Susan stood off to the side, feeling ever so slightly tipsy and a shade benevolent. She was genuinely happy for Beth and David. There was little point to moping anymore, especially since Beth had asked her to take over the training and conditioning of her third level dressage horse while she and David were in Florida. That had been unexpected—a dream-come-true—and she wondered if her Mom or Lotte had had anything to do with that. In any case, she was ready for a new start with students, an equine challenge, and a horse of her own to ride and train.

  “Would you like to dance?”

  She turned to find a very tall young man looming over her. Ian was one of Jacob’s most promising students. She hadn’t heard him approach. He was a ghost, always around, but somehow fading into the woodwork, painfully shy and reticent. She’d first met him after he’d graduated high school, opting to concentrate on his riding rather than head for college. Lotte had substituted for the divorced mother with a career and a father who had little interest in supporting his son’s avocation.

  At six-foot-three, he was a junior rider magnet. Every female tweener hovered in giggles whenever Ian worked in the barn. He remained blissfully ignorant of his quite generous gifts. He was, in a word, drop dead gorgeous. And she’d never seen anyone sit a horse as well as he did, his long legs and natural carriage combined with raw talent to make him an equestrian artist. She was sure, in time, he’d be a force of nature.

  Dance with him? Oh hell, yes.

  Ian led her onto the floor as a sultry salsa pounded a sensuous beat. Susan swooned inwardly. God, he can dance. Oh mercy, can he ever. He placed his hands on her hips, swiveling in time to the music, grinding hip to hip, leaving her feeling light-headed and hot.

  The DJ switched the playlist into a slow foxtrot. Ian closed his arms about her, gathering her body close, so close she could rest her head against his chest and listen to his heart beating, almost in time to the rhythm of the dance. Slow, sensual, until she could hear nothing but the sound of her loneliness and his longing.

  “Do you want to leave?” He whispered into her ear, brushing his chin against her cheek, at once rough and sleek. Susan felt the boy becoming a man as he pressed into her lower body, the velvet of her gown slipping smoothly over his black wool pants, creating a static charge that set her groin on fire. She flushed in a rush of heat, her blood racing, pulse pounding. The last time she’d felt this way, she’d come off a cross-country course, riding like the devil was on her tail.

  Heart stuttering an erratic beat, she took the leap and whispered, “Yes, let’s leave.”

  Ian grasped her hand and led her to the stable aisle, dimly lit from lamps at either end of the barn. She gathered up the heavy folds of her gown and tip-toed to the tack room. They slipped inside, and Ian shut and locked the door.

  She smiled at that, not quite sure what he was up to, and definitely not willing to think about consequences. Ian pressed her against the rough pine wall, his long torso fitting against her breasts as he leaned in, inhaling the scent of her hair.

  Susan stared, puzzled. What had happened to the shy young boy they’d all watched grow up? Suddenly here was a man, a man with wandering hands, sure of himself, taking charge and riding her in a soft and forgiving frame.

  Cupping her right breast, he stroked with agonizing slowness until her nipple peaked, the outline clear even through the thick velvet bodice. He grinned wolfishly, aware of her shallow breaths and pounding heart. He lazed his tongue along her neck, sampling the pulse, palpating the artery until she felt every single blood cell like a river of flowing heat.

  Abandoning good sense, she asked, hesitant and hopeful at once, “Do you want to come to the house?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Cupping her chin, he leaned down and gently probed her lips, asking for permission, tentative in his first taste. Sweeping her lips apart, he explored with exquisite slowness, taking gentle nips until she could barely concentrate. Tongues entangled, she had to gasp for a breath, holding it until he gave her leave for another.

  “Let’s get out of here, Suz.”

  Ian quickly guided her to his SUV, parked next to the stable. Easing her into the front seat, he took care to gather the folds of her gown and tuck the fabric into a bundle on her lap. His finger traced the outline of her lips before carefully brushing along her cheekbone. A whisper, the merest feather breath, caressed her brow before he closed the door.

