My Secret Fantasies

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I sat beside him, grateful to have a conversation that wasn’t about the sale of his building, or my notoriety. I definitely liked him, and not just because he was megahot. Even if his vision for Fraser Farm was an obstacle to my tearoom, I couldn’t help but admire his commitment. More than that, I still remembered the look on his face when he’d watched the foal stand for the first time.

“How long did you work here before you bought the place?” I put my feet on the ledge, tucking my knees under my chin while we talked. I was cooling down now that we were out of the stables, especially when the breeze occasionally blew the mist from the fountain onto my arms. It went right through my lace blouse.

“Off and on for six years. Even after I did a business internship overseas, the owner convinced me to come back here and apply some of what I’d learned to upgrade his operations.” Damien folded his arms across his chest, staring off into the distance, where I could see lights from what was probably his house. “He also convinced me to buy my own racehorse.”

“Really?” I sounded more surprised than I should have. “I mean, I guess it stands to reason that you must like racing. But I picture Thoroughbred racing as a very upscale sport, and today I’ve seen a very...er, earthy side of you.”

He laughed and that deep, warm sound chased off some of the chill I’d been feeling.

“The behind-the-scenes route to the winner’s circle isn’t exactly littered with roses. But my friend had given me a hell of a deal on the horse he sold me—Learn From Your Mistakes—and I started winning races.”

“Learn From Your Mistakes?” I had to smile. “Sounds like a horse I should have bought.”

“He turned out lucky for me. I made enough off his racing winnings to invest in two more horses. They both paid off even better than my first.” Damien’s voice quieted. “Little did I know Ted was trying to help me earn enough money to make a down payment on this place and take it over.”

“He sounds very generous.” I thought about my own winnings from Gutsy Girl. I wanted so much to put that money to work for me the same way Damien had made his horse’s earnings pay off with smart investments. “So then you bought him out?”

The sound of a soft, horsey snort came from one of the nearby stables, the scent of hay on the breeze.

“He was diagnosed with cancer and wanted to spend the rest of his time on a beach in Costa Rica, but he’d made commitments to other owners, since he boarded horses here. He was in a hurry to sell, but wanted to put the farm in the hands of someone who would honor those obligations and fulfill his other dream, of opening a Thoroughbred retirement and retraining facility.”

“Retraining facility?”

“For horses that don’t make the cut on the racing circuit. Too often, those Thoroughbreds who don’t start winning early in their career aren’t given a long enough chance to prove their worth. But there are a lot of options for them. Show horses. Pleasure horses. They just need a different kind of training. So we’re doing that here.”

“That’s a great idea.” I’d noticed construction equipment and new barns in the distance. I hadn’t expected that development would be for such humane purposes.

“If I make enough profit on one side of the business, it just might support the other. But the farm turned out to be a second chance for me. I guess I liked the idea of giving the Thoroughbreds second chances, too.” He shrugged. “Besides, I got the place for a bargain. But when I tried to give Ted more, he only ended up buying the architectural plans for the next phase of development he’d planned for the farm.”

“So he put the money back into the business, anyhow.”

“Yeah. He’s doing well, too, healthwise. If I don’t keep him updated on the farm, he hounds me for information. I can tell he misses it.”

“And all of a sudden you’re a horse breeder.” I tried to picture all that must have entailed, even as I wondered why Damien felt a debt to the former owner. I could tell he hadn’t just bought the farm for a love of Thoroughbreds. He’d wanted to help out a friend. He’d wanted to give those hard-luck horses a second chance. That said something special about the kind of guy he was. “Although you must have been very familiar with the business if you worked here even as a teenager. You seemed comfortable enough in the birthing stall.”

“I spent a small fortune having a vet by my side for the first few births after Ted left the farm, but I’ve learned what to look for now, so that if everything is going smoothly, I don’t need that level of help.”

“Bekkah’s great,” I observed, shivering involuntarily.

“Are you cold?”

“I’m fine.” I hugged my knees tighter, unwilling to end this conversation and potentially have him drop me off at a local hotel. I couldn’t think about my broken-down SUV and my broken-down life right now.

