Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
The name plate on the stall’s door said “Lady Dahlia.” My stomach sank. That was Genevieve Knighton’s horse, the one that fell on top of her in Saint-Tropez. I hadn’t seen or heard of Genny or Dahlia since.
I momentarily wondered where the mare was and whether she was okay when arrhythmic footsteps sounded in this private area of the barn. My heart began to thunder. I wasn’t meant to be here, that was for sure. The closed barn door had clearly told me that this section was out of bounds. If I was caught, I knew I’d be in trouble. I pushed myself farther into the stall’s corner, trying to blend into the dark.
Then I heard, “Hello, Henry.” The softly spoken words were said with a slight slur, but I held my breath when a familiar posh English accent instantly sent goose bumps down my spine.
The sound of Henry’s door latch opening echoed off the barn walls, piercing the silence of the night. The shuffling noises of someone stumbling hit me next, then nothing until, “Sorry, boy. I’m not in a good way tonight.” Not a part of me moved as I listened to the man I’d idolized for too many years to count talk to his treasured horse.
Jasper Knighton was on the other side of the wall. The Jasper Knighton.
“Two years,” Jasper said, his voice catching and making my heart squeeze at the pain in his fractured tone. I caught the sound of sloshing liquid hitting glass, then a deep swallow. The smell of whiskey drifted on the frigid air to where I was stood. A long sigh came next. “I haven’t been able to find out who it is yet, boy,” Jasper said, and the sadness in his voice echoed how I’d felt once too.
After a couple of minutes of quiet, I carefully looked between the metal bars of the stalls and froze when Jasper came into view, dressed in black jeans and a white Aran wool sweater. But what had tears pricking my eyes were his arms wound tightly around Lord Henry’s neck. And how the stallion, understanding how broken his rider was, just stood there and let him shatter against his light-gray coat. In one hand, Jasper clutched a half-empty bottle of whiskey. His dark-brown hair was longer than it used to be, falling in messy waves over the side of his face.
Feeling like I was intruding on a very private moment, I began to inch slowly out of the stall. Once in the main section of the barn, I turned to make a beeline for the back door when Henry suddenly moved, the sound of his shod feet scraping on the ground, and Jasper asked, “Is someone there?”
My eyes were wide as I stared straight ahead. My heart began to pound. As much as I didn’t mind being caught doing what I shouldn’t, I wasn’t sure I could face Jasper Knighton. Over the years, I’d built this man up to be a veritable idol in my mind.
The sound of Jasper leaving the stall came from behind me. “Who are you?” His words were slurred, but when I heard the bolt to Henry’s stable door open and close, I felt Jasper’s approach. Knowing I couldn’t get out of explaining myself, I turned slowly and finally met his eyes.
My chest felt like it had been cracked wide open when Jasper Knighton’s thirty-two-year-old face came into view. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot from what I presumed was the whiskey, but they were sharp and focused on me. Thick dark scruff covered his cheeks and chin, and his longer hair fell in loose waves over his forehead.
Jasper Knighton was quite literally the handsomest man I had ever seen. He was tall and broad, with lean, toned muscles and a face that was perfect but for a slight scar that ran through his eyebrow from a riding incident years ago. I remembered it like it was yesterday. In Monaco, after jumping a fence, his reins snapped in two—a freak accident. But the buckle of the rein shot upward and sliced through his eyebrow, causing it to bleed. Despite this, Jasper stayed seated on Lord Henry, clearing the last fence of the jump-off by holding on to Henry’s platinum mane and trusting his stallion to keep him safe. It won him the Grand Prix. It was the greatest display of horsemanship I’d ever witnessed.
Jasper’s lips parted and a slip of breath pushed through, bringing me back to the here and now. My long dark hair was free from a tie and fell to my waist, rather than being held back in my usual daytime braid. His eyes roved over every part of me. I felt completely exposed, but shivers of excitement traveled like lightning over every inch of me.
“You look like an angel,” Jasper rasped, and his comment only made me lose my composure even more. “You’re stunning.”