Read Online The Skeleton King (Dartmoor Book 3) by Lauren Gilley - Free Book Online
Authors: Lauren Gilley
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other rider a furious look, only to realize that another collision was coming. Forget pace, forget safety – this bastard was trying to unhorse him.
Without thinking, Walsh brought his whip down across the other jockey’s face, with all the force in his small arm.
The jockey jerked backward, hauling on the reins –
The horse stumbled –
Walsh felt the bottom go out of his stomach as he watched the other horse go down on its knees, falling from a full gallop, somersaulting. The jockey went flying –
Straight into another horse’s path.
Five
She was dreaming. Gin always made her dream. Knowing that it wasn’t real, that it was only an illusion, Emmie lay still as Walsh climbed onto the bed beside her. He was still wearing that vest with all the patches, and he smelled dangerous, and his eyes were narrow, bright, and penetrating.
She was naked, but that seemed natural. She eased onto her back as he climbed over her, opened her legs so he could settle between them. She was the one to initiate contact; she took his hand in hers and brought it to her breast, jerked upward into his touch because his rings were cold against her skin.
He stared at her a long, unreadable moment, his expression blank.
“Please,” she whispered. “I…”
And then he was thrusting inside her, and it was even better than she’d expected. They were well-matched size-wise, and his hips flexed generously against hers, creating a delicious friction as counterpoint to the heat and weight of him inside her.
Emmie closed her eyes and gave into the rhythm, let herself relax and enjoy it. She –
Her eyes slammed open and she was in her apartment, in her bed, alone. She’d kicked her covers off and rolled onto her stomach. Her face burned when she realized she was grinding against her mattress, flushed and damp all over, physically affected by the vision in her dream.
It had been a long time since she’d been with a man, and before that, it had fallen flat and been less than stimulating. She’d known the day before that she was attracted to Walsh – she was a big girl, she could admit that.
Apparently, she hadn’t known how attracted. And apparently, dream-her was all hot and bothered about the biker angle, even if awake-her found it irresponsible, immature, much too dangerous…
And Jesus, hot as hell.
She rolled onto her back and exhaled loudly toward the ceiling. She was falling apart. The fatigue, the worry, this wet dream – all symptoms that a breakdown was in her future.
What she needed was a ride. And not of the biker playboy variety.
She checked the clock – five. Still dark, but that’s what arena lights were for. She dressed in riding clothes and slipped downstairs to the dark barn, greeted by the contented, sleepy sounds of resting horses.
And by the stink of cigarette smoke.
She had no doubt who she’d find in the office, and when she flipped on the lights, Brett cursed, sitting forward in the chair he’d been reclined in, coughing on a drag of smoke.
Emmie folded her arms and propped up in the doorway. “You’re smoking in the barn.”
He kept choking and gave her a dismissive wave.
“So either, like I suspect, you can’t read all the No Smoking signs out there. Or you’re trying to burn the barn down.”
Recovered, Brett scowled at her. “What you gonna do about it if I burn the
Without thinking, Walsh brought his whip down across the other jockey’s face, with all the force in his small arm.
The jockey jerked backward, hauling on the reins –
The horse stumbled –
Walsh felt the bottom go out of his stomach as he watched the other horse go down on its knees, falling from a full gallop, somersaulting. The jockey went flying –
Straight into another horse’s path.
Five
She was dreaming. Gin always made her dream. Knowing that it wasn’t real, that it was only an illusion, Emmie lay still as Walsh climbed onto the bed beside her. He was still wearing that vest with all the patches, and he smelled dangerous, and his eyes were narrow, bright, and penetrating.
She was naked, but that seemed natural. She eased onto her back as he climbed over her, opened her legs so he could settle between them. She was the one to initiate contact; she took his hand in hers and brought it to her breast, jerked upward into his touch because his rings were cold against her skin.
He stared at her a long, unreadable moment, his expression blank.
“Please,” she whispered. “I…”
And then he was thrusting inside her, and it was even better than she’d expected. They were well-matched size-wise, and his hips flexed generously against hers, creating a delicious friction as counterpoint to the heat and weight of him inside her.
Emmie closed her eyes and gave into the rhythm, let herself relax and enjoy it. She –
Her eyes slammed open and she was in her apartment, in her bed, alone. She’d kicked her covers off and rolled onto her stomach. Her face burned when she realized she was grinding against her mattress, flushed and damp all over, physically affected by the vision in her dream.
It had been a long time since she’d been with a man, and before that, it had fallen flat and been less than stimulating. She’d known the day before that she was attracted to Walsh – she was a big girl, she could admit that.
Apparently, she hadn’t known how attracted. And apparently, dream-her was all hot and bothered about the biker angle, even if awake-her found it irresponsible, immature, much too dangerous…
And Jesus, hot as hell.
She rolled onto her back and exhaled loudly toward the ceiling. She was falling apart. The fatigue, the worry, this wet dream – all symptoms that a breakdown was in her future.
What she needed was a ride. And not of the biker playboy variety.
She checked the clock – five. Still dark, but that’s what arena lights were for. She dressed in riding clothes and slipped downstairs to the dark barn, greeted by the contented, sleepy sounds of resting horses.
And by the stink of cigarette smoke.
She had no doubt who she’d find in the office, and when she flipped on the lights, Brett cursed, sitting forward in the chair he’d been reclined in, coughing on a drag of smoke.
Emmie folded her arms and propped up in the doorway. “You’re smoking in the barn.”
He kept choking and gave her a dismissive wave.
“So either, like I suspect, you can’t read all the No Smoking signs out there. Or you’re trying to burn the barn down.”
Recovered, Brett scowled at her. “What you gonna do about it if I burn the
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