“It’s beautiful.” As I looked back at the tack, his previous words finally sank into my brain. I have not touched it since his death . . . but then . . . when you . . . the other day . . .
A sudden pulse of emotion swept over me like a cresting wave. My fingers trembled as they ran over the cantle of the saddle. He had not touched it in several months . . . until now.
Until me.
“I . . . I thought that if you liked dressage, you might want to use this.” He shrugged one shoulder awkwardly. “Or not. You don’t have to, if you don’t want to, I—”
“I’d love to,” I interjected, cutting off his spiraling nervousness. Moving just inches from him, I looked straight into his bright sea-colored eyes and laid my hand on his. “I would be honored.”
Achille exhaled a deep, relieved sigh. We stayed that way for what felt like an eternity, simply sharing the same air, embracing our newfound peace. Then he stepped back and disappeared into a closet. When he came back out, he was carrying a pair of tall leather dressage boots. As with the tack, they had been polished to perfection.
“I didn’t know what size you were or if you had boots already . . .” He trailed off as we both looked at the boots on my feet.
His shoulders sagged, so I blurted, “I’m a European 37.”
Achille handed me the boots, and I tipped them upside down. The size imprint had worn off the sole.
“You can try them if you want?”
I walked to the chair, took a seat and placed the boots beside me. I tried to pull my boots off, but couldn’t get them past my heels. I was out of breath at the effort. I heard a burst of quiet laughter and lifted my eyes to see Achille watching me with unconcealed amusement on his face. His arms were crossed in front of his chest again.
In a rare display of humor, he said, “Do you normally have a servant to take them off for you?”
My mouth dropped at his quip. That only seemed to make him laugh more. My chest seized at the sight of him loosening up, and shivers trickled over my skin at his low-pitched chuckle.
“For your information, Signor Marchesi, I usually have a boot jack. I don’t suppose you have one of those lying around, do you?”
He shook his head. “No. But I have these.” Achille held his hands in the air and dropped down to his knees before me. I stared at him, unblinking. Achille raised a knee and tapped his thigh. “Give me a foot.”
I prayed he didn’t feel the slight trembling of my leg as I placed it on his thigh. The muscle was so hard and defined I could feel the ridges through the leather of my boot. Achille’s hands wrapped around the toe and heel of my boot. He pulled gently. The boot slipped off, and surprising me, he cupped my foot and ran his hands over the arch. No sooner had he touched me than he placed my foot on the floor. He drew up my other foot and repeated the process. I practically melted into the seat of the chair.
He had only touched my feet, and over my socks at that, yet his hands on me were almost my undoing. Everything he did, he did with such incredible intensity it was addictive. He didn’t speak much, but his actions displayed the kind of man he was.
Honest and pure.
Achille didn’t seem to have noticed my internal musings. He held up one of his mother’s boots and slipped it onto my foot. The leather was butter-soft as it slid over my calf. It was tight, but Achille pushed harder until it sat perfectly around my foot. I smiled as I looked down at my calf. As with the saddle, the royal Savona crest was embossed into the leather at the top of the boot.
Achille caught my smile and awarded me one in return. When both boots were on, Achille got to his feet as I rolled my toes, testing for feel.
“My feet have fallen asleep. They do that when I wear my riding boots—too tight a fit,” I said when I pressed my sole to the hard ground of the tack room. “I’m not sure I can get up!”
One of Achille’s hands was suddenly in front of my face, palm up. “I’ll help you,” he offered. I slipped my hand into his. Achille gently pulled me to stand, but the minute I was upright, the numbness increased tenfold, causing me to lose my footing.
I yelped as I stumbled. A hard wall of flesh broke my fall, two strong arms wrapping around my back to keep me steady. My palms reached out, trying to find purchase on something, only to land on Achille’s firm chest.
I knew I should have removed them immediately. The minute I felt the warm skin under my own, I should have backed away or insisted I sit back down.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I allowed the pads of my fingers to drink in the heat from Achille’s chest. I gave them permission to move, a painstakingly slow caress over his pectorals and down to the top of his defined abdominal muscles.
The more they explored the hard ridges, the tighter Achille’s arms became on my back.
He breathed.
I breathed.
The heat between us soared.
Yet neither of us moved away.
There was no urgency to separate, only an unspoken eagerness to stay close.
Magnets.
My head moved closer to his chest, my lips barely brushing over his burning skin. His fresh, earthy scent invaded my senses, taking me hostage. Achille’s hands on my back drew me closer, his hold an inescapable vise. He exhaled, the warm air sailing down the back of my neck and over the length of my spine. My head tipped up, as if starved of seeing Achille’s eyes. The tip of my nose edged along the bottom of his neck and up to the rough stubble of his jaw.
I felt his pounding heart pressing so closely against my own. They sang the same symphony, exactly, precisely, mirror images of the same beat.
Achille’s hands drew up, his fingers wrapping loosely into the strands of my hair. My lips traveled past his chin, to the corner of his mouth. I didn’t dare look up. I was not sure my heart could take the reaction that sea of blue would inspire.
The taste of coffee and mint kissed my cupid’s bow as I skirted the edges of my lips over his, the promise of our joining mouths hanging on a precipice.
I closed my eyes, needing to feel his lips against my own more than I needed to breathe, when suddenly a voice called out loudly from outside, “Achille?”
The deep call of his name was all it took for Achille to pull away. His arms released me from their protection, and he staggered back. His eyes were wide, like a deer caught in headlights. His chest rose and fell, betraying his panic.
“Achille?” the man’s voice sounded again, only closer to us this time. Achille raced from the tack room, leaving me alone.
I heard Achille greet the man and lead him away, and I slumped back down to the seat and placed my hands on my head. “What the hell are you doing?” I whispered aloud, closing my eyes, but swiftly opening them again when all I saw in the darkness was Achille’s lips a mere hairsbreadth from my own, his hands pressing me close against his torso and the taste of his skin on my tongue.
I didn’t know how long I sat on the seat, warring with my conscience. But I needed to move. I needed to do something to occupy my mind. I took the new tack Achille had given me over to Rosa in the paddock, and in no time at all, had her saddled up. I schooled her for an hour, squeezing the last rays of daylight from the sun. And I rode her hard. When I removed my hat, my hair was damp from exertion; my legs and arms ached from taming Rosa’s strength.
I set Rosa in her stable and, after feeding both horses and giving them fresh buckets of water, decided to find the man I had nearly kissed.
The melodic sound of “Spring” from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons came drifting from the barn. I stopped at the door, peering inside. Achille was by the basket press, working hard, yet with the same thoroughness and gentleness I had seen from him in the days since we met.
As if he was beginning to be as aware of me as I was him, he lifted his head. A scarlet blush blossomed on his cheeks when he saw me hovering by the entrance. He turned his head from me, recommencing his work without a word. But it was only seconds later when he stood back from the wooden press, arms by his side and shoulders down.
It shattered my heart.
“Achille,” I said quietly, edging into the room.
Achille walked to a small box that must have been delivered by the man who interrupted us in the tack room. He took the top sheet of paper from the open box and ran his eyes over the page.