Unshackled

Chapter One

Iwas knee-high in soiled horse bedding when I first saw her. She was all perfect and pristine. And I, filthy and disheveled, with straw in places that didn’t bear thinking about.

I should’ve taken that as a sign to look away and stay away.

Instead, I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she stepped from the sleek black sports car, the wheels gleaming like they’d never seen a day’s work. Pure Daddy’s money. I would’ve been pissed, resentful, if I weren’t too busy trying to figure out what the hell she was doing here. Was she lost?

The stables were my domain. None of his playthings ever came near them. Heaven forbid the smell tainted their expensive perfume or the muck ruined their precious Louboutins.

And yet … here she was.

One stiletto sank into the dirt. Then the other. Long, tanned legs catching my gaze before the rest of her followed.

Fuck.

Dad had truly outdone himself this time.

She was tall — though that could’ve been the ridiculous heels.

Her short white dress clung like a second skin, showing off her slim waist, the curve of her hips, and cleavage that ought to come with a warning label.

Then she tossed her deep auburn waves over one shoulder, exposing the elegant line of her throat, and something tightened in my stomach.

Something hot. Something intense. And my jaw all but hit the straw.

I knew I was staring. Couldn’t seem to stop.

Didn’t want to stop.

And that was worse.

Then her gaze settled on me—

Crap.

Heat shot to my cheeks, mortification crashing in as I realized I’d been caught staring. I dropped my gaze and busied myself with the mucking out, praying she’d just get about her business and be gone.

“Abigail?”

The sound of my name in her husky English accent did nothing to ease my raging hormones, and I tried to ignore her, stabbing my fork back into the straw and tossing it to one side.

“Abi?” she called again. This time I could hear her heels clipping the cobbled paving as she headed toward me.

Letting go of a steadying breath, I rounded on her.

“Hey, Mom!” I said sarcastically, regretting it as soon as my eyes lifted to hers, my cocky stance dissipating under her proximity and leaving me feeling nothing but foolish. I was twenty-two after all, not some disgruntled teenager out to do battle with yet another stepmother.

Surprisingly, she smiled, her beautiful face breaking into a wide grin as she removed her fashionably large shades and fixed me with a pair of brilliant green eyes.

“You can call me Emma, I’m not quite Mom yet,” she said softly, toying with the sunglasses in her perfectly manicured hands.

“True.” It was all I could muster as I continued to squirm in front of her, my body alarmingly aware of her every inch.

What was wrong with me? I wasn’t even into women.

Or at least … I hadn’t been. And her? Of all people.

My future stepmother. Christ. This was going to be one hell of a tale for the shrink. “Shit.”

“Sorry?”

I frowned; I hadn’t meant to swear aloud. As first meetings went, this was not going well. At all. “Sorry, I just remembered I was supposed to be somewhere.”

Her face fell in obvious disappointment. “Oh.”

“Was there something you wanted?” I found myself asking.

“I was hoping you could show me around the stables, your father said you would take me through the stud and find me a match?”

“Stepfather,” I corrected instinctively, surprising myself as the bitterness that normally remained trapped inside at any reference to him came tumbling out.

Aside from the brief narrowing of her eyes, she didn’t seem bothered by my momentary lapse of the doting daughter pretense Dad insisted on, instead offering me another tummy-turning smile. “Yes, of course, stepfather.”

All sense screamed at me to see her out of my domain — pronto. And yet, the very suggestion that she shared a passion for horses was too much to resist. “You ride?”

“As often as I can.”

I took the opportunity to leisurely scan the length of her, a smile now creeping into my lips as I reacquainted myself with her totally impractical ensemble, right down to her baby pink stilettos.

“I have a change of clothes in the trunk,” she hurried out, the source of my amusement not lost on her as she dropped the polished facade befitting of her thirty-something years and became almost childlike in her eagerness.

“I guess I can spare half an hour,” I said, trying not to sound too keen at the prospect. “Go and grab your things, there’s an office you can use to change in.”

“Thank you so much!”

I watched as she raced back to the car, her heels not hindering her speed in the slightest and only serving to emphasize the hypnotic wiggle of her hips.

Forcing myself to turn away, I stepped from the straw pile and headed to the entrance of the office, brushing at my clothes in a self-conscious attempt to clean myself up.

She was quick to join me. Her effort not to cause me any extra delay was again surprising.

She was turning out to be very different to Dad’s usual conquests and no matter how disconcerting, I couldn’t deny that I found her attractive.

Gay or not, the idea of her soon undressing did things to me that I didn’t want to acknowledge.

I swallowed hard, trying to force some normality into my voice. “I’m afraid the office has no curtains...”

She gave me a carefree shrug. “Not a problem, as far as I can see we have the place to ourselves.”

I nodded, my voice lost to my racing pulse and wayward imaginings.

She strode ahead of me through the office, her confidence in the unfamiliar surroundings both enviable and intensely appealing.

As she deposited her bag on the desk and started to pull out her clothes I urged myself to turn away but my body refused.

I watched as she took hold of the hem of her dress, my mouth going dry with anticipation and then she paused, turning to look at me over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming provocatively.

The air escaped my lungs in a rush. Fuck! This couldn’t be happening.

“I’ll just be outside,” I blurted, losing my nerve and bolting as quick as I could, almost taking the nearby coat stand with me. How smooth ... not!

What was wrong with me? Dad had brought many a pretty woman home since Mum passed away almost fifteen years ago.

And these days, most of them weren’t even that much older than me.

Yet this one was different. She was stirring up desires that normally only my vivid imagination and saucy novels could spark.

