Rawley had definitely whipped her on the trail. He approached in silence, passing so close she could feel the heat radiating from him. She saw him bite back laughter, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
“I let you win,” she called, grinning as she tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear. Rawley halted midstride and glanced over his shoulder.
Skylar shrugged, walked her horse a few steps farther before turning and heading back. At the far end of the barn, shewatched him lead Twiz into his stall. He slid open the door with a soft scrape of wood, guided the horse inside, then latched it shut and leaned against the frame. He folded his arms across his chest, muscles outlined in the sweat-dark fabric of his shirt. Damn, those arms.
Skylar tethered Chanel’s reins around a nearby post, then stripped off her own saddle. From beside her came Rawley’s low voice: “I’ll take it.”
She spun and shoved the saddle at him with playful force. He caught it easily. Skylar laughed, the sound mingling with distant hoof beats and the low murmur of other horses.
“You were flying out there,” she said, brushing a hand over Chanel’s gleaming coat.
“He’s a rocket,” Rawley replied, hefting the saddle over his shoulder with casual ease. “but Rafe Marshall’s horse, actually named Rocket, is faster.”
“Wow. He must have wings,” she agreed, “but you sit Twiz like you’re a part of the same animal.”
He stepped closer, heat from his body mingling with hers. “You do too. I almost forgot to breathe watching you move.”
A soft grin curved across Skylar’s face. “I had fun.”
“We should’ve made a bet,” Rawley teased, one eyebrow quirked.
“What would the winner get?” she challenged.
He closed the gap between them and kissed her, slowly. When he pulled back, he lingered, gazing into her eyes. “I’m sure I could’ve come up with something.”
Skylar chuckled against him. “No doubt.”
Rawley checked his watch, then offered his hand. “Let’s get Chanel cooled off, then escape this heat.”
After giving the horses fresh water and oats, they walked from the barn. On the front porch, the dogs lay sprawled on the boards, too lethargic to lift their heads.
“I bet they’re roasting too,” Skylar said, wiping sweat from her forehead.
“We’ll all feel better inside,” Rawley promised. He reached for the door and swung it open.
A wave of cooler air washed over them. Skylar inhaled deeply, pressing a palm to her clammy collar. “Oh, that’s bliss. I feel like my clothes are glued to me.”
Rawley smiled. “I’ve got a T-shirt and sweatpants here if you want to change. I’m going to shower first.”
She tugged on his arm. “Why do you get a shower, and I don’t? I’m just as hot.”
He curled his hands around her waist. “You’re hotter,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers. “And I never said you couldn’t take a shower.”
“I’d like the clothes you offered, please.”
Rawley let out a low sigh, tugging at the hem of his T-shirt. “Okay.”
Skylar grinned, the corners of her mouth curving with playful promise. “You can get them after we shower.”
“Let’s go.” He took her hand, making her laugh, then guided her up the carpeted stairs into his bedroom.
The room was bathed in soft lamplight. The sun shone through the white blinds, making stripes on the carpet. Skylar lifted her cotton T-shirt over her head, the fabric whispering against her skin as it cleared her shoulders. She let it flutter to the floor, then leaned forward to unhook the single button at her waistband. The metal clasp clicked, and the zipper slid down, exposing the curve of her hip. She sat on the edge of the bed, the quilt rustling underneath, and peeled off her scuffed boots, setting them neatly by the dresser.
When she straightened and began shimmying out of her jeans, she froze. Rawley stood in the doorway to the bathroom, backlit by lightbulbs, arms crossed over his chest. Every tautmuscle showed in silhouette, and the front of his jeans betrayed the hard line of his arousal.
Feeling a little naughty, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her jeans, tugged them slowly down her thighs, and stepped free, letting the denim pool around her ankles. She stood before him in sheer blue lace, her bra cups scalloped with fine thread, matching boy short panties hugging the plane of her hips.
His gaze never glanced away as she slid her arms behind her back, unclasped the bra, and eased it down, baring her skin to him. She paused just at her chest, letting the straps slip off her shoulders, then let the silky fabric fall. Panties followed; she kicked them aside, watching them land in a graceful arc.
