Black padded jodhpurs stretch around his butt and powerful legs.
A tight black polo shirt wraps around his perfect chest and eight-pack. Ray-Bans fill out his tanned face and aristocratic jaw. As he smiles with his perfect white teeth, I raise a brow.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say as he heads away.
I run to catch up across the perfectly manicured grass, and we finally make it back to the stables. Harry is fast and efficient as he places a bridle and saddle on Charlie.
As I wait, I notice photos of Harry playing polo on the walls. Some with him holding large trophies. Another with his sister, who looks like a show jumper with Charlie.
His sister is beautiful, and she looks confident and determined. Also gentle, unlike him.
There are other photos of her riding Charlie and jumping high in what look like near-Olympic-level competitions.
Harry places black leather gear on the other large horse.
The striking and cold black stallion snorts. He is full of energy, and almost scary. Like Harry on our first night at times.
His masculine edge is powerful. His energy strong. He is clearly all male, like Harry.
“Please, just be gentle,” I say, my stomach churning.
Harry looks over, and I blush. “I don’t do gentle.”
He said it partly to himself, and he said it low. It confuses me, but it’s hot. I bite my lip and check Harry out as he prepares to ride. Ride the brute.
He is now wrapping black-gloved hands around the black horse’s mane and neck.
His black clothes are form-fitting, he really does have a perfect body. There is just one major problem.
He is far too arrogant.
Far too grumpy and…
Far too perfect.
Just as I start to calm myself, Harry pulls a slim black riding crop from a rack. He whacks the side of the wall, and I jump.
“Samantha, riding is a sport of discipline and control.” My heart pounds, and I gulp. I clench a fist at my side. What the fuck? “The sooner you understandthat, the better.”
He walks closer to me, and I look down.
“I think you have a problem with control.”
As he walks around me, I gulp again. I then look up and stare back at him. Now, I have hatred in my eyes.
That son of a bitch.
Just when I’m about to unleash my pent-up fury and leap on him to fight, he raises a brow.
“Now, climb on.”
My lip curls up a bit, and so does his.
The bastard!
Harry spins the chestnut on the spot, almost knocking me over. I yelp and move aside, then he offers a strong black leather-clad hand. I take it.
