fence, there was no room for Christian Atherton in her life, and there was certainly no room for him in her head now. She was going to need every scrap of concentration she possessed to get through this round unscathed.
It took Terminator exactly two fences to decide that the course bored him. He lugged on the bit, doing his best to pull Alex’s arms out of their sockets while charging toward each low fence and launching himself flatly over them like a steeplechaser. The battle for control waged throughout their round, and Alex was glad jumpers weren’t scored on style and manners, as hunters were. All that mattered was that they get themselves over the fences without knocking anything down, and despite everything, Terminator managed to accomplish his task. They would be coming back for the jump-off and competing this time not only against the other horses that had jumped clean first rounds, but against the clock as well. The horse with the best time and least faults would win.
Christian watched her exit the ring. He was impressed with her riding if not her horse. Beyond being proper in her leg position and seat, she had savvy and style. There was something in that style, in the way she held her head, in the way she brought her horse to the fence and moved him away from it, that prodded at his memory. He wanted to think he’d seen her ride before, and yet he hadn’t. Odd. Her name didn’t ring a bell, and there had been nothing in their conversation—a conversation held in delightfully close quarters—that had sparked further recognition.
Finally he dismissed the whole idea from his head. He had never met Alex Gianni. A grin spread slowly across his face. He had never met her before, but he was definitely going to get to know her.
“Looks damn fine on a horse, don’t she?”
The graveled voice had much the same effect on Christian as fingernails on a chalkboard. He turned and treated Tully Haskell to the trick he’d learned as a schoolboy at Winchester—looking down his nose at someone who was taller than he.
Haskell was a big man in his forties with an upper body made solid from years of physical work, and a paunch that was the result of a more recent sedentary lifestyle and too much fried food. He had taken up a stance beside Christian, planting himself like an oak tree, and was lighting up a long cigar with a gaudy ruby-studded gold lighter.
Christian eyed the blue ribbon pinned to the pocket of his western-cut shirt with sardonic disdain. “Giving out prizes for obnoxious qualities, are they?” he questioned dryly. “You’re destined to be a champion, Tully.”
“You’re a regular laugh riot, Atherton,” Haskell said with a sneer, his fleshy face coloring red from the neck up, as if his shirt collar had suddenly gone too tight on him. He shook his cigar at Christian. “We’ll see how hard you laugh when Alex and Terminator start mopping up at the big shows.”
“You can’t be serious, meaning to send that unhinged animal up against a grand prix course?” Christian shuddered at the thought. The grand prix was the most demanding and most prestigious of all the jumper classes, usually held amidst considerable pomp and pageantry and for big purses. The fences and courses were formidable. It took both a sound mind and a sound body for a horse to take the stress. “What are you trying do, get Alexandra killed?”
“Hardly.” A reptilian smile curved Haskell’s mouth. “This is just the beginning of a long and mutually advantageous relationship between Alex and me.”
Christian gave him a sharp look, his brows drawing together above intense blue eyes.
“Yes, Lordy, she do sit a horse nice,” the man drawled, his gaze roaming over Alex as she jogged his horse some distance away. He took a long drag on his cigar and exhaled on a sigh that rang unmistakably in Christian’s ears as the first stirrings of desire.
Tully turned back toward him with a maliciously smug gleam in his eyes. “I