  Mindless—nearly weightless—Susan floated on a tide of sensation. The short drive to her bungalow took an eternity of anticipation. She was barely aware that the vehicle had halted. It was only when Ian opened the door and gently tugged on her elbow that her subconscious fantasies released their hold. Gathering up her skirts she led him to the small porch, handed him the key and waited while he unlocked the door.

  Ian whispered, “Will we be alone tonight?”

  She could only nod. Maggy would be going to her mother’s for the rest of the weekend so they had the house to themselves. She was just beginning to realize the implications as Ian kissed her through the door, each second more insistent, confident of what he wanted from her.

  Susan moved to turn on the light but he stopped her and asked, “Where’s your room?”

  She nodded to the stairs but backed away from him, unclear that she should be doing this. Ian. Just a boy.

  “How old are you, Ian?”

  He didn’t miss a beat. Eyes dark with desire, he gently grasped her face with his strong hands, and said, “Nineteen. Old enough.”

  Oh God. Yes, definitely old enough.

  At twenty-five she should know better, but tonight was not one for great debates when loneliness took center stage. No one, not even Alan, had ever looked at her with such smoldering intensity. Her breasts strained against the velvet fabric and stiff bodice, seemingly the only thing holding her together and keeping her insides from liquefying in the gush of heat.

  She led him up the stairs to her room and shut the door, latching it firmly. He stood at the foot of the bed staring at her with hooded eyes, the bulge in his pants making a case for kissing good sense goodbye. When he extended a hand, she moved into his arms, feeling as light as air.

  She breathed his name, “Ian,” low in her throat, with near feral intensity. Lit with an inner fire, his deep blue eyes sparked with silver and gold, as he once more bent to ravish her mouth.

  He murmured, “Turn around.”

  She spun about so he could unsnap the latches on the bodice revealing the under layer in a crisscross pattern of leather lacing and eyelets. Untying the leather lengths with agonizing slowness, the sound of her unsteady breathing coupled with the shushing echo as the lacing fed through metal eyelets. Her body vibrated with impatience until he released her breasts from the tight confines of the fabric. Spilling into his waiting hand, he cupped one, then the other, kneading and tweaking until the pressure between her legs became almost too much to bear.

  Susan turned to attack his shirt buttons with trembling hands, her mind gone, long past functioning. She slipped the shirt off revealing a broad chest, smoothly muscled and lightly peppered with sandy brown hair. She followed the line to his belt, fumbling at first, then with assurance as he inhaled the scent of her hair, fluffing it about her face with long nimble fingers. The gown fell away in a puddle of velvet softness. Ian led her to the bed, easing her down onto the heavy quilt.

  She felt like she was drowning in the boy-man’s eyes, his lust darkening them to a smoky-blue. She would willingly succumb to those turbulent waters without a fight. He was beautiful, so ready for her, his cock thick and pulsing. She chanced the merest touch, a light stroke, dragging a nail down the length as he groaned Oh God.

  He lay above her body length-wise, not touching, millimeters away, as the heat between them pulsed and gyrated. He held himself suspended, braced with powerful arms and shoulders, as he feathered brief touches on her lips and chin and throat.

  All control deserted her as she arched upward, seeking his warm flesh. Lifting her pelvis to brush stroke his groin, she swept her seat as if riding the sitting trot, a belly dance of lust. Ian smiled when he realized what she was doing. He reached to the nightstand for the condom.

  “Let me do that, you bad boy.”

  He watched her eyes intently as she massaged his length, the effort to stay suspended more difficult as she stroked and teased.

  He hissed, “Outside rein, inside leg”, then moved to press her left shoulder into the mattress, his left leg touching her thigh with a series of taps.

  She came into his hand, giving to his body, softly following his lead. Nipping at her breasts, he teased gently at first, but she wanted, needed more. She wanted him bold, demanding—ravaging with lips and tongue. The faint stubble on his chin raked her flesh, and she lifted into the sensation, trance-like, pushing against his greedy mouth.

  Warm wetness flooded her swollen folds as she wondered where Ian had ever learned such mastery over a woman’s body. It was almost too much to bear. She wanted to feel him inside her. How could he have such restraint when she was ready to explode? What were they doing? What was she doing?

