don’t do weddings? Now there’s a surprise.”
“I have practice. Racing stuff.”
She gave him a long look, and he knew he didn’t measure up to her standards. He knew he never would, but Demetri had been chasing his tail for longer than most. She turned and left.
“Good night, Elizabeth,” he whispered after her. When all was said and done, Hugh Preston was going to hate him. But Demetri had always walked into the fire, no matter the price.
It was who he was. It was who he always would be.
Chapter Four
Early Tuesday morning, Demetri escaped from his hotel in Louisville to Quest Stables to watch the training of Courting Disaster, Demetri’s one-year-old filly, who was the offspring of Courtin’Cristy. Last night, Team Sterling had a meeting with Jim Sterling, the team’s owner, who commended Demetri on his responsible behavior, chastised Oliver for playing too much and not taking practice seriously and updated everyone on the search for a new team sponsor, at which point, Demetri shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
A visit to see his horses and do some riding seemed the second most perfect way to take the edge off before the racing trials started. Sex was his traditional first most perfect way to take the edge off, but Demetri knew at this point, sex was not in the cards. He only wanted one woman, and unfortunately, with Elizabeth, he knew sex was a long way off. Over the weekend, he’d bought the entire Elizabeth Innis collection, and read up on her between practice laps, scanning the pages of the music magazines like a fan-girl. Thank God he hadn’t been caught.
It was hard to believe that no man had climbed that mountain before and fought for the right to take off that virtual chastity belt she wore with pride, but seeing the pictures of the men she’d dated in the past? Heh. Nothing but boys. No wonder she expected every man to take no with a smile on his face.
Yet good things come to those who wait, even those who were impatient by nature. Like Demetri.
In the interim, he had Disaster. She was a flashy bay with a mean temper, and a way of tossing her mane when she didn’t like what she was being told to do. From the moment he spotted her, Demetri knew that this horse had more in common with him than just a name. He leaned against the fence, watching as Marcus Vasquez, the head trainer at Quest, handled her like a champ, bringing her to heel until she turned and nipped in Marcus’s direction. Demetri had been watching Marcus with the filly, and knew there was talent there, but Marcus was quiet, and didn’t say much, and Demetri wasn’t going to press.
“Looks like there’s still work to do,” Demetri commented.
“She’ll come around,” Marcus said, obviously more patient than Demetri.
For a few minutes he continued to watch them, Marcus talking quietly to the filly, leading her by the reins, using his magic to keep the head tossing to a minimum. Demetri’s cell phone rang, interrupting the quiet. Marcus glared.
Demetri ignored him and answered, but he did walk away from the paddock, because it was his father, and some things were best handled in private.
“Demetri.”
“Hello, Dad.” If his father noted the sarcasm, he surprisingly ignored it. There usually wasn’t much thatAndre Lucas ignored.
“I need to see you.”
“I’m really busy,” answered Demetri. “You know how the racing circuit keeps me on the road most of the year.”
“You’re driving too fast. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Yeah, too bad. I bet you’re all broken up about it.” Demetri rubbed his eyes, not that it did any good. The glare of the morning sun was a little too bright, and a headache was already pounding at his temples. “What do you want?”
“I read you have a race in Vancouver near the end of the month. You’ll be close to Seattle.”
“Yes.” Demetri could feel the walls looming around him. It didn’t matter that he was in the great outdoors, because there were always walls, and his father was the world’s biggest expert at making them compress.
“The Japanese are closing on the deal next week. I’ll have the money I owe you from your loan.”
Demetri sighed, not caring if his father heard or not. “I don’t want it,” he snapped. “I’ve told you that a thousand times.” He knew it had been hard for his father to ask him for the money. Two years ago, Andre Lucas had flown out to see Demetri, which was testament enough to what it cost him. As a rule, Andre didn’t fly anywhere to see Demetri. Sometimes two people weren’t meant to be in the same state at the same time.
“Do you think your money can bring him back? Do you think your money will make me forget?”
Demetri heard the pain in that voice. Always the heartaching pain over Seth. It always came down to his brother. “No, I don’t think anything can bring him back. He’s dead,” he answered, careful to keep the pain out of his own voice. “I still don’t want it. The money was a gift to you for your business. It had nothing to do with him.” At one time, Demetri had thought that money could fix things. That fame could fix things. But no, nothing could fix things. Sometimes things just were.
“I won’t owe you,” his father answered, and then hung up without saying goodbye.
Demetri could take a corner at Nordschleife doing two-hundred and forty, ski down Verbier with black ice caked on his face, dive off the Punch Bowl cliffs in California without blinking once. But a conversation with his father made him sweat with terror.
Theirs had never been a good relationship. Andre Lucas was a disciplined man with an eye for order and stability, and a disdain for chaos, as compared to Demetri, who lived for chaos.
As he walked back toward the normalcy of the exercise ring, he noticed Marcus looking at him curiously. Demetri wiped his brow, waiting a few seconds, and like clockwork, he felt the familiar rage rise up inside him, bitterness tasting like bile in his mouth. Quickly he tamped it down.
The bay looked at Demetri, teeth bared, eyes filled with contempt.
“You mind if I take her for a ride?” asked Demetri, not really caring if Marcus agreed or not.
“She’s your horse.”
“Good answer,” said Demetri. The spirited filly was exactly the rush he needed this morning. Efficiently he mounted the horse, and she reared up with a scream that would have scared a lesser man. For Demetri, it was perfect.
His face grim with determination, Demetri dug his heels in, shouted, and Courting Disaster took off as if the devil was giving chase. Faster and faster they went, hooves thundering against the soft ground. Demetri had bought this horse for her spirit and her strength, knowing that someday he was going to need it. Sadly, he’d thought it would be for a race, not to exorcise old demons. The bay didn’t disappoint.
The paddock fence was approaching, and the filly took it, not once shying away. The powerful hindquarters gathered up beneath Demetri, and he leaned forward until they were sailing through the air, flying without wings.
Demetri’s blood pumped, the rush of adrenaline drowning out everything else inside him. In the distance, he could hear Marcus shout, but it would take more than a shout to stop Demetri at the moment, not when all things, including blessed absolution, seemed possible. The wind whipped against his face, nearly blinding him.
One thing he’d say for the bay, not only was she pretty, but she was fast. Over the pasture they went, farther and farther away from the exercise yard, the filly’s legs pounding with powerful strength. Demetri’s heart stretched tight in his chest, a ticking bomb waiting to explode. The rush of adrenaline did its job, and for a moment, he could stay lost. Unfortunately, the moment was always gone too soon.
Not surprisingly, the horse couldn’t keep up the pace, her speed slowing, the clip easing into a gentle canter. Nothing