"Actually," Rohan interrupts, "my mother asked me to pass along a message. She'd like you to meet her out front in an hour, Trigger. She wants to show you the other side of the ranch, the training facilities, and the breeding program. Said she thought you'd appreciate seeing how we run things here, given your background."
The timing is too convenient. Way too convenient.
"The tour will take most of the morning," Rohan continues smoothly. "Mother's quite thorough when she's showing off theoperation. And honestly, with a pregnant mare, Asha will need to take her time. It could be an hour, could be several, depending on what she finds. These examinations can't be rushed."
He's boxed me in, and he knows it.
"Sounds like we both have our mornings planned, then," Asha says, and I can't tell if she's relieved or annoyed that I won't be tagging along.
"Seems that way." I keep my eyes on Rohan, who meets my gaze with that same pleasant, unreadable smile.
"Well, then." Rohan moves toward the door. "I'll see you in thirty minutes, Asha. And Trigger, Mother will meet you out front. She's very punctual, so I wouldn't be late if I were you."
There's something almost like a challenge in those last words, like he knows exactly what he's doing by separating us. The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows feels heavier than it should.
Asha immediately scrambles out of bed. "Don't start."
"Start what?" I sit up fully, running a hand through my hair.
"Whatever you're thinking." She's already pulling clothes out of her bag, not looking at me. "I can handle examining a horse without you hovering."
"That's not what I'm thinking." I stand, pacing toward the window. "I'm thinking it's awfully convenient that they've managed to split us up. You with him, me with Dar, both at the exact same time."
"Then what is it about?" She looks up at me, challenging.
I could tell her it's about the way Rohan looks at her like she's something to be figured out. About the way my gut is screaming that something's off. About the way the thought of her alone with him makes every possessive instinct I have roar to life.
But what comes out is: "Maybe if you weren't parading around in that…" I gesture at the silky camisole that's barelycovering her and the thin straps that keep sliding off her shoulder. "He wouldn't be finding excuses to get you alone."
Her eyes widen then narrow dangerously. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." I cross my arms, knowing I'm being an ass but unable to stop myself. "Did you see the way he was looking at you? He could barely keep his eyes off your bare shoulders."
"So now it's my fault he was staring? My fault he came to the bedroom I'm sharing with my husband?" Her voice rises, color flooding her cheeks.
"I'm saying maybe put on some actual pants before you go meet him in the stables."
"Oh, I'm sorry." She stalks toward her bag, yanking out clothes with more force than necessary. "I didn't realize I needed to dress foryourapproval. Last I checked, this is what I sleep in. You know, sleep—that thing I was supposed to be doing alone, in my own room, which was the agreement?"
"Yeah, well, plans changed."
"Clearly." She whirls back to face me, holding up the silk shorts and tank top set she pulled from her bag, somehow even more revealing than what she's currently wearing. "And for your information, I wear silk because I get hot when I sleep. Not because I'm trying to seduce anyone. Least of all you or Rohan."
"Could've fooled me. And apparently fooled him too, based on how he couldn't take his eyes off you."
She drops the clothes onto the bed. "You know what I think? I think you're jealous. And I think you don't trust me."
"That's not?—"
"You were real quick to point out my flaws last night," she cuts me off, taking a step toward me. "How I don’t let people in. How I hide because I'm scared." Another step, and now she's close enough that I can see the fury and hurt warring in her eyes. "But you can't trust me either, can you? Can't trust that I cando my job without throwing myself at the first guy who brings breakfast."
"Asha…"
"Tell me I'm wrong."
The challenge hangs in the air between us. I open my mouth, then close it, because what can I say? That she’s right? That I am jealous? That the thought of her spending the morning alone with a man who looks at her like he's trying to solve a puzzle makes me want to punch something?
Her expression shifts when I don't answer. "That's what I thought."