I needed a break from reporters looking to get a story on me, and digging into my past. Scotty hadn’t told Damien that the Nebraska Backstabber nickname came more from me dating the man my sister later married—an incident that had been widely gossiped about in my small hometown before I left. Tabloid media had latched on to that nickname with both hands, spinning it into a bigger story after my unlikely win.

Little did they know that Rick had only used me to get close to my family, close to my sister, who’d always been “the pretty one.” His defection had hurt when he’d started dating Nina, but I’d gotten over it when I realized he was a bit of a sociopath—a charming liar whose brooding intensity covered a mass of insecurities more widespread than mine. Not that I could convince Nina of that at the time. She’d had to figure it out on her own. The fact that he was trying to connect with me so soon after his divorce did not bode well, but I could be anonymous here.

“Look, Miranda, I’m not going to kick you out if you need a place to stay.” Getting to his feet, Damien offered me a hand. “You were great back there, helping out without being asked.”

I stared at his hand for a moment. Touching him, even in such an innocuous way, seemed like something that would be...significant.

“I didn’t mind.” Carefully, I laid my fingers along his palm, waiting for the pleasure of it to subside into something more tame and appropriate, considering we’d only just met. “It reminded me of home. The nice parts of home, that is.”

My voice hit a husky note that I hoped he would attribute to sentimentality instead of raw attraction. But I was drawn to Damien in a way I’d never been drawn to any other man.

For a woman like me, with the kind of dating history I’d had and the flat-out issues I had with sex and romance, this was a daunting realization. It felt encouraging in some ways, since it meant I still had a sensual fire inside me somewhere. Worrisome in other ways, since I couldn’t imagine how I’d ever act on what I felt.

The attraction seemed exciting and scary at the same time.

“Well, I owe you.” He gave my hand a gentle squeeze once I was on my feet, then let go of my fingers. “And I told you, I’ve got some extra rooms for guests who want to visit their horses on site. Why don’t you stay in one of those tonight?”

I fisted my hand, holding the feel of him tight.

“As much as I hate to impose, that would really help me out.” I wasn’t going to dissemble and try to pretend I would be fine on my own.

Pride goes before a fall, right? Or something like that. I could not afford to be proud about this.

“Sure.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of his pickup. “You need a ride back to your vehicle for a bag?”

“That’d be great.” I followed him toward the truck, hope beating fresh in my heart, along with a girlie awareness of Damien that I could not allow to distract me.

I wanted to have a good working relationship with him for the sake of the tearoom I was determined to have. Plus, I liked the idea of being in his world so I could see what new ideas I might have for Shaelynn’s hero. I might not be able to have him, but my fictional heroine could.

After all, it felt as if he’d walked out of my imagination and into my real life, waking a sleeping sensuality and stirring something...deeply appealing. If that wasn’t a sign I was supposed to be here, I didn’t know what was.

But I drew the line at acting on the heat I was feeling for Damien. Because there was no way I would let my issues with men interfere in what could still be the best business decision of my life.

3

EVEN BEFORE HE was fully conscious the next morning, Damien’s gaze was drawn to the window of the building where he’d settled Miranda Cortland the night before. He’d put her in the best rooms he had, a large suite meant for a family or business partners who were travelling together.

The suite took up half the third floor over the offices. Many of the offices were still vacant while the business grew, but he had separate managers for the stallions, the broodmares and the yearlings, along with some administrative support people and a part-time transportation guy. Down the road, he’d need more exercisers, trainers and a sales director. Assuming he didn’t bankrupt the whole outfit first.

Tearing his eyes away from the building where Miranda had slept, Damien hauled himself out of bed and vowed not to let her distract him from his work here. He had no intention of screwing up the operation that Ted Howard had entrusted him with. Damien had thrived under the man’s guidance at a time when his every move had been chronicled in teen magazines. As the son of someone famous, he’d had cameras following him everywhere, even though he had no interest in the movie business. Damien’s father had laughed off his worries, purposely shoving him into the spotlight to, as the old man put it, “get over himself.” If not for Ted, Damien might have ended up completely severing ties with his father.

