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Logan
Logan watched Emily work with the chestnut stallion in the round pen. The dance she played with the horse was mesmerizing. She became another person, calmness settling over her as if nothing the stallion did could unglue her. She was patient and relaxed with a steady, consistent confidence that the stallion tried to test time and again with his antics.
It was magical. Emily was magical.
This bullshit she kept putting up between them had to stop. The bike—Christ, the bike with her up against him—was hot and pure torture. He could feel her body quivering, the pulse of her heartbeat against his back. It took two years to get the shit out of his life that robbed both of them of a chance together. According to Deck last night—that shit still wasn’t gone.
Rob had sent him into fight mode. He made it damn clear that Emily was his, and if developer slime ball didn’t respect that, then he was hauling her ass out of there. Not a chance was she working for some guy who didn’t respect her. Shit like that led to unwanted attention, and unwanted attention led to worse shit.
Rob came to stand beside him, arms hooking over the third rail of the fence. Logan didn’t bother acknowledging him.
“She’s good.”
Logan remained silent.
“I was skeptical when I heard about ‘the girl who speaks to horses.’ Googled her, but didn’t find much. Surprising considering how good she is.”
Logan kept his eyes forward. Emily was in the middle of the ring, eyes downcast, her body language inviting the stallion in. The horse’s eyes were calmer now. Then he lowered his head and walked slowly toward her. It was a beautiful sight. Ten minutes ago the whites of the stallion’s eyes were blazing, his muscles contracting, fear emanating from his every pore.
The stallion nudged her in the back with his muzzle, and Emily slowly turned and began stroking his nose.
“Ten minutes,” Rob said while shaking his head. “My guys have been trying to get near this horse for weeks.”
Logan chin-lifted toward her. “She’s always had a way with horses.”
“Sounds like you’ve known her a while?”
“Yeah, a while.” Logan kept his eyes glued to Eme. God, it reminded him of when they’d sit and watch the herd of quarter horses all day and she’d explain what they were doing, how a horse was telling the other to screw off. He could never see it, but Eme … It was like she saw into them.
“Where did you meet?”
He really didn’t feel like explaining his past to some dick who hit on his girl, but he’d play semi-cordial for Emily’s sake. “An underground fighting ring.”
“Damn.” Rob cleared his throat then continued, “She needs a website. Your girl is good. She’d do well in the racing community. High profile. Lots of money.” Rob nodded toward Emily. “She’s a natural. If word gets out, and I’ll make sure it does, she’ll be turning down clients she’ll be so busy.”
He liked Rob calling Emily “your girl.” Maybe the guy wasn’t so bad after all— Fuck no. He was a guy, and he’d been thinking of getting in Emily’s pants. That thought doesn’t disappear because the guy got shot down. He’s still thinking what’s beneath her tight ass, and it pissed Logan off.
“Emily doesn’t have a website, might be because she doesn’t want to be busy.”
“Money talks. Never known anyone who’d turn it down. You ever turn down a gig if the money is good?”
No. But he would if need be.
“Better clear it with her before you go publicizing.” And she wasn’t traipsing off to every dick’s farm alone, not fuckin’ now. Jesus, he was on edge every second she was out of his sight. Shit had to go down soon or he’d have to tell her what was happening and he’d do everything he could to avoid that. Seeing that fear in her eyes again—no. Never. Again. Deck said they were close. That he was handling it.
Rob turned to him, brows raised, eyes questioning. “Pretty hard to stay in the shadows when you’re dating the lead singer of an up-and-coming band.”
“Yeah well, Eme’s tougher than she looks. She’ll deal with whatever is thrown her way.” And those words were truer than Rob would ever know. Eme had spirit, more than she gave herself credit for; he’d seen it in her the day they met.
Shit, Emily had come right up to him at in an abandoned warehouse where he’d just pulverized his opponent. He had a cut on his temple, blood running down his face, and no shirt.
She’d wrapped her small, delicate hand around his bicep, and he remembered wondering where the sexy blonde who had latched onto him had fucked off to. He’d just won a shitload of money and was running off adrenaline. Raul had been there that night. It was the first time Logan had seen him since he was sixteen; so he was revved up and fucked up.
Emily had been wearing short cut-off jeans, a cute little pink top with sparkles on the front, and her hair was a mess. Her long, brown strands reached past her shoulders and were having a hard time deciding which side to part on.
Did he fall in love right there? No. Not even close. She was timid and couldn’t meet his eyes; there was no sexiness about her. Fuck, he could remember thinking that fucking her would be boring as hell. He told her he didn’t do brunettes. Not a lie, he never did.
He would’ve walked away and never given her a second thought except when she said, “I need to learn how to fight.”
He’d laughed, pretty damn hard, and he rarely laughed. She looked like a mouse—small, couldn’t be more than five foot four, tiny little nose, petite waist, sweet hips. He remembered thinking for one second, despite her meekness, that those hips would be nice to grab as he pumped into her from behind. That thought pulverized when she told him why she wanted to learn how to fight, and then he felt like a goddamn schmuck for thinking that.
