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“Devon?” James repeated over the rim of his glass of Cabernet.
“Sorry.” She put down her fork and knife. “My steak’s delicious, as always. It’s also superfilling. I can barely move. It’s breather time.”
James chuckled. “I know what you mean. I could use a time-out, too.” He pushed his plate aside and indicated her half-filled goblet. “More Cab?”
“No, thanks. Two’s my limit. Otherwise, I get a massive headache. But you go ahead.”
“Uh-uh. Two’s my limit, too. I usually don’t drink at all when I’m competing. So, after this glass, it’s club soda for me.”
“I didn’t think of that.” Devon was thrilled for the opening he’d given her. Time for equestrian chitchat. “Your abstinence, is that because of potential drug testing?”
“Nope.” James shook his head. “When it comes to equestrian events, the Antidoping Agency doesn’t concern itself with alcohol. Booze would only retard a rider’s performance. The agency is more worried about the presence of coke or steroids, neither of which I do. As for drinking, I just choose to err on the side of caution. I plan to win. I don’t want anything, not even the slightest mental cobweb, to screw up my timing or my form.”
“You demand a lot of yourself.”
“That’s the only way to become number one. Anything less is unacceptable.”
“A perfectionist. And a very competitive one.”
“Is that bad?”
Devon’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’m guessing it’s necessary when you’re riding for the kind of stakes you are.” She leaned forward. “Tell me what it’s like. The people. The anticipation. Riding in a Grand Prix—I can’t even imagine—it must be an amazing adrenaline rush.”
“It is.” James rolled his goblet between his palms. “It’s intense. It’s disciplined. And it’s consuming. The talent you’re up against is daunting. The mentality is ‘win at all costs.’ There’s big money and big egos on the line. Mine included.”
“When you say ‘win at all costs’—I assume that some participants would cheat, bribe, or even sabotage to win.”
“Some would kill to win.”
Devon started. Was James trying to impress her, or was he actually stating a fact?
“Okay, now that’s got to be an exaggeration,” she probed lightly.
“Does it? Sometimes I’m not sure.” James’s tone and expression were hard.
“Whew.” Devon blew out her breath. “Clearly, your show-circuit crowd’s just a little too intense for my tastes.”
“Some of them. Not all.”
“Is it mostly the riders or the sponsors?”
“Both.”
“Anyone in particular you’ve come up against?”
James’s jaw tightened a fraction. “Over the years? More than I care to recall.”
“This go-around, too?”
“Uh-huh.”
Devon gave a troubled frown. “That must really mess up your concentration. How do you handle it?”
“I block it out. And I steer clear of those types.”
“But you’re competing in the same events. How can you—?”
“The events are inside the ring,” he interrupted flatly. “There, I deal with whoever I have to. Outside’s another story. I pick and choose.”
