Loving Venus (Sally-Ann Jones Sexy Romance) by Sally-Ann Jones Page B
Authors: Sally-Ann Jones
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in his teeth, laughing up at her, not seeing Annabella in the shadows.
“Al!” called Umberto, for the first time noticing his friend among the riders.
Alessandro turned to the direction of the doctor’s voice and his smile vanished as he saw Annabella there too. He tore the rose from his teeth and let it fall onto the ground, where it was soon mashed by newly-shod hooves.
“Good luck!” shouted Umberto. “Win for Mario’s little boy, eh?”
Alessandro nodded confidently and tipped the medieval tricorn hat he wore, never allowing his eyes to linger on the woman who clung to Umberto’s arm, her beautiful face pale, her hair gleaming like copper in the dull light.
A horse reared impatiently, another slashed at a rival with its teeth, a third flung a gleaming hoof sideways and drew blood from a flank, earning fury from the rider of the stricken horse. Annabella was suddenly frightened for her second cousin. None of the riders had the benefit of a saddle and it was common for jockeys to fall off and for their mounts to finish without them, even to win the Palio riderless. The ground was literally rock-hard underfoot and the crowds, noise, trumpets and flapping flags and banners had all whipped the horses into a near-frenzy. If a competitor fell, he would be at risk of being trampled to death.
Before she could stop herself, she called out, “Be careful, Al!”
But he didn’t hear her. The Palio , with its crazy, terrifying, break-neck hurtling around the curved Campo , had begun. Annabella could barely bring herself to watch, she was so afraid Alessandro would be hurt. Yet, at the same time, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. His handsome head proudly erect, his jaw squared, his shoulders broad under the cape he wore, his muscular thighs and calves effortlessly controlling the big horse, he looked more fabulous than she’d ever seen him. She remembered that in this event, even the losers were worthy of praise for only the bravest of horsemen and the hardiest, most willing horses were capable of entering such a contest.
She forced herself to keep her eyes open and focused only on her second cousin as if by watching over him she could keep him safe. With great skill, he ’ manoeuvred his mount through the opening scrum of other animals and was close to being in the lead. Never using his whip, he leant forward over the stallion’s neck, Annabella was certain to whisper encouragement in his ear. Once they sped around the Campo. Then twice, at a velocity that made the fine hairs on her arms bristle. During the third mad revolution, she saw something horrifying and it seemed it was happening in slow motion. A toddler, more intent on catching the strawberry-flavoured drips running down his icecream cone than on watching the race, began to wander away from where his parents were standing, near her, in the shadow of the many grand old buildings lining the Campo . They were so excited and intent on waving the flag of their contrade that they didn’t notice their son moving dangerously close to the crush of men and beasts. Then, as the horses swerved around the corner, their hooves striking sparks on the ground, the little chap’s scoop of icecream fell off the cornet and he leant forward to retrieve it.
“No!” screamed Annabella, breaking free of Umberto’s comforting arm and rushing to the child’s aid. The horses were bearing down on him and he ’d never be able to run away in time. Thinking only of the little boy, she burst out from the shady doorway and raced towards him, hoping to gather him up in time. She saw only the child as she hurled herself in front of the leading horse – the Ferris’ stallion. The great stallion reared in terror and anger, knowing his victory was thwarted and, as it did so, the child walked unharmed and ignorant of his danger, back to his parents, who were blissfully unaware that he’d been in
“Al!” called Umberto, for the first time noticing his friend among the riders.
Alessandro turned to the direction of the doctor’s voice and his smile vanished as he saw Annabella there too. He tore the rose from his teeth and let it fall onto the ground, where it was soon mashed by newly-shod hooves.
“Good luck!” shouted Umberto. “Win for Mario’s little boy, eh?”
Alessandro nodded confidently and tipped the medieval tricorn hat he wore, never allowing his eyes to linger on the woman who clung to Umberto’s arm, her beautiful face pale, her hair gleaming like copper in the dull light.
A horse reared impatiently, another slashed at a rival with its teeth, a third flung a gleaming hoof sideways and drew blood from a flank, earning fury from the rider of the stricken horse. Annabella was suddenly frightened for her second cousin. None of the riders had the benefit of a saddle and it was common for jockeys to fall off and for their mounts to finish without them, even to win the Palio riderless. The ground was literally rock-hard underfoot and the crowds, noise, trumpets and flapping flags and banners had all whipped the horses into a near-frenzy. If a competitor fell, he would be at risk of being trampled to death.
Before she could stop herself, she called out, “Be careful, Al!”
But he didn’t hear her. The Palio , with its crazy, terrifying, break-neck hurtling around the curved Campo , had begun. Annabella could barely bring herself to watch, she was so afraid Alessandro would be hurt. Yet, at the same time, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. His handsome head proudly erect, his jaw squared, his shoulders broad under the cape he wore, his muscular thighs and calves effortlessly controlling the big horse, he looked more fabulous than she’d ever seen him. She remembered that in this event, even the losers were worthy of praise for only the bravest of horsemen and the hardiest, most willing horses were capable of entering such a contest.
She forced herself to keep her eyes open and focused only on her second cousin as if by watching over him she could keep him safe. With great skill, he ’ manoeuvred his mount through the opening scrum of other animals and was close to being in the lead. Never using his whip, he leant forward over the stallion’s neck, Annabella was certain to whisper encouragement in his ear. Once they sped around the Campo. Then twice, at a velocity that made the fine hairs on her arms bristle. During the third mad revolution, she saw something horrifying and it seemed it was happening in slow motion. A toddler, more intent on catching the strawberry-flavoured drips running down his icecream cone than on watching the race, began to wander away from where his parents were standing, near her, in the shadow of the many grand old buildings lining the Campo . They were so excited and intent on waving the flag of their contrade that they didn’t notice their son moving dangerously close to the crush of men and beasts. Then, as the horses swerved around the corner, their hooves striking sparks on the ground, the little chap’s scoop of icecream fell off the cornet and he leant forward to retrieve it.
“No!” screamed Annabella, breaking free of Umberto’s comforting arm and rushing to the child’s aid. The horses were bearing down on him and he ’d never be able to run away in time. Thinking only of the little boy, she burst out from the shady doorway and raced towards him, hoping to gather him up in time. She saw only the child as she hurled herself in front of the leading horse – the Ferris’ stallion. The great stallion reared in terror and anger, knowing his victory was thwarted and, as it did so, the child walked unharmed and ignorant of his danger, back to his parents, who were blissfully unaware that he’d been in
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