All the King's Horses (39 page)
Games of Love, Book 2
Highland Games athlete Michael O’Leary is famous for his ability to charm a woman right out of her pants. Maybe a little too famous. When he’s sidelined with a knee injury, his wingman pounces on the chance to take full advantage of Michael’s idle time.
Trying out for the local adult-themed Shakespearean production seems simple, but there’s a catch. Michael must woo the notoriously demanding lead actress, Rachel Hewitt, thereby freeing his friend to pursue a courtship of Rachel’s sister.
Rachel hates the thought of handing over the lead role in her admittedly scandalous troupe to someone so wholly uneducated in the ways of the Great Bard. But she’s in a bind, and the only one who can step up is a man who looks way too good in a codpiece—and knows it.
To add insult to injury, he refuses to take the role until
she
agrees to take his place in some barbaric warrior race. She’ll do it, but not with a smile. Unfortunately, the hardest part isn’t antagonizing her Scottish foes. It’s resisting the one man who seems determined to line and cue her heart—forever.
Warning: This book’s half-naked Shakespearean actors are not approved of or acknowledged by people with actual literary merit. Neither are the dirty limericks.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
The World is a Stage:
When Rachel returned to the theater, Michael took one look at her face and got to work. Her expression bounced between a heavy-browed, murderous gleam and the wobbly smile women always got when they were trying hard not to cry.
He wasn’t sure which one was worse.
“Oh, good. You’re back,” he called, drawing Rachel’s attention before she could run over poor Jillian, who was doing her best to scatter back toward the light rigs. He’d settled comfortably in the director’s chair near the back entrance to the stage, a sort of lordly position that let him see most of what was going on. Dominic had already told him to get out of that chair five times, but it was cozy, and he pretended he needed it for security purposes.
Mostly he just wanted to keep an eye on all the entrances.
“Why is that good?”
There was a hesitancy to her voice that didn’t sit well with him, so he laid the charm on extra thick, just the way she liked it. “Well, it just so happens I have a proposition for you.”
“I’m surprised you even know what that word means,” Rachel replied, her back bristling up within seconds, the murderous gleam taking a clear lead over tears.
Good girl.
“Proposition. Noun. A fancy way to tell a woman you want to see her honey pot.”
“You are
not
seeing my honey pot.”
“Now, now,” he chided, wagging his finger. God, she was easy to rile up. “We’ll get to that question when we come to it. What I was really asking was if you’ll do me the honor of coming to my house next week.”
“No.” She stalked halfway across the backstage area before stopping. “Why? Do you have some secret underground lair or something? Is that your new plan?”
He raised a brow. “You mean a sex room? As in, nipple clamps and ball gags and thirty-one flavors of lube?”
The vein near her temple throbbed a warning, so he put a hand over his heart and winked. “Not yet, Red. But you say the word, and I promise to dig you one with my own two hands.”
“You’re disgusting,” she said, though Michael noted she didn’t actually move away. He launched right ahead.
“See, what I figure is you owe me. I’ve been doing some thinking, and I decided how I want you to make it up to me. And you’ll be happy to know it doesn’t involve honey or the pot it comes in. Or nipple clamps. Yet.”
She pokered up even more, so much that a light wind would have caused her to go crashing to the ground. Michael was man enough to admit that it turned him on. Big-time. A magnificent redhead, magnificently angry. If he could wind her up with a few breezy words, just imagine what some intense, one-on-one face time would lead to. Rolling. Pinching. Slapping.
Teeth.
His cock stirred, and his balls shifted. God bless those boys of his.
“I’m aware of…of a debt of gratitude,” she’d said stiffly. “But if you think I’m going to—”
“You have no idea what I’m talking about. I’ll have you know that director in there offered me the male lead for this naughty little play of yours.”
“You’re lying. He wouldn’t dare.”
Michael went smoothly on. “Oh, he did dare. And for your sake, I turned him down. I know how much it would kill you to stand opposite me up there every day—there are sex scenes in this story of William’s, right? Or is it just kissing? Maybe some heavy petting?”
Her eyes grew wide, the color in her cheeks mounting. He knew it must be costing her to remain silent and still.
“Well, the point is, I thought about how you might react to such news and said no. I hate to cause a lady’s head to explode. It’s one of my Ten Rules to Live By. Do you want to hear the other nine?”
“No. I don’t want to hear another word out of your stupid, oversized mouth.”
He held up one finger. “Rule Number One. A gentleman always sleeps on the wet spot. Rule Number Two. A really good gentleman does his best to ensure that there are, in fact, nothing but wet spots. If you know what I mean.”
She was unmoved. “Can you be a little bit less revolting for one second? Are you or are you not telling me you turned the role down?”
