Nacho Figueras Presents (9 page)

A
fter narrowly avoiding a bite from a temperamental stallion, Antonia desperately wished, yet again, that things had never changed with Enzo. She missed their old friendship, she ached to simply talk with him, and, at the moment, she needed their old work relationship as well. He usually helped her with the more sensitive ponies, holding their heads while she picked and shoed, soothing the horses that needed a little extra comfort.

But after what had happened in the office this morning, she could hardly ask for any version of his help.

She pulled the stallion's hoof up between her knees and sighed. She had wanted to throw herself into Enzo's arms when she had first seen him back in the office, tell him how sorry she was, what an idiot she had been. But just like in the hotel room, the specter of Jacob, and everything that had happened between them, had kept her silent and fettered.

She thought she was over Berlin. She thought she was over her ex. But seeing him again had brought it all back to the surface. Suddenly, wounds that she had convinced herself had healed were, once more, bleeding and raw. Feelings that she thought she had long ago buried had come clawing their way back to the surface.

And when Enzo had asked her point-blank if she still had feelings for Jake…she had realized that she truly didn't know. Because if she was really over him, why had she felt such a punch to the gut when she had seen him at the gallery? If she was past what had happened to her in Berlin, why did she end up sobbing in a bathtub while Enzo had to practically knock down the door?

Perhaps this was all temporary. Perhaps it would pass. In the meantime, it wasn't fair to Enzo or herself to stay so close. She needed to sort out just how deep this really ran.

She probed at the pony's hoof, expertly prying off his old shoe and digging out the dirt and trimming down the overgrown frog. Once she had exposed a nice, clean sole, she pulled out her clippers and tackled the outer wall of the hoof, trimming off anything that looked too long. She used her rasp to even the whole thing out, eyeing it carefully to make sure it was level. After that, she went to work on the inner hoof and then placed the pony's foot back on the floor, looking at it from every angle until she was satisfied that the hoof lay totally flat.

She ducked under the pony's neck, careful to stay well away from his teeth, and headed back to her truck where she kept her portable forge so she could heat up and shape the pony plate and hammer it to just the right size.

On the way, she was startled to see what looked like Pilar in an empty stall. Her back was to Noni, and she was, Noni realized, talking to someone.

Judging from the low murmur of Pilar's voice and her soft, throaty laugh, Noni didn't think it was either of her sons.

She paused for a moment, wondering if she should make her presence known, but before she could say anything, Pilar swung around so that she was in profile to Noni, and the other person in the stall came into view—Sir Henderson, one hand on Pilar's waist, the other stroking her hair as he bent his mouth hungrily to hers.

Neither of them noticed her as Antonia stole away, feeling like a child who had left her bed for a drink of water and then accidentally walked in on her parents making out in the kitchen.

She had known they were something of an item. Their behavior at the party had made that fairly clear. But she had been truly surprised by the tender and passionate look on Pilar's face as she had gazed up at Hendy, the heat that was so obvious between them as he kissed her.

This was not just a comfortable alliance between two old friends. This looked like something much more.

Noni smiled to herself. As difficult as she found Pilar, she couldn't help but cheer her on. Having known the Del Campos as long as she had, Antonia was no longer under the illusion that she had been the only one who had felt hurt and rejected by Carlos's lack of attention. If Pilar had managed to find something sweet, and maybe even a little hot, in her golden years, well, good for her. The tough old bird had probably more than earned it.

She turned the corner and saw Enzo striding outside, heading for the paddocks, and she opened her mouth to call out to him, catch up, and tell him what she had just seen. She imagined the way he would laugh and tease her about the awkwardness of the moment.

But before she could utter a word, he seemed to sense that she was there. He glanced over his shoulder and met her eyes, and the look he gave her was made of ice and stone. The smile faded from her lips and his name shriveled in her mouth. They simply gazed at each other for a moment, the hurt between them hanging almost palpable in the air, and then, with a slight shrug, he turned back around and kept walking.

