“So, something I could use. But you got Texas instead.”
An image of him in nothing but that towel flashed through my mind. And then one of him out of the towel. I put a hand to my forehead. Was I suffering from heat stroke?
“I got Texas.” And a devastatingly handsome cowboy with enough charm to hypnotize a dozen cobras.
“What else did Paige say when she sold you on this?”
Suddenly, I felt as vulnerable as if I were sitting on the horse. “She said I needed to stop wasting my heart on men who didn’t know what to do with a real woman.”
His face turned serious. “She’s right. You should never waste your time on a man who doesn’t know exactly what is in front of him.”
That made my heart flutter a little. “She’s right about most things, but I love her anyway.”
“How old?” he asked.
“Thirty. Last week.”
“Want to know how old I am?” he asked with a grin.
“Not really. You’re probably much older than you look.”
“Backhanded compliments. I like that.” He stepped a little closer. “So, let’s not disappoint your friend and make the most of your birthday gift.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“Call it whatever you want. But you aren’t leaving this corral until you ride Buttercup.”
I didn’t actually give in, but somehow, I found myself following him inside the corral. I was wearing the brand new jeans Paige had insisted on—dark denim that hugged my thighs and butt but thankfully allowed me to move. That would have been just my luck—my jeans ripping as I tried to mount a horse.
He led the horse to a mounting block. I’d watched enough western themed movies to know the physics behind getting on a horse.
“Left foot in the stirrup,” Slade commanded, holding the horse steady.
I did as I was told, my leg shaking.
“Now, grab the horn. Stand up and swing that right leg over. Don’t think, just move.”
I hauled myself up. For a second, I was airborne, my heart in my throat, and then—thud—I was in the saddle. I felt incredibly high up.
“See? Still in one piece.” He moved to my side, his hand coming up to rest firmly on my thigh. He didn’t just touch me. He gripped me, his thumb grazing the sensitive inner part of my leg.
“I feel like I’m going to fall off,” I gasped, clutching the horn.
“You’re fine. I’ve got you.” He stepped closer, his body pressed against the horse, putting him almost at eye level.
One large, calloused hand gripped my waist, while the other slid up my inner thigh to adjust my position. His fingers dug into the soft meat of my thigh, his thumb grazing perilously close to the apex of my thighs. He didn’t move his hand. He let it linger on my thigh, the heat of his palm burning through the denim. He was looking up at me, his eyes filled with a desire that was impossible to miss.
“Slade,” I breathed, my voice trembling. “The horse...”
“The horse is fine. It’s the rider I’m worried about. You’re wound so damn tight, darlin’. I think you need someone to show you how to let go of the reins.”
“I’m a librarian,” I managed to choke out, trying to find my wit in the fog of lust. “I like things in order. Alphabetical. Controlled.”
“Well, out here, the only thing you need to control is your grip.” He gave my thigh a final, possessive squeeze before stepping back, though his eyes never left mine. “And I think you’re going to find you like the feeling of losing control.”
He led Buttercup in a slow circle around the corral. I should have been concentrating on staying on the horse. Instead, all I could do was watch him. The way his muscles moved under his shirt, the way he commanded the space, and the way he lookedat me like he wanted to be teaching me a whole different style of riding.
Yes, please,my mind whispered.
