Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash Page 24

  “Isn’t she stunning?” the saleslady asked, fluttering around Jenna.

  “She’s always stunning,” he said, pulling out a credit card.

  Jenna gave him a wobbly smile. Maybe he didn’t totally hate her jeans. She was still shocked at the ridiculous prices and stunned by his insistence that she buy all these clothes as well as another phone. She never understood his motives but didn’t want to spend the evening arguing with him.

  He picked up the laptop and plastic bags. “Ready?’

  And that was it. His hand rested on her elbow as he guided her back to the hotel, through a vast atrium with dark glass and water bubbling over rocks. A valet accompanied them to a private elevator, and when she stepped out, she was in a large penthouse. An elevator—direct to their room, definitely very secure, definitely very cool. Definitely different.

  Her eyes widened as she wandered through the living room, past the Persian rug, the wide-screen TV, the smell of freshly cut flowers. “Wow,” she murmured. “A person could get used to this.”

  “I hope so,” he said.

  She spun around, flustered, still awed by the huge suite. They had to be sharing it with someone. Maybe they were meeting his cousin, this Edward guy he always talked to. “I notice there are two bedrooms,” she said cautiously. “The second?”

  “Won’t be used.”

  He crossed the room, wrapped her in his arms and gave a reassuring kiss. “Let’s go down to the poker rooms and make you some money.”

  It took her an hour to relax and stop gawking but there were so many players, so much pulsing energy, and the atmosphere was infectious. She couldn’t concentrate on her cards and glanced again at Burke who sat completely stone faced, with a pile of colorful chips stacked in front of him.

  And she was way out of her element. Sitting on the porch, laughing and teasing with him, was fun. This was not. The money sliding back and forth was scary. She counted her chips. If she lost this hand, a thousand dollars of his money would be flushed down the drain.

  Why had he chosen such an expensive game? No limit hold ’em, and she was barely holding her own. She turned over her crappy cards and gathered her remaining chips. “I’m out,” she said, rising from the table.

  “Me too,” Burke said, and the other players looked relieved.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” he asked quietly, his eyes concerned.

  “Sorry. Guess I’m too cautious to be a real gambler. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing all that money.”

  “You were doing great.”

  She shook her head. “No, I wasn’t. I started losing after that guy with the cowboy hat and aviators joined in. And every time the dealer took my chips, I wanted to smack his hand.”

  Burke chuckled. “You’d have me barred from my favorite casino. You just need a change of pace. Come on.”

  He led her from the poker room, around a cluster of tables and to the front of a buzzing room where the action appeared even more clogged. “Blackjack, five dollar table. Pure fun.” He sorted their chips. “We’ll both play with a hundred dollars and leave when we’re finished. At the end of the night, we’ll still have almost ten thousand. Could have been more though.” He glanced back at the poker rooms with a trace of wistfulness.

  She remembered the rapid check-in, and the man in the tuxedo who’d greeted him by name. “You come here a lot?” she asked slowly. “You’re a big player?”

  “Competent. But you gave me unusual luck tonight.” He shrugged off her question. “Now about blackjack. Have you played much?”

  “Only on the computer.”

  “Perfect.”

  She couldn’t lose. The stone-faced dealer turned her card over, revealing another twenty-one. Burke pushed a purple chip in front of her and calmly sipped his beer.

  She didn’t want to know what the purple color was but sensed everyone watched with heightened interest. The man on her right fingered his cards then reached over and grabbed her arm. “Can I rub you a little and borrow some of that shit-hot luck?” he asked.

  Burke’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and the man quickly removed his hand.

  The dealer flipped over his last card and shrugged. Twenty-two. Jenna stared in disbelief as he shoved a pile of markers in front of her.

  “I think Blackjack is your game.” Burke grinned and passed her a plastic container. “But it’s two in the morning. Tip the dealer and let’s go.”