E
nzo dined alone in his flat that night, making a sandwich and heating up a tin of soup. He read a book at the table as he ate. It was a good story, a romantic thriller by Florencia Bonelli that his mother had pressed upon him last time he had gone home to Argentina. Not his usual style, but he'd been surprised by the way it immediately captured his attention when he flipped it open on the plane.

But tonight he found himself reading and then rereading the same sentence over and over again.

He put the book down, restless and annoyed, and pushed away his meal. He wasn't hungry either.

He stood and walked out to his little balcony, searching for the glimmer of ocean in the distance, but there was no moon tonight, and the sky was too dark to reflect on the water. He shivered a little in his thin T-shirt and jeans. It was still cool; the summer heat had yet to come roaring in.

He walked back in and stretched out on his bed, closing his eyes and hoping to discover that he was tired enough to sleep. Instead, images of Antonia, the way she had looked at him today as he left the barn, the smile freezing on her face as his eyes had met hers, swirled in his head. Then they shifted and suddenly he was seeing her half naked and astride him, her lips parted, her long platinum hair just barely obscuring her breasts, the mix of coal and stars in her gaze holding him helpless, pinned, bewitched…

He threw himself out of the bed with a groan. She was haunting him. He would never shake her.

As perfect as the little studio had seemed that morning, now it felt claustrophobic and confining. He felt like he might go crazy if he didn't get out. He shrugged into his jacket, pulled on his boots, and left, taking the stairs two at a time in his hurry to make his escape.

The dogs were curled into balls at the foot of Noni's bed, their heads buried under their tails, breathing peacefully. Antonia was wearing nothing but a long, thin T-shirt, but she was snug and warm under the plush down comforter. The boat moved slightly on the ocean current, just enough to make her feel pleasantly rocked.

She had picked a smaller bedroom to sleep in, but one that was just as luxurious as the master. Instead of the nautical blue and white of the bigger room, this one was done in silvery gray, midnight blue, and dusty rose—colors that Antonia imagined echoed the hues of a winter sunset over the sound. The view out her windows was all sky and sea—star spangled and dark at the moment—and Antonia had left the windows open so she could enjoy the sharp ocean breeze coming in off the water.

Noni still couldn't get over the extravagance of staying here. She had arrived home to find that the chef had left her dinner, still warm in the oven—salmon and some artfully prepared potato dish that managed to be both crispy and meltingly creamy. A fresh salad of local asparagus, pea shoots, and little bits of prosciutto was on the counter, alongside a warm strawberry-rhubarb pie with thick yellow cream to pour over it for dessert.

There was also a bottle of white Burgundy, already decanted and ready to drink.

She had taken her meal and a large glass of that wonderful wine up to the top deck, wrapped herself in a cashmere throw against the late spring breeze, and enjoyed the sunset over the sound. The dogs had lain attentively at her feet, hoping for a bite thrown their way; the seagulls had swooped and dived over the water, crying out over the sound of the hissing waves.

The staff had left for the night, after cleaning the boat from top to bottom, stocking the kitchen, unpacking her suitcase, turning down her bed, and doing Lord knows what else, thought Noni. What did it take to maintain a yacht? Surely much more than she imagined.

In little more than a month, Antonia would fully come into her inheritance. Three hundred million dollars. When that finally happened, she supposed that she could buy a boat just like this one if she wanted to.

But, as pleasant as it was, she couldn't imagine wanting to.

In fact, she had no idea what she would do with her money once it became hers. The generous monthly allowance her father had left her, plus the salary she made as a farrier, were already far and away more money than she'd ever had. She was happy with her little cottage in Wellington, with her old blue Chevy truck, with not having to look at a menu and automatically order the cheapest thing…

But the money was hers. The same amount that her brothers had inherited when they each turned thirty. She wondered if it had changed them at all but thought probably not, since they had grown up with money and took it for granted in a way that Antonia never could.

After the sun went down and Noni poured herself another glass of wine, she entertained herself watching
Bridesmaids
on the big screen in the media room. Then she took a long hot bath in the huge Jacuzzi tub off her bedroom, making use of the basket of hand-milled French soaps and bathing products and trying to ignore her dogs, who sat at the side of the tub and looked as if they just might try to crawl into the water with her if she gave them the slightest encouragement.

