Man of Her Dreams (9 page)

Maggie wiped the last of her tears away and looked up at Ry, her heart tripping over the expression in his eyes. It was speculative, a little wary, and yet there was a vulnerability in it that made her want to take him in her arms. The moment caught and held.

Forgetting his own warning to keep his hands off her, Ry reached up and touched her cheek, marveling at how soft she was beneath his calloused fingertips. He lowered his head and brushed his mouth across hers. His heart slammed into his ribs as her hands framed his face and drew him back for another, deeper kiss. Lord, she tasted sweet. And she smelled…like a quart of Passion's Promise.

The scent caught in his throat so that he had to draw back from her, coughing. “Maybe you ought to think about giving up perfume altogether, Mary Margaret.”

FIVE

I
T WAS A
dress so hot it could have sent Antarctica up in flames. Deep teal in color, the shimmering fabric clung to every strategic curve on her body. It seemed almost like a living thing, sliding over her as she walked, teasing the viewer as she wandered through the crowded ballroom making idle conversation. Strapless, the sequined bodice was heart-shaped, rounding over each breast and nipping in at her tiny waist. The sequins trailed down over her tummy in a suggestive arrow.

It was so tight, she looked as if she had been poured into it. Her breasts swelled temptingly above the edge of the gown, capturing the attention of the males present. They seemed to hold their breath in anticipation as the gown shifted with her every movement. The floor-length skirt was glove-snug and would have been restrictive if it hadn't been for the slit that exposed her right leg to midthigh. In a room full of tuxedos and evening gowns, she stood out like an emerald in a handful of lesser jewels.

No man with a hormone in his body could have looked at her and remained indifferent. So it had cost her a small fortune. Maggie considered it as necessary to her as the Pentagon budget was to the country. She had a battle of sorts to fight, and she meant to be armed to the teeth. Miss Emma had told her different men found different things erotic. She was going to try every one of them until Ry tossed her over his shoulder and carried her home. She was mounting a feminine offensive on all fronts, and she was determined to keep up the fight until Rylan surrendered himself to her love.

Tonight her role was seductress. She was playing it to the hilt.

“Do you think your horse is going to end his career on a high note tomorrow, Ry?” asked Clifton Brachman. He was one of the horse owners in the crowd, which included trainers and dignitaries from the international show world as well as the Virginia horse community.

Ry swore under his breath as he caught another male gaze lingering on Maggie's derriere. His hand tightened on the stem of his empty wineglass until it quietly snapped and dropped to the rich red carpet. He kicked it under a table. The rest of the glass was angrily shoved into the hand of a passing waiter. He snatched up a fresh drink and tossed the contents back with none of his usual respect for good wine.

The man attempting to have a conversation with him backed away with a nervous smile. “G-good luck t-tomorrow.”

Ry never heard a word he said. Maggie paused in her conversation with Katie and another woman to glance up at him and send him a smile brimming with seductive promise.

Another glass bit the dust.

Damn her. When he'd planned to lure her by pretending indifference, he hadn't counted on her re acting quite so enthusiastically. It was one thing to have her batting her eyelashes at him, but this dress was something else again. His plan was working, but damned if she wasn't wreaking havoc on his control!

He had held off making love to her for too long. That was the whole problem. He should have bedded her weeks ago and gotten this lust out of his system, instead of letting it simmer until it felt as though his blood was boiling in his veins.

His plan had been to end their wait after the party. He'd spent the week working like a dog, all the while telling himself over and over that he could hold his passion in check, that he could be patient and gentle with Maggie, that he could be careful with her and not rush her or hurt her.

All she'd had to do was show up in that dress, and his theory had been shot to hell. His control had gone up in smoke the second he'd set eyes on her. Then she'd insisted on sitting right beside him in the car so that his arm brushed against her every time he moved the steering wheel. It was a wonder he hadn't driven into a tree or something. Now he'd had to endure an hour of watching her slink around in the mouthwatering slip of silk and sequins, shimmering like a heat wave in the dog days of August.

He was ready to drag her into the nearest dark room and ravish her. If he looked at her for more than thirty seconds, he started getting hard. More than once since the evening began he'd had to shift positions in an attempt to hide his discomfort. It was all Maggie's fault.

And he was ready to kill the next man who came near her, glanced at her, or commented on her.

