wrist. My chest tightened painfully, and I couldn’t breathe. There, on her smooth, tanned skin, was a darker mark. A bruise. One I’d put there.

  Fuck.

  I pressed my fingers to my temples and focused on inhaling oxygen. My head was roaring, along with the darkness that made up my entire being. I’d held her too tightly. Why hadn’t she told me? Cried out? Let me know it hurt?

  I’d kill anyone else who had left a mark on her. I’d killed others for less where she was concerned. Her own mother was alive simply because knocking the bitch off would devastate Capri. It was a good thing the woman could no longer make her cry. I wasn’t sure how long I’d have been able to see her tears and let her mother live for causing them.

  Reaching down, I ran the tip of my finger over her small wrist. My fingers had wrapped completely around them and overlapped. Everything about her was so dainty, perfectly formed. I’d caused her pain. I didn’t allow anyone to cause her pain.

  Flinching from the reaction it’d caused, I knew I’d have to be punished. It was the only way I could deal with this. Caressing her discolored skin, I watched her face as she let out a small gasp. She wasn’t waking. I knew the signs of her waking up. The flutter of her lashes, quickened breathing, body tensing. None of that was happening. She was still dreaming.

  She mumbled something else, and if I wasn’t so goddamn angry about hurting her, I’d have smiled. I couldn’t do that right now. Not when her wrist was bruised from my grip. I’d gotten so worked up with my fantasies and telling her things that should have made her shrink away from me but didn’t that I’d not paid attention to how tightly I held her.