Even the odd stable hand and past boyfriends hadn’t caused such a throbbing reaction on sight.

And never before had a woman inspired such an interest. But this one .

.. my eyes were drawn to the window as I chanced a glance.

I could just make out the flash of white fabric being tossed across the desk before my eyes focused fully on the interior and her glorious, naked form came into view.

She wore nothing but a scanty, white thong.

Tan lines notably absent. Hot liquid pooled unashamedly between my legs, the intensity of my reaction startling me into looking away.

But I couldn’t help myself. Pressing up against the outer wall of the office, my gaze drifted back, first to her face as I prayed she wouldn’t see me.

I needn’t have worried; her attention was fixed entirely on the contents of her bag.

I could feel the thrill spread through me as I relished the unhindered view, my breath catching in my throat as I took in her bare breasts.

So full, they defied gravity as the pert center of each small rosebud pointed upward, begging to be touched, licked, fondled .

.. I bit my upper lip as the thought of enjoying each peak raced through my mind—

“Abi!”

The sound of her calling my name made me jump out of my skin. My eyes shot to her face but she was looking toward the door, completely oblivious to my watchful gaze.

“Yes?” I called, trying to sound normal while my pulse raced out of control and my eyes were once again drawn to her body, her breasts moving hypnotically as she returned to rummage through her bag.

“Do you have a shirt I can borrow? I don’t seem to have one.” She scooped up a black sports bra and began fastening it around herself. “Abi?” she said, pausing her movements to listen out for me.

God, I needed to get a grip. What was it she wanted? A shirt!

“Err, yeah, sure, one sec.” Tearing myself away, I headed to the boot room, my whole body throbbing with an awakened need that I desperately wanted to satisfy.

Could I? Right here and now? It wouldn’t take long, of that I was certain. It really would be torture to spend the next half hour with her in this heightened state of need.

It was true that there was no one else around, and the boot room was closed off completely.

One way in, one way out. Mind made up, I entered the room and closed the door behind me.

Leaning back against it, I wasted no time in loosening the fly on my jeans and thrust my hand into my panties, amazed at just how wet I was.

A small groan escaped my lips as I pulled back over my clit, savoring the sensation. Oh yes! I was so ready.

All hesitation gone, I circled the nub, gently at first and then harder, reveling in the heat spreading through my body. My mind filled with the image of her naked form as I imagined the feel of those breasts beneath my hands, my mouth, my tongue...

I spread my legs wide to gain better access, my rhythm picking up a pace as my whole body began to tense up.

I was so wet and so close. My other hand shoved up into my bra to release one aching breast, the cold air hitting the nipple as I groped at the flesh and pinched at the tip.

And then I was imagining it was her on me, her mouth, her hands. ..

“Fuck!” I exploded, my whole body racked with glorious convulsions as my orgasm took hold and sent my legs buckling beneath me.

“Abi, you there?”

Her voice came from the other side of the door. Please, God, don’t let her have heard me come!

I took a steadying breath and straightened up, still pinning the door closed.

“Coming!” I called out; I was lucid enough to see the humor in that rather apt response.

Righting my jeans, I grabbed a shirt from the peg and opened the door.

I was so grateful for my release, else the sight that greeted me would have tipped me over the edge.

Clad only in tight-fitting jodhpurs, riding boots, and sports bra, she looked ready for a raunchy Playboy photo shoot, her toned abs glistening in the heat of the day, her hair pulled back in a single tie at the base of her neck.

She was totally fuckable and couldn’t be any more out of my league, even if she was gay and more importantly, wasn’t engaged to my stepfather.

“Here,” I said, offering her the shirt.

“You okay?” She was studying me intently, concern etched in her features. “You look very flushed, perhaps you need to get out of the sun for a bit. We could always do this later.”

Flushed! I bet I did. I was bound to be sporting my post-romp glow!

“No, I’m fine,” I said quickly, wanting to change the subject, “I’m just going to grab a drink, you want something?”

“Yes, please.”

She took the shirt from my outstretched hand but her eyes held me hostage, their green depths flashing with some unknown thought that I tried to discern.

And then I lost myself in that look; the air filling with a palpable tension as her interest became apparent, her gaze turning hot and hungry. She wanted me!

“You have lovely honey-toned hair,” she said softly, reaching out with her free hand to toy with a loose strand.

Every nerve ending in my body rushed to the touch. I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks once again and saw her smile in response, obviously enjoying the visible effect she was having on me. She knew what she was doing, that was quite clear.

She watched me intently as her fingers traveled the length of the strand, her hand brushing over my left breast with the move. My breathing halted as my nipple hardened against the fabric of my bra, lavishing in the fleeting contact.

“Is it highlighted?” she asked innocently, moving to repeat the caress with another strand of hair.

“Natural,” I breathed.

The ache between my legs returned tenfold, my breasts tingling in desperate anticipation of her next stroke...

“You’re much more beautiful than your father ... sorry, stepfather ... gives you credit for.”

I reacted as though slapped, her words sending ice through my veins as the reminder of who she was and the man she was marrying hit home. Stepping back to break the contact, I folded my arms across my chest and dropped my gaze.

“I’m sorry—” she began.

“I’ll just get those drinks,” I bit out, taking a wide berth around her and heading to the office fridge.

It was no surprise that Dad had spoken critically of me, that hadn’t bothered me in the slightest. No, it was fear of what that man would do if he discovered this attraction between us.

Thank God, my next shrink appointment was scheduled for tomorrow; hopefully he would help me make sense of my crazy thoughts and raging hormones.

I just needed to get through today first.