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“No . . . I mean, I just think it’s strange that you’ve been here—” she made a big show of checking her watch “—over twenty-four hours and still haven’t gotten down to the reason you came.”
“The time of reckoning—right?” His eyes met her gaze boldly before glancing at the portrait of the horse.
She took a seat on the edge of the gray corduroy couch. “Close enough. But first I want to thank you for helping last night. I really appreciate everything you did. . . .”
“You’re sure about that?”
She remembered waking up and finding him sleeping in the uncomfortable chair with his feet propped on her bed. “Yes,” she whispered. “For everything.”
“And now you want to know about Devil’s Gambit,” Zane thought aloud as he stood and stretched his arms over his head. It was an unconscious and erotic gesture. His sweater rose, displaying all too clearly his lean abdomen. His belted cords were slung low over his hips and Tiffany glimpsed the rock-hard muscles near his navel. She imagined the ripple of the corded muscles of his chest, his muscular thighs and lean flanks.... She had to look away from him and force her mind from the sexual fantasy she was envisioning. What was wrong with her? She’d never reacted this way to a man, not even Ellery. Until Zane Sheridan had walked into her life, she had considered herself nearly uninterested in the opposite sex.
One look from Zane’s steely gray eyes had drastically altered her entire perception of her own sexuality. Her new feelings were at once exciting and frightening. Zane was the one man she couldn’t begin to trust . . . not with her body or her soul. He had already admitted that he was waging a vendetta of sorts, and she didn’t doubt for a minute that he was the kind of man who would use and destroy her because of his hatred of Ellery.
Zane took a final sip of his wine and then set the empty goblet on the mantel. “I meant to tell you about Devil’s Gambit last night,” he explained, “but Ebony Wine had other things on her mind.”
Tiffany nodded and clutched the stem of her crystal glass more tightly as she remembered the agonizing scene in the foaling shed and the innocent stillborn colt. Had it been only last night? So many things had changed, including her respect and feelings for Zane. “So what about now?”
Zane angled his head to the side and studied the wariness in her eyes. She was sitting on the edge of the gray cushions, waiting for him to explain his reasons for being there. “No time like the present, I suppose.” He walked over to the bar and splashed three fingers of Scotch into an empty glass. “I think your horse—”
“You mean Devil’s Gambit?”
“Right. I think he’s in Ireland, using an alias.”
“Now I know you’re crazy.” What did he mean about Devil’s Gambit being in Ireland? His story was getting more far-fetched by the minute.
If she had any guts at all, she would tell him to get out of her house . . . her life, take his wild stories and shove them. Instead she twirled the stem of the wineglass in her fingers and stared up at him.
“Just hear me out. Have you ever heard of a horse named King’s Ransom?”
“Yes,” she admitted, recalling the Irish Thoroughbred. “But I really don’t keep up on the European horses, not as much as I should, I suppose. There just isn’t enough time. Dustin handles that end of the business.”
“I’m not surprised,” Zane replied with obvious distaste.
“What does that mean?”
“Only that sometimes it’s hard to tell Ellery and Dustin apart.” He paced across the room before sitting on the warm stones of the hearth.
“So you know Dustin?” That knowledge came as a shock to her and she felt a new wariness steal over her heart.Hadn’t Dustin mentioned King’s Ransom to her—something about the horse’s fame as a stud?Tiffany couldn’t recall the conversation....
“We’ve met.” Zane leaned his elbows on his knees and cradled his drink with both of his hands.
“And you don’t like him any more than you liked Ellery.”
“As I said, they’re too much alike to suit my taste.”
Tiffany was stunned. Dustin had his faults, of course, but she’d come to rely on her brother-in-law and his savvy for horses. It seemed as if Zane were determined to destroy anything and anyone who was solid in her life.
“Not much does, does it?” she countered.
“What?”
“Suit your taste.”
He hesitated. His eyes darkened and for a moment she imagined that he might suggest that she suited him. Instead he lifted an appreciative dark brow. “You’re right—not much.”
Tiffany’s throat constricted, and she sipped her wine to clear the tight lump that made it difficult to breathe.
If he noticed her discomfort, Zane chose to ignore it and get to the point. “Anyway, this horse, King’s Ransom, was a disappointment when he raced. He had all the qualities to perform on the track—great bloodlines, perfect conformation and a long, easy stride. He had the look of a winner about him, but he just didn’t seem to have the grit . . . or heart to be a champion. He never finished better than fifth, and consequently he was retired about seven years ago and put out to stud.