  She jerked in disbelief. It had been ten o’clock the last time she’d checked but the friendly people, the wine, the winning—it had all been totally exhilarating. “I didn’t spend all the hundred?”

  “Jenna, you made about nine. Now go cash in.” He pushed her gently toward the cashier.

  She watched in delight as the machine flipped out bills. Nine hundred and eight dollars. That should buy Emily a few books, winter hay for Peanut, maybe even fix the exhaust on the Neon. But a hundred dollars belonged to Burke.

  Holy shit. He’d moved to a special teller and the machine spewed money. Big money. The cashier said something and he grimaced, signed some papers, and turned back to Jenna. “Don’t want to screw up your income tax so I cashed in your poker chips. You made about six thousand.”

  She stared at his wad of money. “Not mine,” she said slowly. “I didn’t do well at poker. That’s yours.”

  He tugged her toward the elevator, inserted his room card and the elevator smoothly lifted. “Hard to say who won what,” he finally said.

  But his eyes flickered and she entered their suite, aware he was lying. The big money was his. She’d barely broke even at poker, wasn’t half the player he was, if that.

  She walked into the bedroom, past the mirrored wall and sank onto the edge of the massive bed. All those times she’d beaten him at cards, he couldn’t have been trying. Even when they’d been playing for sex.

  He walked in behind her. Silent. Watchful.

  “You said you were always honest,” she said slowly, “so tell me. The first night at your house, when you pulled a three—

  “It was a two,” he said.

  “Did you cheat?”

  He sank down beside her, crossing his arms. “That was a while ago. What does it matter?”

  “But I don’t understand.” She scanned his face. “We were playing for sex and you deliberately lost?”

  He shrugged, looking oddly embarrassed. “You didn’t seem comfortable. I thought you needed more time.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned forward, resting her head against his shoulder. “That was a really nice thing to do. But I don’t understand how you can be so good at cards?”

  “I play a bit. A lot actually,” he admitted.

  “Damn.” She gave a broken laugh. “There go our card games.”

  He slipped a hand under her hair, rubbing the nape of her neck. “What’s bothering you about all this?”

  “I can’t take your winnings. I understand now what you’re trying to do and it’s very generous of you—incredibly generous—but I can’t accept it. The clothes and phone are already too much. Anything else will make me feel cheap. God knows I usually feel like that.” She raised her head, blinking against the sting in her eyes. “I do appreciate this trip though and I, well, I think you’re wonderful.”

  Sighing, he pulled her onto his lap. “You’re one frustrating woman, and I’m pretty much out of options here. Can’t bribe you, can’t impress you, can’t seduce you.”

  “Well, I’m not sure about that last one.” She gave a wobbly smile. “I don’t see why you couldn’t come back and visit me once in a while. Not just in the spring, but maybe a little more often.” Her words came in a rush, as if they’d been circling for a while, scrambling over each other and longing to escape.

  “Like every six months?” His voice flattened.

  “Yes, sure. That would be perfect.” She nodded eagerly, glad he was finally willing to consider that option. “We could fish, you could beat me in cards, I’d let you chase my pony,
maybe do some roofing, which by the way still needs—

  He pressed a finger against her mouth. “Jen, that won’t work for me.”

  An ache squeezed her chest. She wanted him to stay, craved his company, could barely think of anyone else. Emily, Wally, Peanut—they were all on her periphery now. Was this how her mother had felt, feelings so centered on a man they’d turned destructive?

  She’d always thought her mother weak but her father had been a smart and relentless charmer. Probably her mom had been powerless. Had fallen too deeply in love and then simply let him yank her chain.

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “But that’s all that will work for me,” she said brokenly. “That’s all I can give.”

  His face was stony, shadowed by the elegant bedside light. “We better get some sleep,” he said. “It’s an early flight.”

  She nodded and rose, but this luxurious suite now seemed like a waste. They’d barely spent an hour in it. She walked woodenly into the huge bathroom, past the fancy Jacuzzi surrounded by strawberries and champagne.