But he’d learned patience working here. Learned to separate himself from a father who thwarted his every effort to succeed, in some misguided attempt to make Damien “tougher.” So he wasn’t going to let his mentor down now, even though he was tempted to ignore what was best for the business and just sell that old farm stand to Miranda. After seeing her go to work in the foaling stall yesterday, he had to admire her grit.

A shower and a cup of coffee later, he headed out into the mist of another Northern California–winter morning, inhaling the earthy scents of the land that had saved his sorry ass when he’d first come here. The closest pastures were bordered by olive trees, the green-red of the fruit muted by a heavy coating of dew.

Carrying his second cup of coffee with him, he was making his way to the barn to check on Tallulah’s Nine and the new foal when he heard a woman’s off-key voice lifted in song.

“Bekkah?”

The singing stopped.

“Damien?” A dark head popped out of the birthing stall. And while the woman’s features were familiar, they did not belong to the veterinarian’s assistant. “Good morning.”

“Miranda?” He blinked and refocused as he closed the distance between them, and realized she was alone with the foal and the mare. “Is it just me, or were you a blonde when you went to bed last night?”

Heat crawled up his spine as soon as he asked the question, the mention of Miranda and “bed” mingling the concepts damned attractively in his mind. He liked seeing her in a borrowed canvas coat with the Fraser Farm logo on it, as much as he’d liked seeing her in lace and a belly-button ring—both of which had figured heavily in his dreams the night before. To distract himself, he edged past her to stroke the mare’s nose.

“Funny thing about that.” She set aside a pitchfork that she must have been using to spread more straw. The stall appeared spotless, the scent of fresh hay stronger than the smell of horses. “I’d meant to dye my hair before I came up here, but it slipped my mind. After Scotty recognized me from Gutsy Girl yesterday, I remembered how much I needed to try life as a brunette.” She settled on a worn wooden stool in one corner of the stall. “I took over for Bekkah a few minutes ago so she could grab some breakfast, by the way.”

He’d almost managed to forget that Miranda was an actress, until she’d brought up that show again.

He nodded, knowing he ought to be grateful for the reminder to keep his hands off her. He wasn’t. “Bekkah sent me a few updates last night. Sounds like the foal has been nursing regularly.”

“He looks really healthy, doesn’t he?” Miranda settled her palm on the foal’s flank, both animals calm and accepting of her presence.

It was beneficial to accustom the horses to handlers early in life, one of many reasons Damien liked having an attendant around the new foals. Better to think about that instead of the subtle curve of Miranda’s hip.

“Thanks for checking on them.” He liked a woman who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. So different from every other Hollywood type he’d ever known.

He’d had a lot of experience with wannabe starlets, and most of them had been high maintenance. Cautious of their appearance at all times. His mom, in fact, had met his father back when she’d been acting. Motherhood had turned out to be a bit too hands-on for her.

“No problem.” Miranda rubbed her fingers together, and when he saw a hint of her breath, Damien realized she must be cold.

“There are heavier jackets in the tack room, where you found the boots.” He pointed to the big rubber footwear she’d helped herself to this morning. He’d insisted she wear them last night, since she couldn’t go into the barns in flip-flops.

“Maybe in a minute.” She gave him a sheepish grin. “I was actually trying to send a hint about the coffee.”

She pointed toward his insulated mug.

He had the feeling she would have taken his and chugged straight from his cup.

“There’s a fresh pot up at the house.” Picturing her in his kitchen proved almost as potent as envisioning her in his bed. But when she didn’t move to take him up on the offer, he extended his mug. “Or you can have—”

“Ohmigod. Thank you.” She accepted the stainless-steel mug with both hands and drew it to her face so she could inhale the steam. “I’ve been awake most of the night, and when I smelled this, I was seized with this major caffeine craving.”

Intrigued by her in spite of himself, Damien leaned against the stall wall while Tallulah’s Nine nursed her foal. He noticed Miranda didn’t wear nail polish, but her fingernails seemed to bear stickers of different flowers. A daisy on one thumb. A daffodil on the other. Some purple blooms on the pointer fingers. It was easy to see them, with her hands clutching the coffee cup. She treated drinking like a ritual, all her attention devoted to the task until she’d taken three long sips.