Nope—nothing there. Definite hoofbeats, and they were getting louder. She turned toward the north.
The horse was coming up the middle of the narrow beach at a gallop. It was pure white and absolutely gorgeous. The black saddle and bridle stood out starkly, and the metal studs decorating the saddle glinted in the sunlight. And on the horse’s back was a man.
In the brief moment granted her for reflection, Gypsy felt distinctly odd. It was as if she’d stepped into the pages of fiction… or into the world of film fantasy.
The rider was dressed all in white—pants, boots, gloves, and shirt. The shirt was the pirate-type, full sleeves caught in tight cuffs at the wrist and unbuttoned halfway down. And the rider wore a mask and a black kerchief affair which hid all his hair. Almost all. A copper gleam showed.
Gypsy took all that in in the space of seconds. And then horse and rider were beside her, and the totally unexpected happened. Gypsy would have sworn that it couldn’t be done except by trained stuntpeople on a movie set. Forever afterward, she maintained that it was sheer luck,
not
careful planning, that brought it off.
The horse slid to a halt with beautiful precision, leaving the rider exactly abreast of Gypsy. Then the animal stood like a stone while the rider leaned over and down.
“Wha—” was all she managed to utter.
She was swept up with one strong arm, and ended up sitting across the rider’s lap. Through the slits of his mask, darkened eyes gleamed with a hint of green for just a moment. And then he was kissing her.
Ravishment would have been in keeping with the image, she supposed dimly, but the rider didn’t use an ounce of force. He didn’t have to. He kissed her as if she were a cherished, treasured thing, and Gypsy would have been less than human—and less of a woman—to resist that.
She felt the silk beneath her fingers as her hands came to rest naturally—one touching his chest and the other gripping his upper arm. The dark gold hair at the opening of the shirt teased her thumb, and the hand at her waist burned oddly. The hard thighs beneath her were a potent seduction.
She felt the world spinning away, and released it gladly. Her lips parted, allowing—inviting—his exploring tongue. Fire raced through her veins and scorched her nerve endings. She felt the arm around her waist tighten, and then… the devastating kiss ended as abruptly as it had begun.
Gypsy was lowered back to the sand, green eyes glinted at her briefly, and then the horse leaped away.
Dazedly she stared after them. She took a couple of steps back and found her seat by touch alone, sinking down weakly.
The horse and rider had disappeared. Without conscious thought she murmured, “Say, who was that masked man?”
Then she giggled. The giggle exploded into laughter a split second later. Gypsy laughed until her sides ached. Finally she wiped streaming eyes, and tried to gather her scattered wits. In a long and eventful life nothing quite so wild had ever happened to her.
A gleam from the sand at her feet caught her attention, and she bent down to see what it was. She held the object in her hand for a long moment, then her fingers closed around it and she laughed again.
Delighted laughter.
It occurred to Gypsy as she climbed the stairs to her backyard a few minutes later that Chase had somehow found the time to plan that little scene very carefully. Where had he got the horse? And how could he have been certain that she’d take a walk on the beach? The only thing she
didn’t
wonder about was the point of it all.
Heroes.
She crossed the yard and entered the house through the kitchen, still giggling. Who would have thought the man would go to such absurd lengths to catch her attention? Why in heaven’s name hadn’t some woman latched onto him years ago?
Gypsy hastily brushed that last thought away.
There was a gallon of milk in her refrigerator, and no sign of the Mercedes next door. She smiled and went
The horse was coming up the middle of the narrow beach at a gallop. It was pure white and absolutely gorgeous. The black saddle and bridle stood out starkly, and the metal studs decorating the saddle glinted in the sunlight. And on the horse’s back was a man.
In the brief moment granted her for reflection, Gypsy felt distinctly odd. It was as if she’d stepped into the pages of fiction… or into the world of film fantasy.
The rider was dressed all in white—pants, boots, gloves, and shirt. The shirt was the pirate-type, full sleeves caught in tight cuffs at the wrist and unbuttoned halfway down. And the rider wore a mask and a black kerchief affair which hid all his hair. Almost all. A copper gleam showed.
Gypsy took all that in in the space of seconds. And then horse and rider were beside her, and the totally unexpected happened. Gypsy would have sworn that it couldn’t be done except by trained stuntpeople on a movie set. Forever afterward, she maintained that it was sheer luck,
not
careful planning, that brought it off.
The horse slid to a halt with beautiful precision, leaving the rider exactly abreast of Gypsy. Then the animal stood like a stone while the rider leaned over and down.
“Wha—” was all she managed to utter.
She was swept up with one strong arm, and ended up sitting across the rider’s lap. Through the slits of his mask, darkened eyes gleamed with a hint of green for just a moment. And then he was kissing her.
Ravishment would have been in keeping with the image, she supposed dimly, but the rider didn’t use an ounce of force. He didn’t have to. He kissed her as if she were a cherished, treasured thing, and Gypsy would have been less than human—and less of a woman—to resist that.
She felt the silk beneath her fingers as her hands came to rest naturally—one touching his chest and the other gripping his upper arm. The dark gold hair at the opening of the shirt teased her thumb, and the hand at her waist burned oddly. The hard thighs beneath her were a potent seduction.
She felt the world spinning away, and released it gladly. Her lips parted, allowing—inviting—his exploring tongue. Fire raced through her veins and scorched her nerve endings. She felt the arm around her waist tighten, and then… the devastating kiss ended as abruptly as it had begun.
Gypsy was lowered back to the sand, green eyes glinted at her briefly, and then the horse leaped away.
Dazedly she stared after them. She took a couple of steps back and found her seat by touch alone, sinking down weakly.
The horse and rider had disappeared. Without conscious thought she murmured, “Say, who was that masked man?”
Then she giggled. The giggle exploded into laughter a split second later. Gypsy laughed until her sides ached. Finally she wiped streaming eyes, and tried to gather her scattered wits. In a long and eventful life nothing quite so wild had ever happened to her.
A gleam from the sand at her feet caught her attention, and she bent down to see what it was. She held the object in her hand for a long moment, then her fingers closed around it and she laughed again.
Delighted laughter.
It occurred to Gypsy as she climbed the stairs to her backyard a few minutes later that Chase had somehow found the time to plan that little scene very carefully. Where had he got the horse? And how could he have been certain that she’d take a walk on the beach? The only thing she
didn’t
wonder about was the point of it all.
Heroes.
She crossed the yard and entered the house through the kitchen, still giggling. Who would have thought the man would go to such absurd lengths to catch her attention? Why in heaven’s name hadn’t some woman latched onto him years ago?
Gypsy hastily brushed that last thought away.
There was a gallon of milk in her refrigerator, and no sign of the Mercedes next door. She smiled and went
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