“Of course I turned it down. I’m now officially the Antony Understudy, unlikely to ever see the lights of the stage. And you are so overcome with joy that you will, obviously, say yes to coming to my party. I could probably even make some good headway on our underground love nest by then.”
“Wait a minute—you’re using my career to blackmail me for a date?”
“Well, shit. I guess I am. A fancy date too—meat and beer at my house, three o’clock. My cousin Jennings will be there, though, and he’s slightly off. I’d wear pants if I were you.”
Her brow wrinkled. “And then we’re even?”
“As even as my sword of truth.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” she muttered. “Fine. Just text me the address later. And for the record—I’m not promising to have fun.”
“With Michael O’Leary, baby, the fun is guaranteed,” he said solemnly, the twitching of his lips ruining an otherwise stone-faced remark. “You can always count on that.”
“I have never met anyone so unjustifiably enamored of himself than you.” Her words were biting, but there wasn’t a whole lot of energy behind them.
“I do my best,” he said, shrugging. “Oh, and Rachel?”
“What now?”
“My dad was the same way. For years, all while I was a kid, I was up there, walking the tightrope with him. It sucks, you know?”
She stared at him for a full minute. “Yeah. I know.”
“What’s the Welcome Home banner for?” Rachel looked up at the decorations—correction, decoration—and did her best to swallow her smile. She was not here to have a good time, and she certainly wasn’t going to admit how welcome an afternoon away from her mother’s house, where the whole happy family lived together, actually was.
But that didn’t mean she was above taking delight in the fact that Michael O’Leary was hosting an outdoor barbecue in the melting spring of the first weeks of April. Or that he lived on a working lentil farm, in one of a pair of twin Airstreams parked at random angles at the top of a hill.
Not that she’d had expectations, of course, but this—this went beyond ridiculous. The Mule couldn’t even be bothered to live in a
house
. She would have bet her life savings that the family toilet lay somewhere off in the distance, between a patch of trees in a hole dug just for the purpose.
“Maybe he just got back from a long trip,” Molly suggested. “I think it looks nice and festive. You’re going to be nice and festive too, right? You promised.”
Molly was like a giddy child, and Rachel didn’t have the heart to back down now. She could have, though—promise or not. Contrary to what the Mule might believe, Rachel didn’t technically owe him anything related to the theater, as he’d suggested. Dominic said there had never been a man more aghast than Michael at being invited to star in one of his productions.
“His exact words were, and I quote, ‘Awww hell no’,” Dominic had said with a shake of his head. “I think I may need to retire.”
No. It was the knowledge that she owed Michael O’Leary for the unspoken favor that was the real driving force behind her actions. Attending a thousand parties of his would be easier than talking to him about her mother, thanking him face-to-face for being a better friend than even her sister was.
She’d come. She’d see. Maybe she wouldn’t conquer anything, but she could at least determine if there were any chinks in the Molly-Eric armor she could exploit. Starting with the fact he hadn’t bothered to offer them a ride.
Already, the gallantry was wearing off. That was the first step. Next, he’d be texting Molly at all hours of the night and growing possessive whenever she looked at another man.y
All the King’s Horses
Lauren Gallagher
Sometimes your last nerve is the strongest link to forever.
Amy Dover’s dream to become a professional horse trainer hasn’t come without a price. Career pressure, combined with a difficult marriage to an oppressive husband, has sucked away every last bit of joy the horses used to bring her.
At her husband’s untimely death, she packs her truck, heads over the Cascade Mountains, and takes a job as a farmhand. Yet even in the presence of the creatures she loves the most, her emotional wounds are too deep and wide to recapture what she’s lost.
Dustin King senses there’s something off about his new farmhand. She’s undeniably attractive, but for someone who knows her way around a barn, she’s unnervingly indifferent toward horses. Especially the pair of Tennessee Walkers he’s just rescued. Instinct tells him that no matter how hard she tries not to care, the horses and the woman need each other.
As Amy and Dustin bond with the traumatized horses, something unexpected happens. The sparks between them ignite into a night of stormy passion. As Amy’s soul comes back to life, though, she feels the pull to return to her old life. She just hadn’t planned on having someone to leave behind.
Warning: Contains two people who set the sheets on fire every chance they get… well, except when they don’t get anywhere near a bed. Which is more often than not, because, hey, when you want it, you want it. Book also contains a lot of lost souls, four-legged and two-legged alike, who made the author cry a few times, and seriously, she doesn’t do that. Like, ever. You’ve been warned.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
All the King’s Horses
Copyright © 2012 by Lauren Gallagher
ISBN: 978-1-61921-322-7
Edited by Linda Ingmanson
Cover by Kanaxa
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: December 2012
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