7. Mika

7

MIKA

I ’m halfway across the property before I slow down enough to realize I left Fate with someone who has minimal horse knowledge—if any. Hopefully, Alfie had enough common sense to close her stall door when he left, because I’m not going back to check.

I can’t risk running into him again.

I’ve never been so desperate to leave a situation in my life. And now I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. Quit? Hell, I might already be fired, and I just didn’t stick around long enough to find out.

But surprisingly, that’s not what bothers me most.

What does is that I can no longer say I don’t want Alfie Bonetti to kiss me.

Gravel crunches under my barn boots, and the mature cottonwood trees lining the road create a soothing canopy. I keep my eyes fixed on the dirt road leading to the workers’ accommodations, a small collection of ranch-style homes near the north edge of the estate—nearly a mile from the main house, with the stables in between.

I can feel my breathing and pulse calming as I follow the road to my safe space. And still, I’ve never been more confused. My chest aches with a tangle of conflicting emotions as I try to process what just happened. I’m not at all okay with any of it.

My physical reaction to Alfie’s touch was completely unexpected. I sincerely did not want the attention. I still don’t. Because I meant it when I said I won’t be someone’s mistress. It goes against everything I believe in.

I can’t fathom how he could behave so shamelessly about the suggestion, when he supposedly cares enough about another woman that he’s asked her to marry him. And yet, he flirts with me as if there were no one else in the world he’d rather be with.

And I couldn’t help but want it.

Something about his easy confidence and casual charm is dangerously attractive. And on top of his model-worthy looks, there’s a strange chemistry between us that creates a magnetic pull every time he steps too close. I felt it as soon as we entered my office—a tingling energy that only intensified the nearer he got.

Clearly, he has no problem entering my personal space. That’s a common theme in the horse world—men who don’t take no for an answer, who expect to get what they want without having to face consequences. It’s what happens when rich, powerful men learn they can have whatever they demand because no one ever tells them no, and stands their ground.

As a young woman, before I learned better, I found it thrilling—when important men showed interest in me, called me beautiful, asked me out to dinner, and made me feel special. More than once, men have flattered and charmed me into thinking they were good people with a genuine interest in me, who I am, and what I thought. Only to find out that they were less than honest—that they had one thing on their minds, and once they got it, they were on the next plane to the Bahamas with their wife and kids—crushed me.

No doubt Alfie is just like the rest of them. Only he doesn’t even have the humility to feel bad about it. At least the other assholes who wanted to get inside my pants—and the few who actually succeeded—had the decency to try and hide their indiscretion. At least they recognized that I have enough self-respect to want more than to serve as someone’s side piece.

Over the years, I’ve learned it’s best to just keep my distance. A cold demeanor sends a clear message that I’m not interested. I don’t want a casual roll in the hay, which is apparently all I’m good for in this world. I would much prefer to live alone and form meaningful relationships with my animals than to let another entitled asshole use me for his own satisfaction.

Logically, I know that. I’ve been putting that into practice for years. And most of the time, I really don’t mind my solitude. The men I work with respect my personal space, and the Carvers have been nothing but kind and supportive in that regard. Only now they’re gone. And the man who’s taken charge has no qualms about trampling my boundaries.

I’ve never had a boss cross that line before. Objectively speaking, I know the safest choice would be to hand in my resignation, to leave before he has the opportunity to try anything like that again. And yet, I’m painfully reluctant to do so.

What happened in Fate’s stall is beyond reason. As inappropriate as Alfie’s behavior was, I can make sense of it. I know what kind of man he is. His actions are predictable, and I can see where it’s headed. What I’m struggling to wrap my mind around is my response. Alfie triggered something in me that I don’t quite understand. When he encouraged me to deny my feelings for him, even challenged me to do so, I couldn’t.

I might have pushed him away in the end, but for a moment, I’m pretty sure I lost my fucking mind.

Not only is he my employer, he has a fiancée , for fuck’s sake. And I won’t relegate myself to being someone’s side piece. Never again. The pain it causes in the end, to me and to others, isn’t worth the momentary pleasure. Not that there was even that much of that , from the selfish men I’ve encountered before.

The tension eases slightly from my shoulders as my house comes into view. It’s where I’ve lived since the Carvers hired me four years ago. The residence sits beside the property manager’s house, and since I’m here almost 24/7, it made sense when they offered me the accommodations. There’s no commute, and I can check on the horses at night and be at work within minutes every morning.

