The Unbreakable Trilogy. Primula Bond

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СКАЧАТЬ lean on the door to watch him as he saddles up his big black mare. My nostrils prick at the familiar smell of linseed oil freshly brushed onto the horses’ hooves to make them gleam. There must be a groom somewhere. Did he or she see me rubbing myself on the saddle just now?

      Gustav strokes his horse as he buckles up the girth. His hair shines like silk in the dull light pooling in from the high window. I can’t resist peeking at his butt again, craning to look at his crotch in those tight breeches, and there it is, the tantalising bulge pushing against the zip.

      A brief memory hits me. Gustav the other night in his candelit house, lying vanquished and groaning on the sofa as I sucked him.

      And then my horse shakes her head and stamps her hoof, and the memory melts.

      Gustav emerges from the far stable. Pets and their owners. It’s true. The high cheekbones of the highly bred horse, the majestic curve of the nose, even the over-long eyelashes and glossy mane are all an equine version of him.

      Gustav eases a sugar lump into the nibbling lips of his horse.

      ‘You’re sure you know one end from the other?’

      ‘I never had my own mount, but I spent most of my teenage summers around horses. But you know that about me already. I even used to help break one or two young ones. So yes. I know what I’m doing. You just watch me.’

      He hands me an armful of tack and narrows his eyes in challenge. ‘Great. Let’s get going, before it gets dark. It’s going to snow tomorrow, it’ll fall right down here and by the lake, so we won’t be able to take the horses out again.’

      I don’t move for a second. We stare at each other in the warm building buffeted by an increasing wind. Face to face, alone, just as we were in that London square. How far away that seems now in time and space.

      His eyes have a feverish glitter and he’s practically bouncing on his toes with an eager energy. I know I should be infected by it, but I’m disorientated by everything. Part of me is withdrawing, curling up defensively inside me.

      I see to my horse and saddle her up. Typical of Gustav Levi to be relaxed in a place where the rest of us are constantly jumping at our own shadow.

      ‘Put this on. Got to keep you safe.’

      He steps up to me and removes my warm fur hat and gloves and stashes them in a black leather rucksack slung round his shoulders. His dark eyes are alive with fiery light as he plonks a very unglamorous helmet on my head, tugging my hair away from the strap, smoothing it down my back.

      He fastens the chin strap carefully, running his finger underneath it to check the tension, my skin as sensitive there as if it’s been scalded. My mouth parts a little, and so does his. His tongue runs across his lower lip as he traces the swell of mine. Back, forth, his finger moves towards my mouth as if to enter it, pauses. I can feel saliva gathering as I hold my breath. We’re millimetres apart. His white teeth bite down as he nods.

      ‘Perfect fit.’

      Despite everything that has gone on between us, despite the fact that we’ve been alone together several times, done intimate things to each other, talked about intimate things, despite this unaccustomed breezy cheerfulness, I am suddenly rigid with shyness. It’s like a shell forming round that snail’s curl of doubt.

      The stark afternoon is lighting up the whites of his eyes, the sheering bone structure of his face accentuated by the weekend bandit’s beard.

      And the mouth. The usual grim lines are relaxed into a sensual fullness. Oh, he’s still so beautiful. And yet he won’t kiss me. I know that now, and worse than that I know why. He’s brought me to this beautiful setting, for this weekend away, but there is another presence here. How can I feel relaxed in the very place where he lived and loved with Mad Margot, the same woman whose mention still has him pacing and cursing?

      This is the place where her perversions developed into a thriving profession. Where all those debauched parties and antics occurred. Where Margot reigned supreme. What am I doing here?

      I’m his protégée, that’s all. He’s brought me here to sort something out in his own mind. Or, as he said, as a dogsbody to help him pack up some old mementos.

      ‘Just one more thing, Folkes.’

      His voice is so quiet, so soothing. He’s holding out a pair of soft leather and woven riding gloves. I refuse to meet his eye this time as he pulls my hands out straight in front of him. But the skin inside my wrist quivers just the same when he circles it then separates the fingers. My body tightens just the same when he eases the leather fingers over mine. His breath tickles my face as he twitches the gloves tight. The sensations are all the same as that first night in the square, and later in the bar of Dukes Hotel when he dressed me up to go out into the cold.

      ‘Have I told you how good it is to see you here?’

      I shrug wordlessly. He hooks one finger round the silver bracelet and pulls me closer to him.

      ‘Takes your breath away, doesn’t it? The mountains, the lake, the horses. You don’t have to speak. God, we all spend our lives banging on, don’t we? Being here suits you. You’ve a real bloom in your cheeks already. It means a lot to me that you came. I can’t wait to show you my favourite spot.’

      I glance quickly at him, astonished that tears are pricking my eyelids.

      ‘Thanks for inviting me,’ I blurt quickly, and turn towards my horse. For the first time he is reading me all wrong. ‘But let’s not bother with talking. Let’s get out there.’

      I place my foot in the stirrup and swing easily up onto my horse, remembering not to thump down too heavily on the spine of the saddle. Yes. This feels right. Some good hard exercise to get the blood pumping. A good night’s sleep in the mountains. Make my excuses and go back to London tomorrow. Hard sell to finalise the exhibition. Onwards and upwards.

      I grip the reins. I get it now. I’m some girl he’s picked up who has surprised him with her talent but he’s basically enrolled me to further his own profile in the art world. A cute chick he can amuse himself with when he needs to take his mind off his troubles. Someone wet behind the ears he can practise a little light spanking on to keep his hand in. But who isn’t good enough for him to kiss.

      ‘Right. Let’s see what kind of horsewoman you make then, Folkes.’

      The world looks different from up here. It all comes flooding back. The powerful beast between my legs. The flicking forward of the ears, the dancing legs, the skittering of her hooves across the cobbles as I check my stirrups. The rocking and creaking of the saddle. And I can’t ignore how unutterably sexy my companion looks as he strides over to his mount.

      Black clad, black hair falling over his face as he strokes the black mane. In another life I’d have done anything for him. But he’s not mine. He never will be, no matter how cute and clever I try to be. So what if Gustav stops in his tracks at the sight of me astride the Arab mare? I know I look good. What else is new?

      ‘Lead on,’ I cry brightly. I’m forced to straighten my spine, and as the horse strides out my body tilts in response, bottom sliding on the saddle and breasts thrusting forwards with each step.

      Gustav vaults nimbly on board without bothering to use the stirrups. He looks me up and down with frank delight, eyes lingering on my breasts, my hips, my legs, before nudging СКАЧАТЬ