Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“You’re fucking nuts.” Lorne rises and steps around me, pulling on the buckles and checking my work.
I angle away, hiding my smile.
He’s not giving in. He’s going to take Captain for a ride because deep down, he wants to. Badly. He just couldn’t see that through his fog of despondency.
“Hop on.” He pats the saddle.
“What?” My gaze flies to his, and my heart skips.
“I won’t repeat myself.”
I touch Captain’s mane, stroking the coarse hair. Oh, how I’ve ached to ride. I had lessons when I was little, when my mom was sober. It was so long ago I don’t even remember how to mount a horse.
But this isn’t for me. It’s about Lorne and getting him back in the saddle again, figuratively and literally.
“You’ll ride with me?” I ask.
“Can’t leave you alone with John on the loose.”
Right. I scan the saddle gear and reach for the pommel. Hooking a boot in the stirrup, I attempt a climb that leaves me clinging ungracefully to Captain’s side.
Upper body strength would be great right now. And jeans. Every time I try to throw a leg over, my borrowed dress slips into flashing territory.
“You might want to look away.” I grapple for a handhold, certain my panties are on full display.
Strong hands grip my hips and launch me upward. The momentum nearly sends me off the other side, but he stays with me, swinging into the saddle and pinning my back against his chest.
A thick forearm hooks around my waist. Brawny thighs hug tightly to the outsides of mine. He adjusts me where he wants me. No hesitancy in his touch. No uncertainty. His movements are assertive, confident, like he’s ridden with a woman hundreds of times.
“Thank you.” I gasp, trying to catch my breath.
He gathers the reins and steers Captain out of the stable.
My pulse shivers. My nerve endings stir, and my core floods with a rush of warmth. My fevered elation has nothing to do with the horse ride and everything to do with the hard chest rubbing against my back.
My body is an alien, buzzing and tightening in a state of war. Lorne is just a man. He has a deep voice, masculine scent, abundance of muscle mass, and a cock between his legs. Who cares? I’ve traversed the male landscape more times than I care to remember.
So why am I gulping for air and wriggling restlessly in the cage of his arms? The initial delight in touching an attractive guy should’ve gone stale by now. Now would be the time I start yearning for escape.
The faster I get them off, the quicker they go away.
But Lorne isn’t a job. He isn’t John Holsten. He’s the first man who’s ever held me without stripping off my clothes.
“How many girlfriends did you have in high school?” I rest my hands on his knees.
“None.”
I know he went to prison at a young age, but sweet Lord, he’s so wildly, overwhelmingly good-looking he couldn’t possibly be a virgin. Could he?
I lick my lips. “Are you—?”
“No.”
“Ah. So you played the field?”
“I had options when I was young.”
“You’re still young, and you still have options. The fine women of Sandbank would climb over one another to be with you.”
A harsh breath hits my neck. “Lay off the goddamn pep talks.” He drives a boot into Captain’s side with unnecessary force. “Your fucking voice gives me a headache.”
My spine snaps straight, and I shove his arm away from my waist. “I know you’re going through some adjustments, but that doesn’t give you a pass to disrespect me. I tolerated a lot of cruelty the last couple of years, but no more. Do you hear me, Lorne? I’m done with it.”
We rock together in stiff silence, floating across a tenebrous landscape. After several bristling seconds, he releases a low-pitch whistle and brings the horse to a stop.
We’re out of view of the estate, the stable, or any hint of civilization. He could strangle the air from my body, and no one would hear me scream. There’s no one left in my life who would care.
His right hand comes around me, slowly lifting across my chest to rest on the left side of my face. My pounding heartbeat grows loud in my ears as he uses the featherlight touch to guide my head ever-so-softly to look at him. I’m too shocked by the tenderness to fight the pull.
Dense, black lashes fringe seductive green eyes. Slack lips, unlocked jaw, he looks calm. Innocuous.
His thumb falls against my cheekbone, ghosting across my skin as his cruel, gorgeous mouth drifts lower, closer, inches from mine.
“I’m sorry.” His breath caresses my lips.
Fucking damn, he’s potent. The intoxicating scent of him, the reserved beauty in his face, the strength of his heart that shines so clearly in his tortured eyes, and his touch…
The universe must hate me, because that delicate, complicated, barely-there pressure of his fingers feels like a fist slamming between the rungs of my ribs.