She saw him process this. ‘So,’ he murmured, ‘you have a way with horses as well as dogs?’
Harriet spread her hands. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds as if you’ve been chatting Sprite up already.’
‘I suppose I have,’ Harriet conceded ruefully.
‘Then—are we on for tomorrow morning, about five?’
‘I...’ Harriet swallowed but nothing could stop the flow of images running through her mind of a dawn gallop followed by a swim then a huge breakfast. ‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Good.’ He stood up. ‘Not—’ he eyed her with a glint of pure devilry in his dark eyes ‘—that there’ll be anything good about how to get to sleep tonight.’
* * *
It was no consolation to Harriet to reflect, as she tossed and turned in bed after Damien had gone, on one victory, one small victory perhaps, but all the same...
She’d successfully withstood the sensual onslaught Damien could inflict on her, although inflict wasn’t the right word for it at all. But she had withstood the power of his masculine appeal, she’d tacitly told him to do his worst when he’d mentally undressed her—and then she’d gone and wrecked it all by agreeing to go riding with him.
‘Damn!’ She sat up in bed. ‘I must be mad. Apart from anything else, I know he’s only going to lead me to fresh heartache—I should be running for my life!’
* * *
At five o’clock the next morning she felt heavy-eyed and in an uneven frame of mind as she pulled on jeans, a jumper and sand shoes.
Twenty minutes later, trotting down the track from the stables to the beach on the slightly fizzy Sprite, she was feeling marginally better, although only marginally, she assured herself.
By the time they reached the beach, the sun was turning the sky into a symphony of apricot as it hovered below the horizon and the placid waters reflected the colours back.
‘Hang on,’ Damien said as he took hold of Sprite’s bridle and clipped on a leading rein so that she and Sprite were forced to adapt to his slower gait.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Harriet asked.
‘Taking precautions, that’s all,’ he replied.
‘I can assure you, you don’t need to!’
‘You said you rode as a child. That could mean you haven’t been on a horse for years.’
‘I’m perfectly capable of riding this horse,’ Harriet replied through her teeth.
‘But you have to admit you’re—well, if not exactly accident-prone, you do suffer from some weird syndrome that could cause all sorts of problems.’
‘Mr Wyatt—’ Harriet raised her riding crop ‘—don’t say another word and let me go before I do something you might regret but I won’t regret in the slightest!’
‘Harriet,’ he returned mildly, ‘it’s not very ladylike to keep attacking me.’
Harriet groaned. ‘Let me go.’