“Maggie looks good enough to be put on the dessert table this evening,” a cultured British voice announced beside him.

Red-faced, fists knotted at his sides, Ry wheeled on his trainer.

Christian Atherton took a prudent step backward, but his lean, handsome face was bright with amusement, his pale blue eyes glittering. “Now see here, old boy, I was merely paying the lady a compliment! Touchy, aren't we?”

Ry grumbled under his breath about the British sense of humor.

After brushing back a lock of pale blond hair, Christian slipped his hands into the pockets of his formal black trousers and rocked back on his heels. “Don't worry, I won't stray into your territory. Pity the fool who does.” He shot a speculative glance in Maggie's direction. “Carter Hill, for instance.”

A growl actually rumbled low in Ry's throat as he leveled his gaze on Maggie and the corporate lawyer from an old-money family. The Hills were upstanding members of the Briarwood community and owned a small stable of hunters that competed well locally but not on a national or international scale. Carter Hill had dated Maggie in the past. It looked as though he was approaching her with interest in renewing the relationship.

And she was flirting with him, damn her pretty hide! Never mind that she'd been born flirtatious, that she seldom meant anything by it. She'd probably batted her long dark lashes at the doctor who'd delivered her. The point was, she was turning her charms toward a bona fide gentleman who came from a long line of bona fide gentlemen. It hit Ry in a spot that had been rubbed raw years ago. He wasn't a gentleman.

He glanced down at the tuxedo jacket he'd squeezed himself into. Who was he trying to fool? Muttering swear words, he picked a fleck of lint off his lapel then ran a thick finger inside the starched wing collar of his shirt, swallowing uncomfortably. “Damn suit. I feel like a mule in horse harness.”

“On the contrary,” Christian said diplomatically. “You look very dapper.” A mischievous grin spread across his mouth. “Didn't Maggie tell you so?”

Maggie had told him that the sight of a big strappin' man in a tuxedo made her heart flutter in her breast. With that wicked teasing look of hers, she'd invited him to feel for himself. He'd nearly busted the fly on his trousers just thinking about it. But now she was smiling at Carter Hill.

“She's asked me to give her riding lessons,” Christian said.

And she was going to be spending time alone with the fourth son of the Earl of Westly, notorious playboy of the show-jumping world. Ry glared at his friend.

“Isn't that sweet?” Christian asked, the picture of innocence.

“You think that's
sweet
?” Ry ground the word like gravel under his boot heel.

“Oh, rather. She told me she wants to learn to ride to please you, that she wants to be able to spend more time with you on the farm. It's doubly sweet because she confessed to me she's terrified of horses, and she wasn't just saying that to be coy.”

Ry stared down at his shoes, feeling like a heel. Here he was suspecting Maggie had designs on his trainer, when all she wanted was to please him. He knew she was afraid of horses, but she was willing to try to overcome that fear so she could spend more time with him. It really was sweet.

The thought made him uncomfortable. He could handle Maggie's being feisty. He could handle her scheming. But sweetness scared the living hell out of him. What was he supposed to do with sweetness? He couldn't return it; there wasn't anything sweet about him. And he didn't want to accept it, though he wouldn't admit why even to himself.

“See here,” Christian said with a note of censure in his smooth voice, “you'll have to learn to curb that jealous temper of yours.”

“I'm not jealous,” Ry said, knowing it was a bald-faced lie.

Christian laughed as he swept a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. “Next you'll try to tell me you're not in love with her.”

Ry looked at him sharply, his heartbeat picking up the extra stroke of panic. “I'm not in love with her. I like Maggie. I'm attracted to her. I think we could have a solid marriage.”

“You're possessive of her and insanely jealous if another man so much as glances at her from across the room.” Christian pressed a hand to Ry's broad shoulder and gave him a sympathetic look. “My dear friend, you need a lesson in romantic math. All those things add up to love.”

He couldn't be in love with her, Ry told himself. He had promised himself a long time ago that he wouldn't fall into that trap again. He wanted to be partners with Maggie—in bed and out—but he couldn't give her his heart. He wasn't capable of it anymore. Besides, it didn't make good sense for a man like him to give his heart to a woman. She would only give it back. He had good qualities: He was loyal, he would be faithful, he was a hard worker, a good provider. Those were fine qualities, but they weren't the things that inspired women to write love sonnets.