  Susan gasped, “Oh God, Ian. I don’t want to go to hell.”

  He whispered, “Well, I do,” as he finally lowered his hard body onto her athletic curves. He spread her legs and rubbed his cock along her soft folds, already moist and swollen, as she quivered uncontrollably under feather touches. He lifted her hips and drove into her, filling her as she strained and adjusted to his length. He waited, motionless, until she relaxed, whispering, “Don’t move,” and willing her to focus only on his cock as it throbbed in time to his heartbeat. She clenched and released until he groaned, “You win,” and withdrew until only the tip remained to tease her into begging him to fill her once again.

  He kept his eyes on her, passion clouding his vision as he thrust with increasing strength, driving her forward. She wrapped her legs around his slim waist and pumped him hard, using her seat to unleash a tidal wave of excruciating pleasure.

  Barely winded he rolled her onto her side, still inside her, thrusting lightly, extending the sensation, as he brushed his fingers through her hair.

  His voice husky with passion he mouthed into her ear, “You drive me mad. If this is how you go to hell, then it’s exactly where I want to be.” He traced his palm across the soft rise of her belly. “Will you come with me, Suz?”

  All she could do was hiss a slow ‘yesss’ as he continued to rock inside her.

  “I’ve wanted you since I was sixteen. Every night I dreamed of you, dreamed you’d be next to me, touching me. Letting me do this…” He stroked her swollen clit, pinching and pulling, whispering, “Come for me, I want to hear you scream my name.”

  Tensing against the rising tide, the spasms rippled down her thighs, a cascade of sensation, repeated wave after wave. She might have called his name, but all she knew for sure was that she’d succumbed to the raw power he’d unleashed in her body. His soft chuckle indicated she might have granted his request.

  He turned her over so he could cushion her in his arms, his hand cupped over her face, holding her securely. It was such an intimate, caring gesture that she wondered why no one had ever done it before, making her feel safe and wanted.

  She drifted off as Ian’s soft snores lulled her into a blissful sense of peace. She didn’t know how long she’d dozed but she felt him staring at her. In the dim light she could make out his devilish grin.

  “What are smiling about?”

  “You. My girl.”

  “Huh, don’t you mean your cougar?”

  “No way, woman. You’re my rider.” He flipped onto his back, pulling her along until she sat mounted on his lithe frame, his cock once again thick and ready.

  “Ride me, Wench. Sitting trot, crotch in the sweet spot, loose thighs. Yeah, that’s it, baby. Fuck me, fuck me hard.”

  Gripping her hips, he urged her into medium trot, guiding with his pelvis and hands. She rode him, circling until he cried out, “God, I need you.”

  She felt light-headed—every thrust, every move pure heaven, pure hell. He kept repeating don’t stop don’t stop don’t… Gasping, she rode him to the edge as he moaned her name, carrying them both over a crest so wild that she bucked and thrust with abandon, finally collapsing onto his chest, exhausted.

  Ian cradled her, petting her back. Eventually they drifted once more into dreamless sleep, sated for the moment. He was still there when she blinked awake in the weak light of dawn.

  “Good morning, sleepy head.” He tousled her hair and lightly brushed her lips.

  She smiled shyly, wondering if last night had been one of those gawdawful one night stands, another monumental mistake on her part.

  Susan rolled out of bed and grabbed the robe draped over a chair next to the bed. Walking toward the door she asked, “Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

  “Yeah, come here a minute.”

  Curious, she asked, “What do you need?”

  Ian pulled her back into his arms and said, “Nothing. I’ve got all I need right here.”

  She lay back, relieved, then asked, “What do you wa—” and realized that was a stupid question as Ian slid the robe off her shoulders. He gave her a devilish grin that sent a tingle through her gut, releasing a wave of hot fluid to coat her thighs.

  “I’ve got a few mounted exercises for us this morning.”

  Oh, that naughty boy … did he ever.

  Chapter Six: The Terrible Twos

  Manny frowned at his latest project. Breaking two year olds was no picnic, especially the Arabs. They were smarter, faster, and more ambitious than any breed he’d ever worked with. He dreaded when one of them got a thought because that usually meant bad news for him and another pair of jeans for the washer. The Quarter horses were slugs in comparison, unimaginative but far easier to train.