  I should have taken some pictures. Something to look at when he was gone and life had jolted back to normal. But her phone was too new, and it would take time to figure it out. In the meantime, he’d spent a lot of money—the trip, the phone, the clothes; he’d probably expect some damn good sex. A band tightened painfully around her chest.

  She removed the tags from the negligee and walked back into the bedroom, self-conscious in the scanty silk. It looked fine but was clearly designed for seduction, and she was relieved he was still in the dining room.

  She slipped between the cool sheets. Listened as he rustled some papers then walked into the bathroom. He seemed to be taking a long time, and despite her ambivalence about this pricey excursion, she couldn’t stop a shiver of anticipation. Couldn’t deny her feelings.

  She didn’t understand why he was so averse to visiting. Maybe they could try monthly visits. See how that worked. But an image of her forlorn face counting down days in a calendar, waiting for his next overnighter, left her gripping the sheets in panic.

  He walked back into the bedroom. The room darkened, and the mattress shifted as he sank onto the bed. She turned to him, waiting. It was a huge bed. She couldn’t even feel his body heat. She scooted a couple inches closer, waiting for his big arm to tug her close.

  “Good night, Jenna,” he said.

  “Good night,” she said automatically, but shock jerked her rigid. His breathing was deep and even but dauntingly far away, and hurt balled in her throat.

  She had a pesky itch behind her eyes but refused to move. In a moment, she’d fall asleep too. She wasn’t at all bothered by this rejection. And it wasn’t a rejection, not really. They were both tired. Possibly he didn’t realize it was one of their last nights together, that the countdown had begun.

  But her eyes really itched now and she couldn’t stand it. She eased her hand up and wiped her face, surprised by the wetness on her cheek Blinking, she stared at the dark ceiling, determined not to move her arm again, determined to fall asleep.

  But the more she tried, the more sleep wouldn’t come.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Time to get up.”

  She cracked her eyes open and sat up, blinking away the confusion. It had been a horrible sleep. The mattress was too hard, the pillows too soft and Burke hadn’t touched her all night.

  “Sleep well?” He stood beside the bed, knotting his tie.

  “Great, thanks.” She stretched and pushed back the sheets. His eyes flickered over her negligee and she gave a tentative smile, wary of his new coolness. In the early days, she’d have been flippant but now, when she cared, uncertainty had set in. A fragile dependency that she didn’t like. “Is that bacon I smell?” she asked, scrambling for safe ground.

  “It is. And there’s tea and lemon on the table.” His voice was cool. “But get changed first.”

  “Of course,” she said numbly. She’d be more confident in her clothes anyway, much better than being half-dressed. And they could linger over breakfast and maybe regain their easy relationship.

  He paused in the doorway. “I ate earlier. Have a meeting now but I’ll be back in half an hour. Then we’ll take a limo to the airport.”

  Her cautious smile froze and she could only manage a nod as he grabbed his laptop, walked toward the door and pushed the button.

  “Have a good meeting,” she said, but the elevator arrived, the door slid open and he didn’t seem to hear.

  ***

  Burke studied the most recent figures Edward had supplied. Labor unrest and poor management but a great product. Looked like California would be his next stop. Definitely a hostile environment but one that suited his mood perfectly.

  He glanced sideways. Jenna stared out the plane window, her face solemn. She was tearing him up, and he wanted to shake her. And that wouldn’t advance his cause. Preferably, he’d like to shake her parents.

  She turned, eyeing him so cautiously, his restraint crumbled. He slid his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. “I don’t want to let this thing we have go,” he whispered. “But I will, if that’s what you want. I’m not going to push you. No worries.” He kissed the top of her silky hair, sucking in her fresh fragrance. “You okay to drive to work on Monday?”

  She gave him such a big smile, his chest thumped. “My hand’s pretty good now,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You want to massage Nifty this afternoon?”