His eyes found Carter Hill again, and he wished the poor man to the blackest corner of hell simply because he looked perfectly at ease in a tuxedo. Well, a tuxedo was the next to the last thing Ry needed. The last was to fall in love. Fortifying the walls he'd built around his heart, he told himself yet again that he would have Maggie McSwain for his bride because she was the logical choice and for no other reason. Then, with the bitter taste of a lie in his mouth, he went to escort his date to their table for dinner.

“This should prove interesting,” Christian said loud enough so only Ry could hear him. The trainer pulled out a chair for his date, a lovely brunette in a shimmering red gown, as his laughing eyes took in the group of people gathering at the large, round table.

Ry's brows slashed into a deep V over stormy eyes. Carter Hill had positioned himself directly across from Maggie. Short of making a scene that would undoubtedly get him thrown out of the Charlottesville hotel, there was nothing he could do about it. The banquet committee had made no formal seating arrangements. Also taking places at the table were Katie and Nick, who had come to see him accept an award from the VGA in honor of Rough Cut's brilliant career and pending retirement; Taylor Burwell, a wealthy retired businessman and investor in the Rough Cut syndicate; and Miss Emma Darlington.

Miss Emma wasted no time introducing herself to the distinguished Mr. Burwell, and seated herself beside him. Smiling, she leaned into him as she adjusted her napkin on the lap of her silver gray dress.

“Miss Emma,” Ry said. “What a surprise to see you here.”

“She told me she was coming to cruise for beefcake,” Maggie whispered, earning a disgusted look from her date.

“The Darlingtons have always supported the equestrian sports,” Miss Emma explained, cooling herself with an antique lace-and-ivory fan as she smiled coyly up at Burwell. “Our daddy, Jay Randolph Darlington, once jumped his horse through the crotch of a tree in Donner Park merely to gain the attention of a certain young lady. I was, myself, an avid equestrian for many years.”

“Were you, my dear?” Burwell asked.

Miss Emma gave a throaty chuckle. “Why, you can't imagine the things I've done on horseback.”

Ry choked a little on his drink and glared at Maggie, as if it was her fault for telling him Miss Emma had a rather randy nature.

The old woman's eyes took on a faraway gleam. “There was one time in particular—”

“It's a shame Mrs. Claiborne wasn't able to attend also,” Maggie said, heading off what was undoubtedly another ribald tale.

Miss Emma shook her head. “She would have spent the entire evening worrying about Junior. She and that little dog have become inseparable. They'll both be at the show tomorrow. Will you be there, Mr. Burwell?”

Ry lost interest in the conversation when he caught Carter Hill gazing across the table at Maggie with calf eyes and his tongue all but hanging out of his mouth. He refrained from launching himself at the slender auburn-haired lawyer, managing to grind out a question instead. “On your own tonight, Hill?”

“Huh? Oh—a—yes. I'm afraid my date came down with something at the last minute.”

“Terminal boredom, no doubt,” Ry said under his breath. He started to lean his elbows on the table, then pulled himself up short, looking like a moron. Carter Hill didn't put his elbows on the table.

Maggie sent a charming smile to her ex-beau. “I'm amazed you didn't have girls lined up to take her place, Carter.”

Ry almost gagged.

“Well, I did have someone else in mind.” Carter said, his gaze locked on her, “but she was already spoken for. Some other time perhaps.”

Ry turned red and tensed in his chair, ready to pounce. Only Christian's hand on his arm kept him from bolting out of his seat.

The Englishman sent a smile across the table and smoothly changed the subject. “Can we expect to see you at the farm next month for the open house, Mr. Burwell?”

Maggie thought the dinner went rather well. Her nights of studying and Katie's tutoring paid off. She followed most of the conversation that went on around her. There was still plenty of hunter-jumper jargon to learn, but she didn't embarrass herself or Ry. She thought she succeeded in showing him she could fit into his world socially. That and driving him into a sexual frenzy had been her two goals for the evening. She was still working on the second one.

Most of the talk revolved around the topic of Ry's stallion. The horse was a product of the Quaid Farm breeding program and was Ry's pride and joy. Maggie had learned that Rough Cut was the top money-winning horse in the history of grand prix jumping and would add another fifteen thousand dollars to his career earnings the next day if he jumped well in the Albemarle Cup Grand Prix.