The Stallion Read Online Free PDF Page B

and a hay store, numerous buildings all catering for the competitive world of equestrianism. At the far end of the enclosure was a large barn and next to it what looked like an indoor riding-school.
    What a difference to her own place, she thought enviously, as her eyes took in the scene of gentlemanly opulence. There was no sign of neglect here; no sign either of lack of funding. Here there was money. Here also, she reminded herself, was Alistair Beaumont who was both a man worth waiting for and worth having. She remembered him from that day strolling through the lunch-time crowds, that classic patrician profile set on a firm neck and shoulders that bore both responsibility and confidence with easy geniality. Just thinking of him made her moist against the crotch of her white cotton knickers. He was a handsome man, besides being a powerful one.
    In the middle of the yard was a fountain; perhaps of earlier construction, from the time of the Prince Regent when the main house was built. Around it was a circular trough into which a bronze cherub peed from a green copper spout. The water tinkled like light laughter, sparkling like falling diamonds into the dark greenness of the pool.
    ‘Nice little guy.’ She smiled to herself, referring as much to the cherub itself as to the appendage he so copiously peed from. It was bigger than normally associated with classic statutary, and certainly exhibited the sort of length normally associated with an aroused adult male rather than a rotund little boy.
    So involved was she in studying the rich opulence of the stable yard and its buildings, that she did not at first notice Alistair strolling over to where she had parked. Her heart thudded and she ran her hands nervously over her slim hips. A fire ignited and simmered gently between her legs.
    He looked as good as that day when she’d walked beside him through the streets with all the beauty of her body teased by the soft touch of the coat lining. His shirt looked to be silk, his pullover pure lambswool and his breeches and high brown-leather boots hand-made purely for his well-muscled frame.
    But today, it wasn’t just him that filled her eyes. He was not alone. A few steps behind him walked another man. He seemed with him, but slightly apart, and although Alistair still dominated her vision, she could not help but stray to this other presence, this very tall man with very blond hair that curled in satin drifts over his naked neck. Her breath caught in her throat, and a numbness stilled the flames that Alistair had ignited in her. This other man was beautiful in the same way that a woman is beautiful, or an angel, or even Michelangelo’s David. His features looked almost sculpted. Angelic, she decided, was the best description. High cheekbones; high forehead beneath the luxuriant fringe of white blondness; wide mouth and profiled chin: all these gave the appearance of him being somewhat etherial. His eyes were brown and seemed to look straight ahead as though they were looking beyond her, as if there must be something else more profound than the red brickwork, the tangled wisteria or the yellow gravel of the stable yard.
    It was strange, but even though she was still sat in the cab of the rattly old Bedford horsebox, she had the oddest urge to cover her breasts and her lower regions with her hands as if she were naked, as if he could see her bare flesh and it was somehow lewd for him to do so. It was almost, she thought, as if she were in church and he really was a creature etched in stained glass, complete with white wings and gold halo.
    The feeling passed. She swallowed her sudden breathlessness and turned her attention back to Alistair. If he had noticed her interest in the man at his side, he did not mention it. He did not introduce him either. Mature lines that enhanced his character crinkled at the side of his bright, grey eyes.
    On the mild breeze his aftershave wafted towards her, mingling tantalisingly with his most obvious