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‘If there’s anything to find you can be sure that Michael will have already discovered it, and he will plan to use it to his advantage.’
‘And are you willing to do the same? To use blackmail to get what it is that you want?’
A commotion at the paddock drew their attention and prevented Antonio from needing to answer Dimitri’s question. As Antonio recognised Mason’s colours and Veranchetti’s proud stance he forced all other thoughts from his mind.
* * *
Emma wove her way through the throng of people in the stands towards the stairs to the hospitality suite, where she knew Antonio and his friends—the Winners’ Circle syndicate—would be. The day was beautiful, despite the bad weather forecasted for later. It was strange to think that there could be anything like rain on the horizon when the air, despite being stirred up by the spectators, was calm and the sun was strong.
She felt a laugh rise within her chest and stifled it. Here she was, in a sea of people, and no one was looking at her because of what she lacked. She was invisible. And yet she felt as if she knew a secret that no one else did.
Throughout the night she had reached for Antonio, had felt him reach for her, and they had teased and taunted each other to completion more times than she could believe. Those precious hours were a montage of sensation and feeling, always with the heat of Antonio beside her, over her, behind her. It was as if her body had craved that warmth, needed it to come alive again. She felt re-made—re-worked in a way she couldn’t have expected. It was as if an old ache around her heart had lessened and she felt lighter than she had done in years.
She had woken alone and hadn’t been surprised, realising that on some level she must have heard him leave. A web of nerves had tightened around her stomach. How would they be the next time they encountered each other?
No, she thought now, pressing a hand against her belly to quell the butterflies. She wouldn’t be embarrassed about last night. They were adults. And what they had shared was incredible. Antonio had made her see herself in a way she had never done before and that was something more precious than she ever could have realised.
She felt strong and, yes, even a little giddy. Last night she had seen him, Antonio Arcuri, as needy and as aroused as her. She had met him as an equal and nothing would take that away. And to be his equal—not his PA, and not his fake fiancée? It thrilled her.
Was this what love was? Desire, she hastily corrected herself. A high that made her feel powerful, strong? She relished that feeling and all of a sudden her chest was fit to burst. Excitement swept through her as she began to climb the steps towards the balconies bordering the race course.
Her heart pulsed within her chest and she wondered how anyone could live like this, in this constant state of awareness and excitement. Would it go away? Would it dim over time? Did she want it to?
For so long, so many years, she had wanted to feel this way. Wanted to own herself, to feel cherished and desired. Somehow, despite her optimism and determination to experience all that life had to offer, she had let herself hide from the one thing that she had truly wanted.
Here she was, on the brink of having it all, and suddenly she felt the fear that it could all be taken away. And that was when she knew just how much she had sacrificed—just how much she had pushed deep down within her, ignoring the wants and desires that she craved.
This man—hell-bent on revenge, but capable of the tenderness of last night—had stolen her heart. The goodness in him that she could see made those feelings even more powerful. She wanted him to wi
n the Bartlett deal against his father. Not because of the hatred that Antonio felt for him, but to put an end to it so that Antonio could move on.
* * *
Even from this high up Antonio could imagine—could remember—the feeling of sitting on top of a powerful horse pawing at the ground with shod hoofs, the flex of the animal’s muscles beneath the saddle, the creaking of leather, the way a horse would lift and shift beneath him. The thrilling rush of adrenaline that would pound through both him and the horse together, as one. That moment just before the horse would pull back, ready to launch itself forward, ready to catapult into a gallop and leave just about everything behind.
At one point in his life riding had meant freedom—escape from a father who had made his and his mother’s and sister’s lives a misery. In the end, he realised, he’d not escaped anything.
As the noise picked up around the grounds, mixing with incoherent announcements from the Tannoy, Antonio battled with the past and the present. Somehow he knew that it was all rooted in the events of the night before. Bartlett, his father, Emma, business, passion... All of it was making him feel as if he were on some precipice, and he couldn’t tell whether he was about to be saved or doomed.
The shrill of the bell signalling the start of the race cut through the stands as the barriers on the starting gate opened and the horses leapt forward.
For just a moment the breath caught in his lungs.
But it wasn’t because of the race.
He felt her presence behind him, as she stepped out on to the balcony that jutted out over the course below. He teased himself, holding himself back from the moment when he would turn and look at Emma. A test of sorts. One that he failed.
She was dressed in a white sleeveless top with dark blue flowing trousers. Her thick dark hair swirled around her. She raised her hand to catch at the strands, sweeping them back from her face as she looked down at the horses, rather than at him.
His heart thumped painfully in his chest as tension ran through the crowd on a ripple that reached all the way to the balcony. Urgency filled the air, and the noise created by the people reached higher towards a crescendo that, just for a moment, he thought might never find its peak.
And still he could not take his eyes from the woman who had come to stand beside him. He felt her on his skin, through the layers of his clothes, over the hours since they had shared a bed. The bed he wanted to take her back to and never leave.
Suddenly her body sprang into action. Both arms were raised and she was punching into the air, her cry of surprise matched only by the furious yells of the two men beside him. A fist thumped on his back—Dimitri, lost in his excitement. And Danyl was staring deep into the winner’s gate, as if not really sure he had seen Mason McAulty lead Veranchetti to victory.
Antonio hadn’t. All he’d seen was Emma. And he shuddered as a cold bead of sweat trickled down his spine.
He watched with an unwarranted anger unfurling in his stomach, seeing Danyl and Dimitri sweep Emma up into swift, joyous embraces. The small balcony suddenly seemed overly full as waiters descended with bottles of champagne and hands reached over the balcony walls to offer congratulations and cheers of success.