My white Ford F250 sits in the drive, trailer hitch attached to the back, waiting to haul us to the next race. But I prefer walking the short distance to and from the barn every day. It gives me time to get my head in the right place for the day ahead.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I step inside my house, a simple two-bedroom home with plush, dark-leather couches, wood floors, muted pistachio-colored walls, and generic farmhouse paintings adorning them. It came furnished, and it’s nothing special or exceptionally stylish, but it’s perfectly utilitarian and comfortable. And it feels like home.

I stop and unzip my barn boots as soon as I’m in the door, kicking them off so I won’t get the house dirty. Then, I move further inside.

The air is still, clean, and cool. The scent of eggs and toast—my breakfast from this morning—lingers subtly in the mustard-colored kitchen. I close my eyes, breathing deeply to remind myself of who I am. Why I’m here.

It’s most definitely not for Alfie Bonetti.

But the scent of patchouli and eucalyptus triggers an image of him in my mind, and my breath hitches as I realize his scent still clings to my clothes. Shrugging out of my plaid button-down, I toss it to the floor and head toward my room, desperate to get away from the stifling reminder of his presence.

Peeling my tank top over my head, I toss it into my hamper, quickly following it with my jeans and underwear. And though it’s only midafternoon, I feel the intense need for a bath—something calm and soothing that will help me cleanse the throbbing ache between my thighs, and hopefully wash the memory of my new boss’s lips from my mind.

I turn the water on hot and wait, testing it as steam steadily billows from the rising surface. I pour a healthy amount of lavender Epsom salts into my soak. I dip a toe in once more before slowly sinking into the soothing floral concoction .

It’s the perfect remedy for a long day on the track. I’ve often taken baths after a horse managed to toss me unexpectedly from the saddle—usually a baby so new to being ridden, that it didn’t know what to make of a human on its back. But today, I need the calming heat and the rich scent of comfort to ease my tumultuous thoughts.

What is it about Alfie Bonetti that has me tied into such knots?

He’s prideful, entitled, and highly annoying. He doesn’t know the first thing about caring for the gentle creatures he’s just poured millions of dollars into. And I have no doubt he would never put an animal’s needs above his own. He’s just like the rest of them—rich, self-serving, and pushy.

So, why am I this painfully attracted to him?

I hate it.

Men like that don’t give a second thought to women—let alone a woman who has climbed, tooth and nail, from the bottom of the heap to make a name for herself. And it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth to think he’s stepped into my life and upturned all my plans with the flick of his wrist. One signature, and he all but owns me.

He most certainly owns every animal I’ve poured my blood, sweat, and tears into for the past four years. The Carvers didn’t even stop to consider what it would mean if they sold their barn to Alfie Bonetti. And here I am, contemplating if I’ll even have a future now that Alfie’s taken an interest in horse racing. An interest in me .

Despite the steam rising around me, the liquid heat seeping into my skin and pounding through my veins, an icy shiver trickles down my spine. It doesn’t matter how hot the bathwater is. I can’t run from what happened today. The man who purchased every one of the Carvers’ horses wants me. He spent a hundred million dollars just so he could retain me. And now I’m starting to think the decision had nothing to do with my skills as a trainer—not that I really believed that was a factor in the first place. But today confirmed my suspicion beyond a doubt.

He bought them because he wants me . It’s a grand gesture—one that could almost be flattering if he admired my work as a trainer. Once upon a time, I might have been young and naive enough to even consider it romantic. But my instincts about Alfie were correct. He might be willing to throw his money around to get closer to me, but that doesn’t mean he values me as a person.

All he wants is to satisfy his desire. And apparently, he’s willing to pay an astronomical amount for a casual fuck. I’m not a material person, but even I have to admit the price he paid for my company is astonishing. No doubt most women in my position would be willing to go along with his proposition for that kind of money.

Not me. But apparently, physical chemistry is another matter entirely.

Heat blossoms in my cheeks when I think of Alfie’s molten hazel gaze. The way he trapped me against the wall in Fate’s stall, capturing me between his arms so I couldn’t escape.

Unwanted desire pools in my belly as I relax back against the porcelain tub.

And when my eyelids drift closed, all I see are those intense golden-green eyes telling me there’s nowhere that he can’t find me.

