Page 16 of The Front Runner
Within moments, the colt shoves his head beneath her belly and nuzzles at the overfull udder. Trying to figure out something he hasn’t quite learned how to do yet.
I glance down at Mira’s tense body—raised shoulders and hands fisted in front of her breasts—feeling her heat seep into the front of my body. The only part of her moving is her chest, with the rise and fall of her deep breaths.
The stall is almost entirely silent. Until a noisy suckling noise fills the space. Followed by a ragged sigh from the woman standing in front of me. In wonder, I watch the content mare go back to the hay net before her. Mira’s thick black ponytail flops forward as she drops her face into her hands.
The relief pouring off her bleeds into me, and I pull one hand out of my pocket and place it on the nape of her slender neck, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You did it.”
She just nods. She doesn’t shake me off; she stands there, soft skin beneath my palm, watching the mare and foal accept each other like life meant them to be together no matter how tragic the circumstances.
“Fuck. What a relief.” Her voice is hoarse, but I can’t see her face to confirm how emotional she might be. I absently brush my thumb across the base of her skull, and after a beat she clears her throat and steps away. “Let’s leave them for a bit.” Mira turns to exit the stall but doesn’t meet my eyes.
Usually, she covers her vulnerability with a smirk—but not today.
I shouldn’t have touched her like that. I’m like a cat playing with his food. But all I really want is for her to see that I’m not a bad guy. I don’t always play by the rules, but I’m not abadguy. I grew up with one, and I refuse to become him.
I move away, letting her pass. Wishing my hands were still on her. I don’t know why the woman intoxicates me the way she does. Her eyes, her lips, her cool exterior, the sensual hum of her voice—it’s all driven me to distraction since the first time I met her down at the track. Her no-nonsense way of handling me while being perpetually gentle and sweet with the horses was a contradiction that fascinated me then and still does now.
She’s an equation I’d love to solve.
Or maybe the broken little boy in me just wants her to treat me the way she does a horse.With love.I shake my head at myself as I turn to follow her. The thought of her softening up for me is the ultimate carrot she could dangle. I want nothing more than to watch her melt.
I don’t love Dr. Mira Thorne. I barely even know her. I’m just fascinated though—inexplicably drawn to her. And I’m too damn accustomed to getting what I want to let it go.
“What now?” I ask as she marches toward the lounge area, complete with cushy brown leather couches, a pool table, and a fully stocked bar.
She straight-up ignores me for a few beats before flopping down onto a couch with a loud sigh. “Now we wait a bit and see what happens.”
I follow suit and drop onto the couch across from her, propping my feet up on the table and resting my hands across my ribs. “You look tired.”
She hits me with an unimpressed look. “Charming, Stefan.”
“Why don’t you sleep for a bit, and I’ll keep an eye out.”
“No.” Her head drops back, and her eyes close.
If she’s half as exhausted as I am, she must feel like utter garbage. But I don’t argue. Mira doesn’t give off the vibe that says she wants to be coddled. So, if she wants to be dead on her feet, good for her. I’ll support it.
“What’s the accent?” she asks without opening her eyes.
“Romanian.” I keep my eyes wide open. Truthfully, I can’t peel them off her.
“You’re Romanian?”
“I was raised there.”
“You just look so...I don’t know. Not Romanian?”
Yeah. I’m not sure how it took me so long to figure that out either. I’m about to ask her about her family’s background, but after only a few moments, her fingers fall open and her pillowy lips part.
She’s out like a light.
She looks younger and...softer somehow while she’s asleep. More innocent. The sight of it stirs some instinctual part of me, and all I want to do is take care of her. Make sure she’s comfortable. That she rests for a while.
I walk over to the large wicker basket at the end of the couch, pull out an Aztec style wool blanket, and drape it over her gently. She stirs slightly, but only to nuzzle her cheek into the couch.
She looks so damn tired.
I figure I can sleep tomorrow while she’ll probably have to work. With one final glance over her sleeping form, I walk back out into the barn alleyway to the stall with the mare and foal. I flip the latch and creep in. My chest warms seeing mom standing and dozing with sprawled-out baby sleeping happily beside her. They’re a perfect match. Red and red. You would never guess they aren’t related.