She had done a decent job of keeping her mind quiet. Food. Ocean. Movie. Bath. All these things provided enough distraction to keep darker thoughts at bay.

But now she was in bed. And the TV was off. And the dogs were asleep. And she wasn't hungry. And she'd had a little too much wine. And she had nothing left to turn her attention away from what she was missing, what she regretted, what she so desperately longed for…

She sighed, slipping down farther under the covers, feeling the soft, silky whisper of the sheets against her skin, smelling the captured scent of the clove and lilac soap she had used in the bath, moving her arms and legs out to their full stretch and still not even coming close to finding the edges of the mattress.

She was alone. And she was lonely. She realized that she didn't want to think about Jacob anymore. She had rehashed all the old memories and they had left her heartsick and mentally exhausted. No, it wasn't Jacob she missed. What she really wanted was Enzo. His hard, gorgeous, and comforting body curled around her. She wanted to turn over and be able to run her fingers through his sleek glossy hair; she wanted to listen to the soft, deep sound of him breathing next to her; she wanted to wrap herself in his arms, tangle her legs with his, smell his delicious earthy smell, feel him quicken and pulse against her, hear his low, rough voice calling her
niña
,
querida, mi corazón…

She shifted restlessly, feeling her temperature rise. The dogs, annoyed at the movement, slipped off the bed with complaining little groans and settled themselves on the floor.

She thought of the way the slow drag of his cheek against hers felt—the raspy, rough, and thoroughly masculine feel of his skin on hers. She imagined how he would dip his mouth to the hollow of her throat and feel the rapid fluttering of her pulse. She wanted those strong, capable hands leaving trails of sparks and fire all over her skin; she wanted that mouth on her breasts, on her belly, finding the very core of her, parting her with his tongue…

She moaned and her hand drifted down her body as she remembered the way he had kissed her there, the way he had pinned her to the bed and taken his time, tasting her, teasing her, driving her wild.

She touched herself softly and then with more intent, captured by the memory of the way things had been between them, her mind spinning with echoes of all the pleasure he had brought her, the words he'd whispered, the amazingly skilled way he had handled her body, the way he had made her truly
his
.

She cried out, brought to her peak by the sudden and vivid memory of Enzo's face as he climaxed, the way his eyes had devoured her, the way the color had rushed into his cheeks, the hiss of her name on his lips as his big, hard body had moved against her, inside her. She writhed and twisted, calling his name in return, until she shattered into what felt like thousands of white-hot fragments and then collapsed, breathless.

After a long moment, she opened her eyes and stared out at the spangled sky. Even the sound of the tide seemed muted as she lay quiet and alone in the bed, moved only by the gentle to and fro sway of the sea beneath her.

Outside the yacht, at the edge of the dock, Enzo sat idling in his truck. After pacing the beach, walking the streets, and then driving from one island to the next, he had found himself here, studying the darkened boat, wondering if she was awake, or even there, wondering what she would do if he slipped on board and took her into his arms and declared himself to her. What she would say if he told her how he felt about her, how he had always felt, how he would always feel.

Suddenly a light came on in the lower deck. One of the windows glowed a soft yellow.

She was there.

He turned off the engine, put his hand to the car door handle, and then hesitated.

The boat bobbed gently in the dark water, an enormous, hulking mass. There were probably alarms, thought Enzo. Of course there were alarms. One couldn't just stroll aboard a multimillion-dollar yacht. Especially this late at night.

He glanced over at his phone, sitting on the seat next to him. He could call her. He could text. Ask her to meet him out here…

The light went out.

He breathed slowly, reminding himself of all the reasons not to act. Reminding himself that he had already nearly put his heart into her hands and that she had refused him just in time.

He had dodged a bullet, he told himself. They both had.

He watched the window.

It remained dark.

He turned the key in the ignition, backed up, and drove away.