Alfie Bonetti is maddeningly presumptuous and terrifyingly forward. I can’t believe that he bought the Carvers’ entire estate—including the home I’m now hiding in like a frightened little bunny.

He’s crossed every boundary I’ve carefully laid in place. And he did so after mere hours of getting to know me.

The smug Italian spendthrift thinks he can own me simply because he bought the stables where I work. I won’t let him.

He’s getting married . How is he not bothered by that? Does faithfulness mean nothing to him? Or maybe he’s one of those men who only considers it cheating after the wedding ceremony.

But the jolt of electricity that blasted through me when we kissed still tingles on my lips. And as I force my muscles to unwind, soaking up the tub’s warmth, I can’t help but think about the intense heat that radiated from his body as he pressed it against mine.

Fire trickles through my veins at the memory of his touch. My fingers slide down the line of my hip bone, as if taking on a life of their own. My pulse flutters with the urge to touch myself. And as I relive our kiss, I find wet heat between my thighs that has nothing to do with the bath water.

The demanding force of his lips. The soft stroke of his tongue dancing with mine. A pulse throbs in my clit. And I’m shocked by the sudden, unexpected curiosity of what it would feel like to have Alfie touch me there. I shouldn’t want to know. But I can’t seem to help the aching need for relief after just a taste of desire he ignites in me.

My fingers test the question, stroking along my slit as I send ripples across the water’s surface. I gasp at the slick arousal already urging me onward. I can claim that I dislike everything about the entitled Italian bastard, and I do—but his kiss most definitely turned me on.

And now that I’m perfectly alone, hidden away in my house, I can finally face the truth. I want Alfie, too. I want to know what it’s like to have him take command of my body. To feel the pleasure his eyes promise every time he looks at me, because something in the heat of Alfie’s gaze tells me his kisses are just the beginning.

Two of my fingers ease inside my entrance, almost as if they’re being manipulated by the puppet master himself. An electric jolt of excitement follows, racing up my spine as my breasts arch above the surface of the water.

I guide them in and out, before rubbing over my clit. Excitement blooms in my stomach, seeping into my arms and legs. It feels dangerously good to do something about the pressure that’s been building deep inside my core since today’s meeting. A surge of relief washes through my veins as I stroke my fingertips over my swollen clit, gasping at the pleasure that floods me.

Alfie knew exactly what he was doing. In my office, the way he stepped confidently between my feet—it was as if he was claiming that space as undisputed territory, his territory. Then again, when he trapped me between his arms in Fate’s stall. He’s using that magnetic pull to draw me in until I can no longer escape. I don’t doubt that he knows what he’s doing in every respect.

I don’t like the sense of power he holds over me.

At the same time, my pulse quickens every time I picture the heat in his eyes. His bold confidence tells me I have nowhere to run, no way to escape. He’s set his sights on me. And he’s going to take what he wants—regardless of his promise to another woman.

It’s the same story I’ve played out before, only this time, I’m not going in blind. And I refuse to fall victim to another man’s charms. No matter how attractive he is. No matter how much I might want him.

Shoving my conflict over Alfie from my mind, I focus on the pleasure that will ease my tension. My fingers stroke between my folds again, the sensation building, my fingers stroking feverishly as I push myself to the edge. I need this, and I no longer want to draw it out. I want to take control of my desire again, give myself what I need, and move on from this afternoon.

Throbbing with the need for release, I circle my sensitive clit, adding pressure until my excitement builds into a hot ball of anticipation in my core. I pant, and my hips roll, allowing the hot water to envelop me up to my neck. The surging sense of pleasure makes my knees weak, and my thighs quiver, sloshing water as my mind goes blank, the intense euphoria overwhelming my senses as I gasp, my toes curling against the hard porcelain. My fingers circle more urgently, and a tingling relief floods my belly as I reach my peak.

Then, just as I reach the pinnacle, toppling into oblivion, Alfie’s strong, chiseled features, those daring hazel eyes, and wolfish smile burst into my vision. Groaning, I try to think of something else, but I can’t. I’m too far gone. And ecstasy surges through my veins as I reach my climax with the image of my new boss burned into my mind’s eye.

Collapsing back against my tub, I let the relief saturate every throbbing inch of my body.

But, as I relax into the wet warmth, guilt and self-loathing follow closely behind.