The Riding Master (4 page)

“I just can’t picture you as part of the trendy Dallas social set,” he admitted just as they came to the edge of the barn.

Rayne wheeled around to him as Bob dutifully came to a halt beside her. “I never liked it. Foster was the one who insisted we attend every charity fundraiser and social soiree to help further the interests of his company.”

“And what about your interests?”

She was taken aback by the question. “My interests?”

He stepped beneath the shade of the barn. “I have to wonder if you’re just another in a long line of single women who ride horses as a way to fill the time in between wealthy husbands. Sort of like Selene.” He slowly grinned at her. “I have to admit you have more skill than most of the others I have encountered, but still I—”

“Do you like provoking me? You’re a real piece of work, standing there and judging me as if you—”

“I’m glad to see I was right about you,” he cut in. “If you were like all the other women I have met in a dozen different stables across Denton County, you wouldn’t be angry with me…you would have been defending your lifestyle.”

“You’ve completely lost me. Was all that bullshit some kind of test?”

“In a way.” He folded his arms over his chest as his gray eyes studied her. “Most women defend their actions; they don’t get mad because they were accused of being a…what’s the appropriate term…gold digger?” He paused. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

Rayne was stunned by the invitation. “Dinner? After what you just said to me? Are you insane?”

“After what I just said? I paid you a compliment.”

“A compliment?” Her voice was peppered with outrage. “My God, you are delusional.”

He uncrossed his thick arms and walked over to Bob’s side. Lifting the flap on the English saddle, he undid the girth strap and placed it over the seat. “Go and cool your horse down. I’ll pick you up at seven tonight and you can rip into me at length over sushi and sake.” His eyes veered to her. “You do like sushi, don’t you?” 

“Yes, I like sushi,” Rayne jumped in, shaking her head. “But I’m not having dinner with you.”

“Why not? You eat dinner, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to have dinner with a man who first thinks I’m a gold digger, and then insults me when he discovers I’m not.”

“I didn’t insult you,” he chuckled.

“Yes, you did.”

He shook his head, grinning. “Fine…if it makes you feel better, I insulted you. You can give me directions to your house before you leave.”

“Did you hear me? I am not having dinner with you!”

He stood over her. “Please?”

“What?” she almost screamed with frustration.

“Please have dinner with me.”

She stepped back from him. “Why?”

“Because I will be hungry tonight, and I want to spend some time getting to know you.”

She stood for a moment gaping at him, not sure of what to do or say next.

“Is that a yes?” he pestered.

“No, it’s not.”

“Does that mean you’re still thinking about it?”

“I’m not thinking about having dinner with you at all, Trent.”

“Then that means yes.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Look, Rayne, you’re having dinner with me. I won’t take no for an answer.” 

Rayne knew she should refuse, but a mysterious tingle in her gut told her to accept his invitation. There was just something about the man that…intrigued her. Maybe this was what Rebecca had meant by being “open to new possibilities.” She needed to trust her instinct and take a chance. “Okay, I’ll have dinner with you, Trent. But only if I can meet you at the restaurant.”

“I insist on picking you up. It is the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“Gentleman? You?” She refrained from laughing. When that determined fire in his eyes failed to dim, Rayne uttered an exasperated sigh. “Why do you want to have dinner with me?”

He slowly came forward. When he was inches away from her face, he whispered, “I thought that was obvious.”

She took in the wrinkles carved around his eyes, his tanned skin, and the thin, almost cruel line of his lips. “Somehow I get the impression nothing is obvious with you.”

He patted Bob’s neck. “Take care of Bob. We’ll talk later.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have dinner with you.” She clenched the reins in her hand. “You’re technically my boss.”

His lips stretched into a mischievous grin. “It won’t be the first time you’ve dated your boss, will it?”

Rayne should have been rattled by his comment, but surprisingly she was not. If anything, his sinful smile was eliciting a more confusing emotion that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with desire. Desperate to get away, Rayne turned and led Bob along the shaded shed row.

“Rayne,” Trent spoke out.

She showed him her profile.

“Just so you know, I never once suspected you were like Selene. From the moment I met you, I knew you were different.”

“Different? You have no idea.” She started back down the aisle with Bob, wondering,
What have I gotten myself into?

But as Rayne came to her red tack room door, her apprehension gave way to excitement…something she had not felt since Foster Greer had first invited her to have coffee. But Rayne was no longer a twenty-three-year-old girl enamored with a much older man. Her painful past had made her wiser in the wicked ways of men, and Trent Newbury was one man she knew could never be trusted.

Chapter 3

Checking her baggy gray slacks and loose-fitting pale blue top in her bathroom mirror, Rayne groaned out loud.

“I look like a hooker.” She ran her fingers through her unruly, honey-blonde hair. “God, I hate my hair.”

Leaving her frizzy hair curled about her shoulders, she applied an extra coating of black mascara and black eyeliner to make the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes stand out. But on viewing her reflection, she worried the warm blush and lava red lipstick she had selected contrasted sharply against her creamy skin. Reaching for a tissue on her vanity counter, she tried to blot away the extra makeup from her eyelids, lips, and cheeks. When she reappraised her appearance, she flinched.

“Great, now I look like a hooker on crack.”

The chime from her doorbell cut through the air.

Grabbing the lava red lipstick, she hurriedly reapplied it to her full lips, and swept the warm blush back on to her cheeks. By the time she bolted from her master bathroom and into her light gray bedroom, a flurry of barking resonated from the living room.

“Frank!” she yelled, scrambling down a short hallway toward her living room.

