She was bound to the order in a way that no outsider could imagine. Her life had been written out for her before she was born, and there was no way to change it.
Still she felt powerful stirrings inside herself. The encounter on the road had changed her. For better or worse?
CHAPTER
SEVEN
SOPHIA SPENT THE next few days waiting for Cynthia to call her in for a private talk about her eavesdropping.
Even though Cynthia said nothing, she felt nervous every time she saw the high priestess with Matthew Layden. She’d never focused on them before, but now she saw what some of the others were saying about the way Cynthia was wound up with him and neglecting her duties.
But there was more.
Her thoughts kept returning to the man who had rescued her in the desert. Not just her thoughts. Her reactions to him. She couldn’t shake the sexual longing and heightened sense of arousal that he had kindled when he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
In an effort to regain her sense of equilibrium, she turned back to her duties, spending more time than she needed to at the tasks she’d been assigned.
She had a master’s degree in finance from Arizona State, and she was the sister who took care of the books.
And while Ophelia was in charge of the riding program, Sophia had responsibility for the business aspects of the stable. The previous vet who’d been hired by the spa had been getting old and coming to check the horses less and less often.
She’d used the local business e-mail loop to advertise that she was looking for someone new and had received résumés from several candidates.
The man she favored would be at the spa that afternoon, after the time when guests could take horses out, and she wanted to meet him and observe his work habits. She’d pored over his background, almost as though she was obsessed with him. He was thirty years old, unmarried, and from northern California. And he had an excellent academic background.
After school, he’d gone to the L.A. area, where he’d worked with a company that provided dangerous animals for TV and movies, and he’d been extraordinarily successful in working with big cats and wolves.
Most applicants had included a picture. He hadn’t, and she was curious to find out what he looked like.
At five o’clock, she finished balancing the books. After grabbing the folder with the application, she walked down to the corral area.
A blue pickup truck was already pulled up in front of the barn, and she could see a tall, well-muscled man, with a very nice ass, leaning over the fence, feeding a carrot to Becka, one of the gentle saddle horses suitable for guests who were less skilled at riding. It was a casual pose, but she could see that he was nervous. About the interview?
“Dr. Tyron?” she called out.
She watched him suck in a breath and let it out before turning slowly, a bit reluctantly, and in that moment, she
knew
. It was
him
. The man who had come roaring out of the desert to save her from the marauder.
She took in the wary expression in his dark eyes. Yet she knew he was bold. He had dared to come here into the midst of the Sisterhood, where they could do gods knew what to him.
As they stood regarding each other, she felt her heart pounding. She should turn and run back to the main building and inform her sisters that a Minot was on the property. One of the Minot from a few nights ago.
Or was it him? How could it be? No Minot could get past the wards that protected this property.
That thought calmed her. What evidence did she have, really, besides her own jumping nerves? Was she going to condemn this man on a vague suspicion?
She’d never been in this situation before, making a lifeand-death judgment, because she knew full well that Cynthia could have him killed in a way that no one would suspect was anything besides natural.
Which meant she had to find out more before she called her sisters for help.
The thought of Cynthia ordering his execution sent a shiver over her skin.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I appreciate the job interview,” he said, wedging his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
She gave a little nod, trying to remember what she had been going to say to him. Was she basing her judgment on her reaction to him? Which was strong. Strong attraction, to be exact, as if there was already something between them. Which could be true, if he was the man.
She had never been more unsure of herself, but she couldn’t let him know that.
She stopped focusing on her own turmoil and managed to say, “Your academic work looks excellent. And you worked with a doctor”—she stopped and consulted the file—“a doctor Benjamin Hastings at home . . . in Half Moon Bay.”
“Yes.”
“He gave you a good recommendation.”
“We worked well together.”
“Why did you decide to relocate to Sedona?”
“I always intended to start my own practice. Half Moon Bay’s a small place, and I didn’t want to cut in on him.”
She nodded, still studying him, still wishing some lightning bolt of intuition would strike her.
Arousal was interfering with the conversation, at least on her part. Was it the same for him?
Realizing that seconds had passed, she threw him one of the professional questions she’d planned to spring.
“What causes thrush on a horse’s hoof?”
Without missing a beat, he answered, “Standing in mud, manure, or water.”
“What’s the standard interval for trimming and shoeing?”
“There’s no standard interval. The average time is six to eight weeks between visits from the farrier, but you and your vet need to decide what’s best for each individual horse.”
She went on to ask him more questions in rapid succession, all of which he answered quickly and to her satisfaction, and she knew he wasn’t just some guy pretending to be a horse vet. He knew the subject inside and out.
Did he know her just as well? Know how she was reacting to him? She hoped not.
“We expect our vet to take the initiative and come here frequently to make sure the horses are healthy.”
“Yes.”
“You seem to have a good handle on the field,” she said.
“Thank you.”
They discussed payment for services before he asked, “Do I have the job?”
