Page 37 of The Past

He leaned in, his breath warm against my lips.“I’ve got my ways.”

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering as I stared up at him.“Ye’re trouble.”

His grin widened.“The very best kind.”

And then, he kissed me.

Not the slow, teasing kiss from before.

This was deeper, hungrier, laced with something neither of us wanted to name yet.His hands slid up my back, fingers threading into my hair, tilting my head so he could kiss me properly.Heat coiled low in my stomach, my entire body awakening to the feel of him.

I pressed closer, my hands gripping the front of his coat, pulling him against me.I wanted more.

And then, just as quickly as the kiss had deepened, Tommy broke away, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against mine.

“Damn,” he muttered, voice rough.

I blinked up at him, dazed, lips still tingling.“Why’d ye stop?”

He exhaled a ragged laugh, cupping my cheek, his thumb tracing my jawline.“Because, sweetheart, if I don’t, we’re gonna be in a world of trouble.”

I bit my lip, still flushed and breathless.

He smirked, running his fingers through my hair one last time before settling back against the blanket, pulling me into his side.“Promise me something.”

I sighed, letting my head rest against his shoulder.“What now?”

“Promise me you won’t call him.”

It wasn’t that simple.It never had been.

But lying here, wrapped up in Tommy, feeling more alive than I ever had before…

“I’ll try,” I whispered.

And for now, that was enough.

CHAPTER 12

Tommy

The training centerwas alive with movement—riders adjusting their stirrups, stable hands leading out the young horses, Rory giving instructions with a sharp eye and a steady voice.It was the same bustle I was used to at Blackburn Farms, but there was something infinitely more exciting about watching the young racehorses thunder around the track.

I stood by the rail, stopwatch in hand, watching as one of the riders urged his horse into a gallop, dirt flying from its hooves.The gelding stretched out over the track, muscles rippling under a gleaming bay coat, his breath coming in short huffs as he ate up the ground.

“Mark it,” Rory called to me, tracking the horse’s stride like a hawk.

My thumb depressed the button.“One minute, three seconds.”

Rory nodded, a pleased gleam in his eye.“He’s improving.”He jerked his chin toward the track.“See how he settled into the pace right before the second furlong?That’s what we want—smooth, confident.”

This was all like Greek to me, but I was learning a lot and grateful that Rory was involving me.He could’ve easily set me to cleaning stalls for the entire summer, but instead, he was immersing me in the training world of racehorses.

I watched as the bay crossed the far turn of the track, the rider easing him back down to a steady canter.I’d been around horses my whole life, and it was easy to see the difference in how they were trained here compared to back home.

I could best summarize it as less polish, more grit.

The riders didn’t just work the horses—they read them, adjusted to them in real time.It was raw and instinctive, more of a partnership than a strict command.

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