Sprinting across the burgundy carpet on her living room floor and past the stone and birch fireplace that rose all the way up to the ceiling, she reached the beige and white entryway that led to her front door. Nearly tripping over a large, dark brown mound of fur lying right in front of the door, Rayne silently cursed as she grasped the fancy brass doorknob she had installed with the help of a kind Home Depot associate.

“Hi,” she greeted, catching her breath after she opened the door.

The scent of Trent’s citrusy cologne teased her nostrils. His gray eyes shimmered beneath the porch light as they glided up and down her trim figure, taking in the curve of her gray slacks and the swell of her breasts beneath her silk top.

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

Her throat tightened. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You look like you’re trying to hide behind it.” He took the two short steps into the doorway and stood beside her. “Maybe you should change into something that makes you look less…terrified.”

She cleared her throat and stepped back from the door. “Do you usually criticize a woman’s outfit?”

“I wasn’t criticizing. I was commenting.” He spied the dark brown furry dog sitting up by the door. The animal’s thick tail was beating rhythmically on the white-tiled floor. “Who’s that?” Trent pointed to the dog.

Rayne waved at the panting creature. “Frank.”

“Frank?” Trent arched an eyebrow at her. “A horse named Bob and a dog named Frank. What is it with you and names?”

“I like simple names,” Rayne professed, shutting the door.

Trent held out his hand to the dog, testing if he was safe to pet, and then gently stroked behind his fluffy ears. “What kind of mix is he?”

“Great Pyrenees and chocolate lab, I think. I got him at the pound when I bought my house last year. I’d hoped for a guard dog, but instead I got a big cuddle ball.” She was enchanted at the way Trent and her “guard dog” were getting along.

Leaving Frank, he turned to living room beyond the entryway. “Why don’t you go and change into something else?”

“You really don’t like my outfit?” She winced, thinking she sounded like an insecure teenager.

“I love your outfit, but you don’t. I could tell when I walked in the door you weren’t happy with it. Perhaps try something you’re comfortable in.”

“I don’t think I can wear sweats to the restaurant.”

His harmonic laugh bounced about the walls of the short hallway, stirring the disquiet in Rayne’s belly. “No, but maybe some jeans; I have a feeling you would be much more comfortable in that.”

She motioned to his black slacks and white button-down shirt. “But you’re not in jeans.”

“But I’m comfortable.” He waved into the living room. “Go on.”

She was about to walk past him when she murmured, “I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable with you.”

Trent rested his hand on her forearm. “I’m hoping to change that. I think you’re the kind of woman who needs to be gentled into a man.”

The close proximity of him made her knees wobble. “Gentled into a man? You make me sound like an unbroken horse.” Rayne struggled to focus on his words and not his lips.

“Not unbroken, just…skittish.” He let go of her arm, making her momentarily waver on her feet.

Trent proceeded into the open living room and perused the white leather sofa and matching armchairs before the grand hearth, then he raised his eyes to the assorted framed travel posters Rayne had purchased to cover her eggshell-painted walls. 

As he assessed her home, Rayne scrutinized his sharp profile; the way his slightly crooked nose sloped down to his lips, and how his square jaw accentuated the hint of authority in his features. Even the curl of his long black lashes fascinated her, and when Rayne caught herself staring, she swerved her eyes to her bedroom hallway.

“I’ll just…ah, go and change.”

“Frank and I will be waiting,” Trent assured her.

After darting into her bedroom, Rayne began pulling off her clothes while her heart flitted about in her chest. When she went to the bathroom mirror to do a quick check of her makeup, she was appalled to see her beet red face staring back at her.

“I must be crazy for doing this.” She clapped her hands over her cheeks. “This guy is so…what is the word?” As Rayne tried to find the words to describe Trent, she knew one thing was for certain; he was unlike any man she had been with, including Foster.

Her ex-husband had been attentive in the beginning and always generous with his wealth, but he had never been…intense. That was the word she felt that best described Trent. He had an unusual intensity that made her feel as if she were being constantly analyzed.

Shaking off her misgivings, Rayne opened her compact powder and began blotting out the redness on her face. Once satisfied with her reflection, she went into her bedroom and shimmied into her favorite blue jeans and buttoned up the creamy pink dress shirt she had always loved. Finishing her outfit off with a pair of dark leather pumps, she took in a relieved breath. Trent had been right; she did feel better. Grabbing a leather clutch that matched the color of her low-heeled shoes, Rayne confidently strode to the door.

“All right, Mr. Newbury, now I’m ready to take you on.”

***

Mt. Fuji Restaurant was not far from Rayne’s Highland Village home. A few customers were sitting in the black vinyl booths that packed the dining area, enjoying the variety of Asian fusion and hibachi dishes. Bright neon lights of blue, pink, and gold complemented the Mexican tile covering the walls. In the center of the restaurant, a flaming hibachi infused a fantastical flare to the eclectic atmosphere.

“Intriguing décor,” Rayne commented as she slid into a booth in the corner of the restaurant.

“Unusual for a Japanese restaurant, but the food is good.” Trent took a seat on the bench across the table from her.

An almond-eyed waitress, with sleek black hair hanging loosely down her slender back, came up to their table carrying two clear vinyl menus. With a slight bow, she placed the menus on the table.

“I’ll be back to take your order.” She turned her eyes to Rayne. “Would you like a cocktail?”

“Hana Raspberry Sake,” Trent told her. “For two.” He smiled at Rayne. “I hope you like sake?”

“In small amounts.”

Trent returned to the waiflike waitress. “We’ll have that to start. Then, two glasses of your sauvignon blanc with our meal.”