Page 7 of Dangerous Stakes

Susan knew Gina was right. Susan had a less serious approach to dressage, and she indulged Tank in a way most trainers didn’t appreciate.

Tank was proving himself in the dressage ring and had turned out to be Susan’s “fairytale” horse. Built like a knight’s warhorse of old, he moved with the deft grace of a dancer. He was devoted to Susan and would do anything she asked of him. But let another rider throw a leg over his back and Tank had a bad habit of doing a great imitation of a horse trying out for the Mesquite Rodeo.

Given his size, power and athleticism, Tank could usually unseat anyone who dared to crawl into his saddle. Anyone that is, except Susan, who could ride advance dressage movements bareback and without a bridle. There was no denying they were gifted, and their freestyle routines were fast becoming a social media and Dressage Today sensation. Their performances and backstory had garnered them legions of fans.

On the last day of the show, Susan dragged herself out of bed and Tank out of his stall far earlier than either of them desired. The big bay roan was not amused and managed to blow snot all over her shirt.

“You are such a brat. We need to look good. We want to impress O’Neill,” she said, ensuring Tank’s coat glistened.

Why the hell did O’Neill have to school his students’ horses at o’dawn thirty? Granted, it meant he generally had the ring to himself, but good god, it was early.

Susan rode Tank into the ring, hoping to catch O’Neill’s eye in order to entice him to take another run at the Olympics—this time as her coach.

* * *

Rory looked up as he heard a rider approaching. Even at this hour of the morning and not prepped for a performance, it was difficult to take his eyes off the big gelding and his rider. He’d been surprised to discover that the bay roan was about a hand smaller, at seventeen hands, than most of his competition. But there was no denying his presence. When he entered the ring with his attractive, raven-haired rider, the audience became rapt and small talk died down.

Rory knew from one of the many articles about them in Dressage Today that the gelding was an odd mix of Clydesdale, Friesian, and Lipizzaner. His movement was the stuff a dressage rider or coach’s dreams were made of. He had a huge trot and seemed to just pick up and float around the ring. His canter was lofty and cadenced, and it took only the lightest touch from leg or hand for his owner or rider to put him through his paces.

Rory had just finished working the last of his student’s horses when the pair entered the ring. He exited and handed off the horse to his groom, asking her to take him back and get him ready for his young rider later that morning. Rory walked up into the grandstand to watch Susan work the magnificent beast known only as Tank.

That Susan Rogers could ride was not a surprise. That her gelding could move like few others in the history of the sport was also a given. Rory would have been loath to admit to anyone that he subscribed to their YouTube channel and eagerly awaited new videos. Watching them perform was like watching Nureyev and Fonteyn dance—flawless, emotive, and breathtaking.

It was obvious that Susan adored the big horse and not just because he would get her to the Olympics with the right coach. The question to him was, who was that coach? Gina Foster had done well by them, but rumor had it she was looking for someone who could get Susan and Tank to the very top.

Watching videos and reading interviews, Rory felt they needed a tough coach who wouldn’t be dazzled by their brilliance and could take all that raw talent and mold it into something the world had never seen before. Both Tank and his owner had a reputation for being a bit undisciplined. There was no doubt in his mind that the right coach could get them to the Olympic Gold Medal stand, but that coach would have to be able to negotiate a delicate balance to bring them discipline without destroying the magic the pair had created.

Tank was always perfect for Susan, but it was said he could be a nasty piece of business for anyone else who tried to ride him. Watching how lightly she used her hand and legs, Rory began to theorize that perhaps it was because other people annoyed the big horse. He knew his job. He didn’t need anyone telling him how to do something. He wanted to be asked. Most of the truly great horses had reputations for being difficult, but Rory had found that they weren’t. They just didn’t tolerate fools on their backs.

Susan, on the other hand, was every bit the wild woman. She was talented, intelligent, and a bit ruthless. Her business was thriving. Her specialty was advising companies how to be successful in a hostile takeover situation. Regardless of whether she was representing the company attempting the take-over or representing the company that was the target, she almost always came out on top.

Her success allowed her to work only when she wanted and still afforded her the luxury she was used to. She didn’t socialize with most of the affluent members of the dressage community and often made disparaging remarks about the arrogance of some riders in interviews. She never named anyone specific, but her dismissive opinion of dressage royalty had earned her their disdain – something she seemed to enjoy.

She put Tank through his paces. Rory watched her ride and smiled. It was clear she rode for the sheer joy of it. She completed all of the necessary elements for that afternoon’s freestyle competition. When she’d put him through his paces, Susan had performed several of the Spanish Riding School’s Airs Above the Ground – none of which were legal moves in dressage competition. When she’d finished, she let Tank relax by dropping her stirrups and loosening the reins until she only had the buckle in one hand. She rode up and stopped in front of Rory.

“You know the Airs Above the Ground aren’t allowed. Even in freestyle competition, they’ll get you DQ’d,” Rory said, his brogue thick.

Any of the women he had chosen to share his nights within the past knew that his brogue got thicker and deeper when he was becoming aroused and increased as his level of arousal did. He hid a smile as he recognized the trait in the tone of his voice.

Susan Rogers was more than attractive. She was lovely and appeared to have a body that a man could enjoy for hours… or longer. A sudden vision of her naked and on her knees in front of him while he plundered her pussy from behind, his barbs dragging furrows in her tender flesh, crowded out rational thought. He had to fight to focus on what he had to say to her.

Susan tossed back her wavy black hair and her violet-colored eyes sparkled. “I know, but don’t you find forbidden things are more fun?”

She stretched up, which caused her sweater to rise above her breeches and reveal a toned stomach. Unfortunately, in Rory’s opinion, it didn’t rise nearly high enough. He was quite sure she was aware of that and yet she didn’t seem to have any ego attached to it. His only wish was that she hadn’t worn a bra and that the sweater had risen high enough to reveal what appeared to be large, firm breasts.

He laughed; Susan Rogers was a piece of work. “You really enjoy being provocative, don’t you?”

She said nothing, but the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth was more than answer enough.

* * *

Susan wasn’t sure why she was provoking and teasing him. Oh, he was wildly sexy with his black hair, startling, fathomless brown eyes, and permanent stubble. Most of the talk of his physique on the circuit was on the way he filled out his breeches, but the sleeves of his cable knit sweater were pushed up to reveal well-developed arms. He had large, strong hands which she was quite sure could prove very pleasurable when he chose to use them in that manner.

“But there’s a price to be paid for most forbidden things.”

“That’s not a problem if one is willing to pay the cost.”

He laughed. “I think, Ms. Rogers that you are way out of my league.”

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