Page 55 of Bombshell

My hands shove him back and he stumbles, nearly falling onto his ass.

“What the hell?” I step backward, feeling behind me for the door.

“Adair, I didn’t—” He scrambles onto his feet and advances toward me. “Let me come in. Let me explain.”

“Go the fuck to bed,” I order him, backing inside my cottage the rest of the way and slamming the door shut.

Wiping the back of my hand furiously across my lips, I fight tears as I lock the door. He’s drunk. It meant nothing to him or to me. But that doesn’t change the fact that he kissed me.

Sterling was the last man that kissed me, and without thinking, Cyrus just erased that. He took that final kiss from me, and I hate him for it. Almost as much as I wish I could hate Sterling. I kick off my shoes and climb into the bed, pulling the sheets to my chin. This is why I came to London: to claim my life as my own. To get away from a world that constantly takes what it wants, not caring if there’s anything left over for me. But as the first tears splatter on my pillowcase, I realize that I’ll never escape that world.

It won’t let me.

“He did what?” Sterling roars. He’s on his feet, pacing the room in bare feet, looking like he wants to put his fist through the wall.

“He was drunk.” The excuse falls out of my mouth.

“That sounds like a lie you’re telling yourself.” Sterling’s anxious energy attracts Zeus, who comes to sit in the doorway, watching him with concern.

“It probably is. I just needed to tell myself something,” I admit. “But I’ve never forgiven him really. Maybe it was a stupid mistake, but I hate that he did that to Poppy.”

“The next time I see him…” Sterling massages his fist with the palm of his left hand.

“It was a long time ago, and after what happened next, it just never seemed to matter.”

I find myself hoping for rain the following morning, so I have an excuse to avoid Poppy, and, more importantly, Cyrus. Instead, sunshine and blue skies greet me as soon as I look out the window. Trust the fickle English weather to give everyone a beautiful day when I need a storm. I dress slowly, wondering if anyone will say something about my riding attire. I hadn’t brought riding clothes purposefully. I doubt I could button my riding breeches. In the end, I opt for a pair of tight black leggings I planned to wear in the car on the ride home. They’re stretchy enough to wear in the saddle and under a loose t-shirt, you can’t see my tiny baby bump.

I skip breakfast and head to the stables. I want to get a feel for the horses and stake a claim on an older, gentler steed. Plus, I don’t think I could keep down a bite after what happened. But when I reach the stables, I discover Aja heading out of a stall. She’s dressed in a loose fitting one piece jumpsuit, her silver hair piled on top of her head. Despite the fact that I know she must be nearly seventy, she moves with a strength and capability I’d expect of someone thirty years younger.

“Good morning,” she calls. “Finished with breakfast?”

“I wasn’t hungry.” I join her, patting the mane of a beautiful Arabian as she checks his water.

Aja’s eyebrow ticks up, but she doesn’t comment. Instead, she picks up a brush and begins caring for him. “This is Raina. I named him after the Hindi word meaning night.”

“He’s beautiful,” I murmur.

“He’s stubborn, but he’ll heed a strong rider.” She pauses and studies me for a moment. “He’s a good match for you from what my granddaughter tells me.”

“Oh,” I search for something to say that doesn’t sound like a lame excuse. “I thought we’d better take your calmest horses—for Cyrus’s sake.”

I hate even pretending to be concerned for him. After last night, I have half a mind to ask her which horse is likely to throw him. He deserves it.

“I’m not accustomed to keeping broken animals,” she says loftily. “Mr. Eaton shouldn’t follow an easy path. Poppy fawns over him too much.”

I bite back a smile. At least, she sees through him.

“You’re friends with him,” she says, misreading my silence. “I shouldn’t speak poorly of a boy I hardly know.”

“Sometimes I think we mistake the presence of someone in our life for friendship,” I say softly. “I’ve known Cyrus a long time.”

I can’t help wondering if I know him that well, especially after he hit on me last night. Try as I might to blame it on the wine, I can see the move too clearly. I’d been tired but sober. It didn’t feel as much like a drunken mistake as it did a compromised inhibition. With any luck it was a stupid man having too much to drink and losing control. Maybe then, he won’t even remember it this morning and we don’t ever have to talk about it again.

“He should ride Poppy’s old horse. I’ve kept her for years out of sentimentality. She shouldn’t give him any trouble,” Aja says.

“Which one is that?” I ask.

“Stall three,” she says, “and you will ride Raina. He will obey you. It will be a good, safe ride.”