  He liked Saul’s small indoor arena. Basically it was nothing more than an enclosed sixty-meter round pen that kept out the worst of the weather, if not the frigid cold. Between the two of them they’d laid a good sand base, not too deep, keeping the footing secure but not grippy. It would have been a killer job for just one man, something Saul pointed out frequently. Not for the first time he thought, it’s good to be useful.

  Fuck, it’d be good if I could stay in the damn saddle. He spit out a mouthful of arena goodness as the colt dubbed Grey Ghost did an elevated trot along the wall. The tall beauty pranced with his mane flying like a banner, tail flipped over his back.

  “You sonofabitch, how’d you do that tuck and roll-back so fast?” That little move left him sitting over empty air. The fucker had his number for sure.

  “Tío?” Rosa had wandered in to watch her favorite uncle take his second face plant of the day.

  Manny wiped the sand off his face and struggled to his feet. He brushed himself off, grimaced and hobbled over to Rosa, standing on the first rung of the gate.

  “¡Hola!, Rosa. How’s my favorite girl today?”

  He swept her in his arms while they watched Mr. Ghost show off his spectacular movement, covering ground without setting hoof to earth. Yeah, he was sure this was going to be a good one. He stood a solid fifteen hands already and wouldn’t stop growing ’til he was six or seven.

  “Uncle Manny? How come he’s so much bigger than the other ones?”

  He leaned against gate contemplating his answer. Rosa was smart and interested. She absorbed everything like a sponge. He needed to make it right so she could learn.

  Pointing at the colt, still in perpetual motion at the far side of the enclosure, he said, “His daddy’s Negatiw, dam’s Russian. That Polish/Russian cross makes for that kind of big, bold, and brassy movement. See there?” Rosa nodded vigorously. “Saul … um, your daddy … plans to geld him this spring, but I’m thinking this boy might be genuine stallion material. He was bred to run and sports Arabian racing bloodlines on the tail side four generations back.”

  “What’s that mean, tail side?”

  He beamed at her. She was quick. “It means the dam’s side.”

  “Uncle Manny, did you know that the Bed, uh, the Be—,” she grimaced in frustration.

  “Bedouins?”

  “Um, yeah, they only kept mares for war horses, and they slept in the tent with them…” She rattled on for several minutes as they enjoyed the colt’s antics. The way he moved, and his obvious speed, got him thinking thoughts he’d aimed to lock away.

  Lord, he missed it sometimes. The starting gate, grabbing a handful of mane as a thousand pounds of dynamite coiled under his seat, rating all that energy down the backstretch, and the final catapult to the finish line. He’d been most alive then, racing with his hair on fire, sitting chilly on his horse, watching and waiting. Patience had been his strongest virtue. He could sit dead still in the saddle, letting the rocket under him move free and easy, eating up the ground. Maybe with this boy, he’d think about coming out of retirement. He grinned at the thought and tousled Rosa’s soft black curls.

  “Let me catch the Ghost. You and me can brush him down.”

  “Let me, Tío.” She squeezed between the metal bars and held her small hand out for the lead rope. The exhortation be careful brushed his lips but she knew that already. Nobody needed to tell her anything twice.

  The tiny girl floated to the center of the arena, whistling softly to Ghost. To Manny’s amazement, the colt trotted over to the child, dropped his head and snuffled her hair.

  He watched in awe. The kid had the gift, for sure, but he’d need to take her in hand, give her riding lessons. Yeah, he could see it already, Rosa in silks with his colors—burgundy and black. He’d have to find her a pony to get her started, maybe a Welsh cross, something with sense and stamina. This kid was going to ride circles around them all someday.

  Rosa picked up the reins dragging on the ground and attached the lead rope to the rope halter underneath. Slipping the bridle gently over the colt’s ears, she held it as carefully as she could, allowing the youngster to spit the bit out without clanking it against his teeth. She did all that only because the Ghost kept his head low and accessible to the tiny girl.