It was a blatantly leading question.
She could have told him she was considering other candidates. But she’d favored him from the first. Because his background was the strongest or because of something else?
“I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“All right,” he answered, his tone telling her that he knew she was lying. Or was she reading more into the exchange?
She was so off balance that it was hard to keep standing on her feet facing him. He would make the perfect anchor if she rested her hands on his shoulders.
No. That was crazy. She had just met this man. Or had she?
And what if they
had
just met? An Ionian woman was free to take a man she barely knew, if she wanted him.
The thought was still flickering in her mind that she should run from him—run to her sisters—but something had happened to her during the desert encounters that had changed her in ways she was only beginning to understand.
The first man had made her determined not to lose control. The second one had left her feeling defiant.
“I have one more requirement.”
Knowing she was picking an odd way to end an interview and wondering if she was playing with fire, she turned and walked into the barn, sure that he would follow.
Most of the horses were in the corral. A few were in their stalls.
Inside, the earthy scent of the stable enveloped her. Some people didn’t like it. She always had, and today it added to the feelings rising in her. She walked directly to the hayloft ladder, aware that Jason Tyron was following.
Before she could question her own motivation, she began to climb.
She was breathing hard as she reached the top and stepped back, not because the exertion had winded her. Her excitement mounted as she watched Jason Tyron gain the upper level, then stand facing her.
She wasn’t afraid of him, yet her heart was pounding so wildly that she thought it might break through the wall of her chest.
In the desert, he’d been in charge. She couldn’t let that happen now. She must be the one in control.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask why she’d brought him here. And she didn’t make him wait for an answer. She closed the trapdoor that sealed the loft, then reached for him, clasping the back of his head, bringing his mouth down to hers for a greedy kiss.
There was no resistance on his part. Far from it.
He slanted his mouth over hers, devouring her like a man who had gone days without food and suddenly had been invited to a banquet.
She reveled in his response, feeling uncensored emotions surge through her—and through him. It was as though the two of them had been waiting for this moment for centuries.
And she couldn’t stop now, not when she sensed how much the two of them could mean to each other.
That was a subversive thought. No man could mean more to an Ionian than her bond with her sisters.
But Sophia had lost the ability to reason as his hands moved restlessly up and down her back, gathering her close, sealing them with heat.
They swayed together, and she knew she was in danger of pitching into the straw.
“I want you naked,” she gasped out.
“Oh yeah. And you.”
He reached for the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it over his head and flinging it into the straw.
She did the same, getting rid of her bra almost as quickly. His hands were busy with the button at the top of his jeans. She followed suit, both of them tearing off their clothing faster then she would have believed possible.
She stared at his wonderful body with its lean lines and taut muscles before focusing on his magnificent erection.
“You’re beautiful,” he said in a thick voice.
“So are you,” she answered as she pulled him into her arms, swaying in the straw with him, then dragged him down with her, flopping to her back and tugging at him so that his body was splayed on top of hers, his cock pressed against her thigh.
He stayed there for a long moment, then drew in a shuddering breath and rolled to his side so that he could take her breasts in his hands, squeezing and shaping them before plucking at the hardened tips.
She lay back, closing her eyes, letting herself enjoy his touch. When he found one sensitized nipple and sucked, she couldn’t hold back a sob.
He stroked his free hand down her body, pausing to run his fingers through the crinkly hair at the top of her legs before sliding lower into her folds.
She was already slick and swollen for him, and her hips rose and fell as he plunged two fingers into her vagina, then slid upward to her clit, repeating the maddening stroke, sending her close to the edge.
Her hand found his cock, and she measured his girth with her fist, squeezing and teasing, loving the wonderful feel of him. He was huge, and she grew wetter as she anticipated how he would feel inside her.
When he moved into position between her legs, she guided him into her, thinking that she would instantly push for climax.
But the unexpected happened. It was as though she caught his thoughts—the way she had in the desert. He wanted more from this than just a quick tumble in the hay.
When his needs tugged at her, she brought herself up short.
She had been trained not to worry about her partner’s satisfaction. Sex was simple for men. Once an encounter began, the man would take the inevitable path to climax. And the woman must make sure he didn’t leave her behind.
But this was different. She cared as much about his pleasure as her own.
When she gasped, he slid his hands under her, tipping her hips so that he could plunge more deeply into her.
He stopped moving then, staring down at her, stirring emotions she had never felt before. Intimacy on a deeper level than she had ever thought possible.
“What do you want from me?” she gasped.
Everything.
Had he said that on the road? Had he spoken aloud?
“I can’t.”
“Don’t fight what you feel.” He spoke the words aloud, but she thought she heard them in her head, too.
If she had been the one on top, she might have pulled away. But he had changed the rules before she realized what was happening.
He held the eye contact until her vision blurred as he drove her toward climax with hard, piercing strokes, sending her spinning out into space, more out of conrol than she had ever been in her life.