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Chapter 620
Chapter 620:
Susan pulled out her phone. She scrolled through her contacts, her social feeds, the fragments of her former life. Her finger stopped on a post from a society blogger detailing the guest list for an upcoming charity brunch.
“The Wellington Equestrian Club,” she said. “This Tuesday. There’s a major charity brunch. June Erickson is listed as a guest of honor — she’s meeting with the board of the Children’s Health Initiative. She won’t be able to refuse a confrontation there p>
She smiled, and the expression was almost beautiful in its malice.
“We’ll give her a performance she’ll never forget p>
The Wellington Equestrian Club occupied forty acres of prime Greenwich real estate, its white-fenced paddocks and Georgian-style main house a temple to old money and older bloodlines.
Susan arrived at ten-thirty, dressed in a riding habit that had cost three thousand dollars in better times. The fabric pulled slightly across her hips now — the result of stress eating and sleepless nights — but she held herself with the rigid posture of a woman determined to be seen.
She was not seen.
The other members — women whose families had summered in the Hamptons for generations, whose children attended the right schools, whose divorces were handled by the right lawyers — moved around her like water around a stone. Their greetings were polite and empty. Their eyes slid past her to more interesting prospects. She was toxic now. The Beasley scandal had spread through their circles with the efficiency of a virus.
Susan forced a smile and made her way to the practice ring.
𝖱e𝗰𝗈𝘮𝘮e𝗇𝗱 t𝘰 у𝘰𝗎r 𝖿rie𝗻d𝗌
Her horse was a chestnut mare named Duchess, leased at exorbitant rates that would soon come due. The animal was skittish, sensing her rider’s tension, tossing her head and sidestepping as Susan tried to mount.
“Your saddle’s too far forward p>
The voice came from behind her — low, warm, and unexpectedly intimate.
Susan turned.
The man standing there was unlike anyone in her usual circles. He was young, perhaps thirty, dressed in simple riding clothes that fit his body with the casual perfection of custom tailoring. His skin was weathered to a deep bronze, his hair dark and slightly too long, falling across a face that was almost brutally handsome. But it was his eyes that held her — green, predatory, assessing her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“You’re throwing off her balance,” he continued, stepping closer. Close enough that she could smell him — leather and clean sweat and something darker that spoke of stables and open air.
He reached past her, his hand briefly grazing her hip as he adjusted the stirrup, the contact casual and deliberate all at once.
“Better,” he murmured, his voice dropping to something almost private. “But your posture is still wrong. You’re too tense. She can feel it p>
His hand settled at her waist. His other hand found hers on the reins.
“May I p>
Susan nodded, unable to speak.
He swung up behind her. The saddle was not designed for two, and his body pressed against hers with unavoidable closeness — his chest firm against her back, his thighs bracketing hers, his breath warm at her ear.
“Relax,” he whispered. “Let me guide you p>