Conflicted (Everlasting Love)(31)
“Yes?” Her voice was low, breathless.
“You do know that I’m a perfectionist, don’t you?”
She shuddered as his fingers found her and began to stroke. “Thank goodness.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
JESSE BENT TO PICK up the shards of glass from the tumbler he’d thrown earlier, grimacing when one of the pieces sliced his finger. The glass had been one of a set her father had prized—given to him by the last man who’d ever trained a horse that won the Triple Crown, Big John had sworn the glasses were lucky.
So much for luck. Still, Jesse shouldn’t have thrown the stupid thing—the glasses were a tangible symbol of everything Desiree wanted and therefore were special to her. Besides, it didn’t belong to him. Like everything else on this ranch, it belonged to Desiree and would be passed on to their children when she died.
The fact that she came from money didn’t bother him—through the years he’d made a lot of money himself through his share of the winners’ purses as well as his hefty salary. Enough to start Cherokee Dreaming. Money wasn’t, and had never been, the issue.
What bothered him, what had always bothered him, was the fact that he and Desiree didn’t have a place of their own. A place that he had contributed to as much as, if not more than she had.
He threw away the pieces then crossed to the frame he’d knocked off the wall in his earlier fury. Without looking at the picture, he piled the broken glass on it before carrying it across the study to the trash can. It was only after he’d discarded the glass that he realized which frame had fallen.
It was then that he began to shake, even as he tried to ignore the yellowed newspaper article. Even as he told himself to remount it, to leave it on the desk, to walk away, he found himself reading the words Desiree had saved so long ago, and for a brief moment he was thrust back to where so much of this had begun.
And in horseracing news, Desiree Hawthorne, 23, only child of renowned Thoroughbred rancher and racer Big John Hawthorne, has wed Jesse Rainwater, 38, a man considered by many to be the best trainer in the business.
The two were wed in a quiet ceremony in Las Vegas and are currently honeymooning in Hawaii. The ceremony was attended by only two witnesses, as the bride’s father was not in attendance and the groom’s parents are deceased.
In a statement released earlier today, the bride writes, “Jesse and I are thrilled to celebrate our love through the lifelong commitment of marriage. After the honeymoon, we will be settling on the Triple H, where we will concentrate on upholding the legacy of one of the best and brightest Thoroughbred ranches in America.”
“ARE YOU SURE you want to do this?” Jesse asked, as he opened the hotel room door.
“I’m positive.” Desiree’s voice was firm as she preceded him into the room, but he saw her chin wobble a little as she spoke.
Dropping the bags, Jesse kicked the door shut with one booted foot before gathering her into his arms. His lips skimmed over her hair, down her cheek and he spent a moment, just a moment, reveling in the wildflower and honey scent of her. For the first time in memory she was stiff in his arms, her firm, rounded curves unyielding against him.
Her unusual reticence made him nervous. Pulling away, he said, “I mean it, Desiree. If you’re having second thoughts, we can forget about it. We can stay a couple of nights, have some fun, do a little gambling then head home—a minivacation.”
“Me?” She laughed, the sound more sad than joyous. “This whole thing was my idea. Why would I be the one to back out now that we’re here?”
He shrugged, going to the window to look out at the bright lights and milling people that made up so much of the Las Vegas strip. “You’ve been nervous since we got off the plane. I thought reality might have suddenly set in, that’s all.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
He turned at the sharpness of her tone, one eyebrow raised. “You’re not acting like the woman who proposed to me eight days ago or even like the one who got on the plane with me this morning. I’m wondering if maybe you think this is a bad idea.”
“Me? It took everything I had just to get you to the airport this morning.” Her arms were crossed defensively over her chest, and her lower lip stuck out in a definite pout. It was a look he’d never seen on her before and one he couldn’t help being a little bit aroused by.
“I’m here, aren’t I? And you’re the one who’s suddenly acting nervous.” He studied her, watched anger flicker in her slumberous eyes.
“That’s your big concession? That you’re here? Well, don’t I feel special now?” Picking up her suitcase, she hurled it onto the bed and began unpacking with stiff, uncoordinated movements.
“You know, you could just tell me what’s wrong instead of going through this asinine, juvenile game.”
He caught the hairbrush that came hurtling at him just before it collided with his eye. “I am not juvenile!” she yelled, even as she looked for something else to launch.
“I didn’t say you were.” He ducked in time to miss a flying red stiletto. “But then again, you are the one having the temper tantrum.”
She screamed, before chucking her makeup bag, a bottle of her favorite perfume and her hair dryer at him in quick succession. He ducked under the first, caught the second, but wasn’t fast enough to keep the third from banging painfully against his hip.