A Glimpse of Fire

“Come on. Let’s pick out a horse.”

She made a face. “We don’t have much time before it gets dark.”

He smiled, his body thrumming with anticipation. “Sometimes interesting things happen in the dark.”

5

BY THE TIME THEY GOT TO THE fourth horse—wearing a straw hat with an orange band and large drooping yellow daisies—Dallas knew Penelope was the one for them. The chestnut-colored mare had sweet, soulful eyes and a soft neigh, and Dallas immediately bonded with her.

She stroked her velvety head. “Penelope’s definitely the one.”

“You’re sure now?”

“Positive.” Glancing at Eric, she realized he was teasing her and she lightly punched him in the arm.

“Okay.” He laughed. “Penelope it is.”

He spoke to the driver a moment—an older man with drooping eyes and a face lined and brown as shoe leather—and then helped Dallas into the carriage. In seconds they were trotting into the park, the sound of Penelope’s clopping hooves on the asphalt stirring a wistfulness in Dallas.

She sighed. “I haven’t ridden in ages. I used to ride every weekend when I was in high school.”

“Where?”

“At my grandparents’. They had a couple of Arabians and a palomino.”

“Am I allowed to ask where?”

She smiled. “In Connecticut.”

He slid his arm around the back of the seat and she snuggled closer. “They have ranches in Connecticut?”

“I didn’t say they owned a ranch.”

“Just recreational stables.”

“You ask too many questions.”

“I believe that was a statement.”

She just shook her head. He chuckled, and then they rode in silence for a while, enjoying the slight breeze produced by the movement of the carriage.

Ironically, more and more questions about him paraded through her head. Based on what Tom had told her, she’d figured she knew exactly who Eric was. The Rolex around his wrist, the Gucci shoes, the designer clothes—all accessories of an image-conscious social climber—confirmed her belief.

Eric was exactly the kind of man her parents wished she’d bring home. He was precisely the type she never would.

But his comments about the steel mill usurped her logic. Made her wonder about his link to the other side of the coin. Not just because he had lived in an industrial city like Pittsburgh. A variety of jobs existed there just as in any other city. But there had been something personal in his voice, a tinge of bitterness that came from firsthand experience.

“See? Playing tourist isn’t so bad, is it?” he whispered, his mouth so close to her ear that his warm breath sent a shiver down her spine.

“I’ll admit this is nice.” She turned her head toward him, knowing exactly what would happen.

His lips brushed hers lightly, a teasing swipe that left her wanting more. She angled toward him, resting her palm on his thigh. She heard his sharp intake of breath and realized just how high up she’d placed her hand. Resisting the urge to jerk back, she pressed her lips harder against his.

He ran the tip of his tongue across the seam of her lips until she opened to him. She heard voices along the path, someone giggling, but she didn’t care. Her pulse raced with every swipe he took with his tongue, exploring the fleshy inside of her mouth, leisurely tracing her teeth.

Heat spread through her chest and up her neck. And then the warmth flooded her belly, spiraled lower, until she had to squeeze her thighs together.

Eric moved his hand to her waist, his fingers probing her bare skin where her shirt ended. She sucked in a breath as he explored her belly and then moved his hand higher so that he cupped the underside of her breast.

The driver started to whistle an unfamiliar tune. He hadn’t turned around and seen them, she was relatively certain, but the reminder that they were out in public put a damper on her excitement.

Eric obviously sensed her retreat and stilled his hand. He broke the kiss and pulled back to look at her. She couldn’t see his face very well. It seemed to have gotten dark so quickly.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his fingers idly stroking her skin.

“Other than the fact that we’re in the middle of Central Park acting like two hormonal teenagers, no.” She snarled. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“It’s too dusky. No one saw anything other than us kissing.”

She shifted so that his hand fell away from her belly.

“Tell you what, let’s use the blanket.” He reached behind him and brought out the small stadium-style blanket that had been left on the seat.

“It’s too warm for a blanket.”

“Exactly.” He shook it out. “So why else do you think the driver left it.”

She laughed. “He did not.”

“Ask him.”

“Right.”

He laid the blanket across their laps. “Trust me. We aren’t the first couple to neck in Central Park.”

“I’ve always had a problem with the term ‘trust me.’”

The carriage ran over a small bump and she fell against him.

“Sorry, folks,” the driver muttered half over his shoulder without turning around.

Eric slid both his arms around her and brought her back against his chest. “Isn’t that more comfortable?”

“It would be if I could—” She gasped as his hands moved up to cup her breasts. She leaned her head back and he kissed the side of her neck.

He inhaled deeply and whispered, “You smell good.” He kissed her neck again, trailing his tongue to the area just below her ear. “You taste good.”