The Virgin's Debt To Pay. ABBY GREEN

been so clean.’ Luc’s head groom laughed but soon stopped when Luc fixed him with a dark look.

      ‘No, you shouldn’t. Maybe you need new staff.’

      Simon Corrigan swallowed and changed the subject. ‘Can I ask why we’re not paying her? It seems—’

      ‘No, you can’t.’ Luc cut him off, not liking the way his conscience was stinging. He was many things, but no one had ever faulted him on his sense of fairness and equality. But only he and Pascal Blanc knew what was behind Paddy O’Sullivan’s sudden disappearance, and he wanted to keep it that way.

      Nessa had been working at his stables for a week now. She hadn’t turned tail and run or had a tantrum as he’d expected. He could still see her in his mind’s eye—standing in the yard the other day, her back as straight as a dancer, face flushed, amber-green eyes bright and alive. That soft lush mouth compressed. Long tendrils of dark red hair clinging to her hot cheeks as she’d obviously struggled to keep her temper in check.

      Her T-shirt had been so worn he could make out the shape of her breasts—small, lush swells, high and firm.

      He could also remember the feeling that had swept through him when he’d heard her carefree laugh. It hadn’t been anger that she might be up to something. It had been something much hotter and ambiguous; a sense of possessiveness that had shocked him. It wasn’t something he felt for anything much, except horses or business acquisitions.

      ‘Where is she now?’ Luc asked Corrigan abruptly.

      ‘She’s helping to bring the stallions in from the paddocks. Do you want me to give her a message?’

      Luc shook his head. ‘No, I’ll do it.’

      But when Luc got to the stallions’ stables Nessa was nowhere to be seen and all the stallions had been settled for the evening. Feeling a mounting frustration, he went looking for her.

      * * *

      ‘You are a beautiful boy, aren’t you? Yes, you are...and you know it too. Yes, there you go...’ The three-year-old colt whinnied softly in appreciation as he took the raw carrot from Nessa’s hand and she rubbed his nose.

      She knew she shouldn’t be here in the racing section of Barbier’s stables, where the current thoroughbreds resided, but she hadn’t been able to resist. She felt at peace for the first time in days, even as her body actually ached with the need to feel a horse underneath her with all that coiled power and strength and speed. But she wouldn’t be riding again for a while.

      ‘You were told to stay away from this area.’

      And just like that Nessa’s short-lived sense of peace vanished and was replaced by an all-too predictable jump in her heart-rate. She turned around to see Barbier standing a few feet away, arms folded. He was wearing a white shirt, and it made his skin look even darker. His hair touched the collar, curling slightly.

      ‘I’m on a break,’ she responded defensively, wondering if he was this autocratic with all his employees. But she had to admit that, so far, everyone seemed pretty content to be working here. She’d found out that the employee who’d been fired on the spot had been smoking weed and she’d had to concede that he would have suffered a similar fate on their own stud farm. Barbier had also enrolled the employee on an addiction course. It was disconcerting to realise that perhaps he wasn’t as ruthless as she’d like to believe.

      Barbier moved now and closed the distance between them before she could take another breath. He snatched the rest of the carrot out of her hand, frowning. ‘What are you feeding Tempest?’

      ‘It’s just a carrot.’ She pulled her hand back into her chest disconcerted by the shock his fleeting touch had given her.

      He glared at her, and he was far too close, but Nessa’s back was against the stall door and the horse. She was trapped.

      ‘No one is allowed to feed my horses unless they’re supervised.’

      Her mouth dropped open and then she sputtered, ‘It’s just a carrot!’

      He was grim. ‘A carrot that could contain poison or traces of steroids for all I know.’

      Nessa went cold. ‘You think I would harm your horses?’

      His jaw was as hard as granite. ‘I’m under enough scrutiny as it is. I don’t need the possible accomplice of a thief messing around with my valuable livestock. I don’t know what you’re capable of. How did you know that this is the horse?’

      Nessa struggled to keep up. ‘What horse?’

      Now Barbier was impatient. ‘The horse I bought from Gio Corretti.’

      Nessa swallowed. ‘I had no idea, I just came in for a visit. He seemed agitated.’

      Barbier’s gaze went from her to the horse behind her and she took the opportunity to slide sideways, putting some distance between them. He put out a hand and stroked the side of Tempest’s neck, murmuring soft words in French. Nessa’s gaze locked onto his big hand stroking the horse, and she had to struggle not to imagine how that hand might feel on her. She’d never in her life imagined a man stroking her—she must be losing her mind.

      The horse pushed his head into Barbier’s hand and Nessa glanced at Barbier to see his features relax slightly. For a heady moment she imagined that there was no enmity between them and that he might not always look at her as if she’d just committed a crime. She wondered what he’d look like if he smiled and then she glanced away quickly, mortified at herself and afraid he would read her shameful thoughts on her face.

      Barbier said, ‘He’s been agitated since he arrived, not settling in properly.’

      Welcoming the diversion from her wayward imagination, Nessa replied, ‘He’s probably just pining for his mother.’

      Barbier looked at her sharply, his hand dropping away. ‘How would you know such a thing?’

      Nessa flushed and kept avoiding his eye. How could she explain the weird affinity for horses that she shared with her sister and father? She shrugged. ‘I just guessed.’

      Barbier’s voice was harsh. ‘Gio Corretti told me and your brother that we might have issues settling the colt because he hadn’t been separated from his mother until recently, which is unusual. That’s how you know.’

      Nessa looked at Barbier and saw the condemnation and distrust in his eyes. How could she defend a gut feeling? She shrugged and looked away. ‘If you say so.’

      Without realising it, Nessa’s hand had instinctively lifted up to touch the horse again, until suddenly Barbier reached out and took it. Nessa jumped at the weird electricity that sparked whenever they got too close. She tried to pull her hand back but his grip was too firm. And warm.

      He was holding her palm facing upwards, and asked grimly, ‘What is this?’

      She looked down and saw what he saw: her very unpretty hands, skin roughened from her training as a jockey and blistered from the last few days of hard work. Humiliated at the thought that he’d see this as proof she wasn’t used to work, she yanked her hand back and cradled it to her chest again. ‘It’s nothing.’

      She backed away towards the entrance. ‘I should go—my break is over.’ She turned and forced herself to walk and not run away, not even sure what she was running from. But something about the way he’d just taken her hand and looked so disapproving to see the marks of her labour made her feel incredibly self-conscious and also a little emotional, which was truly bizarre.

      Nessa couldn’t recall the last time anyone had focused attention on her like that. Her sister had done her best but she wasn’t their mother. Their father hadn’t been much use while he’d drowned his sorrows.

      So they’d had to fend for themselves mostly. She hadn’t even realised until that moment how much another’s touch could pierce her right to the core. And for it to have been Luc Barbier was inconceivable and very disturbing.