  “Yes. He felt good yesterday. I didn’t find any problem areas.” She straightened and it was clear her thoughts were locked on the horse. “Don’t you think that’s odd? Nothing showing up in the massage? Usually I feel something. Is it possible the Ridgemans are exaggerating?”

  “And why would they do that?” His shoulder felt cold and empty, and he wished she’d lean back against him and stop thinking about work. Maybe she’d let him come back once a month, at least for a start.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “But some of the research suggests they’re struggling financially. And Colin knows of two mares Nifty covered last year that didn’t produce foals.”

  “You were talking to Colin MacDonald? About confidential company business?” A muscle ticked on the side of Burke’s jaw. That damn vet was going to be around after he left, just waiting to pick up the pieces. The man would probably wait another decade for Jenna. Only a fool would do that—a fool or a very patient man.

  “Surely you have some understanding of client confidentiality,” he added, rubbing his knuckles. “And your job is to give massages, not question owner finances or why they sent their horses.”

  “I know my job.” She raised a stubborn chin. “But I thought yours might be to check some facts with your contacts. And I didn’t reveal anything to Colin. I just wanted to talk to you about Nifty’s owners.”

  “You better get used to discussing this stuff with the new manager.” His mouth tightened with frustration. He wanted to talk about them. Not work, not Nifty and definitely not the lovesick vet. “I’m already busy with my next project,” he muttered. One she was urging him to take.

  “Of course.” She inclined her head and turned away.

  “Jenna,” he stopped, afraid of what he might say. He’d completely botched this. His control was splintering and any minute, he’d be begging at her feet.

  It was a relief when the plane landed and he was back in his car, in control of something again. Anything. He gripped the steering wheel and pressed his foot on the accelerator, relieved when the Audi responded.

  “I’m meeting the new manager this afternoon,” he said. “Not much time to spare but we can stop at your house on the way. You can change and then massage Nifty.”

  He parked in her driveway and waited while she changed into a pair of jeans and T-shirt. He liked that she was always so fast but, dammit, she grew more beautiful every day. His melancholy grew as she rushed to the kennel and checked on Peanut. At least she’d be happ
y about what he’d built for her pony.

  The passenger door opened. She slid back into the car and thrust something on his lap. “Here’s a little something so you won’t forget us.”

  He stared down at the compact photo album. Remained silent for a moment before flipping it open, knowing he’d never forget her. Slowly, he scanned the pictures. Everything was there, almost from his very first day. Pictures of the Center, pounding studs at the construction site, all the staff waving, even Wally. And, of course, steeplechase day.

  “Who’s the kid on my shoulders?” he asked, fighting the constriction in his throat. “I think she sent me a letter.”

  “That’s little Sophie and there’s Charlie slapping your hand after he won.”

  “This is great.” His voice sounded odd. “I didn’t see you taking all these pictures.”

  “Phones are good that way,” she said.

  “You even have one of me sweating on your roof.”

  “My personal favorite,” she said, and the sadness in her voice made his heart squeeze..

  He coughed, struggling with his reaction. “Thank you, Jenna,” he finally managed. “This is one of the most thoughtful things anyone’s ever given me.” He fumbled in the console for the necklace, knowing expensive jewelry wouldn’t mean much, not to her, but at least it was something. He wanted to give her something.

  He pulled out the Tiffany box, silently thanking the sales clerk for decorating it with pretty white ribbon, and pressed it into her hand.

  She opened the lid, cautiously lifted the necklace, watching as it glittered beneath the hard sun. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” Her eyes narrowed. “But who’s Theresa?”

  Damn! His hand whitened around the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. The store must have mixed up the two necklaces.”

  “So she has one that says my name?” Jenna’s voice cracked.

  “Actually I didn’t have your name on it.”

  She closed the box then, her throat moving in curious little bobs that seemed linked to his own convulsing throat. Aw, shit.