Page 48 of Hot Set

I’m careful not to make eye contact with Jack. It’s not fair for him to feel guilty. He’s doing his job. I’m the one who needs to get my shit together.

Lights snap on as a commotion rises at the far end of the studio. Meg calls Jack and Niks over to where a sweeping curtain of silver fabric hangs behind a forest green couch. A sea of light stands and giant reflectors are poised at the ready. A few feet from the couch, the logo ofEntertainment For Youmagazine hovers above a trio of seats in place for an interview.

After makeup artists and hair swoop in, the photographer poses Jack and Niks in more and more suggestive positions on the couch.

I stand like a freaking deer in the headlights and grit my teeth. “You can do this.”

“What’s that?” asks one of the crew guys as he peels off leather gloves.

Since I’m staring at Jack and Niks, I’ll look like a lunatic if I comment on anything else. “They look good together.”

He jerks his thumb at the shoot. “I’ve seen it before. That’s a pair that keeps things sizzling after the camera stops.”

ChapterSixteen

Owing to a few happy bruises from the weekend on the inside of my thighs nearly down to my knees, I wore golf slacks to work today instead of a skirt. The bulky sweater my mom gave me as ayou’re going to need this in Irelandgift and the loan of Maureen’s running shoes compile an acceptable ensemble for horseback riding.

“Moose?” I call into the dim stable for the third or fourth time. He’s not an easy man to find. When I catch sight of his bulk through the wide-open door of the stable office, I get an inkling he may be ignoring me. Why shouldn’t he? It’s late in the afternoon, and I’m not one of the essential people like actors who he has to train to be one hundred percent horse competent. I’m probably one of many pains in his ass.

I could leave and ignore Jack’s request to meet here. A sour grumble in my stomach nearly turns me around. Doesn’t his slobbering all over Niks for hours provide me with sufficient justification for some “me” time?

A chestnut horse bobs its head in my direction. I rub its nose. “I know.” I confide in the beauty. “It’s his job.”

His job. His responsibility. I distracted him today. Even after our amazing weekend, prickles of doubt over the wisdom of what we’re doing run up and down my spine.

Jack knows watching the kissing scene made this a bitch of a day for me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been the recipient of a dozen or more quick eye darts and head twitches from him. Anyone paying attention could figure out something is up between us.

Niks was paying attention.

“Shit.” It comes out much louder than I intend. I’m scolded by more than one horse for raising my voice during their hour of equine introspection.

Moose’s bulk fills the doorway to the office. “Who’s there?” So, the key to Moose’s acknowledgement is to curse at his charges.

“Hi. Do you remember me? I’m Gillian. Bobby was supposed to call to let you know I was coming to ride this afternoon.” I swing the pearl blue riding helmet in an arc at my side. “I’ve got a helmet.” Nodding to the closest horse, I add, “I’m not a newbie. I have riding experience, even jumps.”

Moose’s eyes narrow to slits during my soliloquy. His looming countenance makes me nervous, and I babble on. “You don’t have to start with bare basics. I’m guessing you want to see me up on a horse.”

“Are you finished with your life story?”

“Pretty much.”

He flaps his hand for me to follow as he heads into one of the stalls. I’m tightening the strap on my helmet when Moose walks my intended mount into the aisle. The bones in my knees dissolve, and I clutch the nearest post to keep from ass planting in the hay. It’s Streaker, Jack’s—well, Donal Cam’s—horse, saddled up and ready to go.

“Am I allowed to ride this horse?”

Moose grunts. “Come on,” he says, either to me or Streaker or both of us.

Riding Jack’s horse feels like an infringement on his territory, but I’m too intimidated by Moose to ask for a different animal. I follow man and beast out to the arena. Moose walks to the far curve of the oval track by a door open wide to green fields. Streaker tosses her head and busts out a very loud whinny. Before I realize what’s happening, large hands I’m very familiar with lift me onto her saddle.

Jack swings onto Streaker’s back behind me, pressing in so our thighs snug up together as he takes the reins from Moose.

“Don’t you dare ride her past dark,” warns Moose, aiming a thick finger at Jack. “You walk her back here, or I’ll roast your balls to feed my dogs.”

“Yes, sir,” says Jack. With a click of his tongue, he digs heels into Streaker, and we clear the open stable doors.

Frantically searching the fields, I shout, “Have you completely lost your mind? Someone is going to see—” Words catch in my throat as I twist in the saddle, getting a full view of Jack. The man behind me has stepped through the curtain of time. A wide silver band circles his brow. Wind and dying sun transform Jack’s flowing hair into gossamer wings. His leather tunic hugs his chest in a perfect echo of the magnificent body underneath. I catch a glimpse of my own hair as it spills across the taut muscles of the arm guiding our steed into dusk. Shining red-gold, it echoes the fiery stripes that color the sky above us.

We are the stuff of myths, a pair of lovers riding a white horse across verdant fields to catch the sun before it abandons the land to night.

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