“My sister Diana can leap into a saddle without assistance, but she rides astride.” A nervous chuckle.
“There is no mounting block,” he said. “Can you use the slat of the fence?”
“I suppose I could do; but it will be difficult in a dress. The fabric snags. It becomes a bit of a fight between the post and gravity.”
But had she offended him by asking for help? Ryan looked to him and realized he was blushing.He studied her position beside the mare but would not meet her eye. He took off his hat and swiped his brow. Had she upset him with the suggestion of closeness? Was the prospect of touching her again so terrible?
Slowly, almost tiredly, he released his horse and came to her. Ryan smiled cautiously. There was no ulterior motive here. He needed her to ride, and she needed a hand into the saddle to do it. She thought about apologizing again, but he was upon her—coming closer and closer and so close, he stood six inches away. The smell and heat of him came over her in a rush, and Ryan felt azingof sensation shimmer down her body. She took a step back. He’d need room to kneel and she’d need space to hitch her foot into his hands. The grooms at Winscombe took up position about two feet away.
She took another step back. Gabriel closed the distance, following her.
Ryan bit her lip. She glanced at the mare. If there was any hope for reaching the saddle horn and the reins, he must—
With no warning, he fastened his large hands around her waist and lifted. Ryan let out a little yelp and her hands flew first to his wrists, then to his shoulders. He lifted her up,up, past his face, past his hat. He lifted her so high, she looked down into his face.
“Wait, wait, wait,” she said in a small, breathless voice. “Gabriel, let us—can we begin again?”
He frowned and lowered her. Now they stood chest to chest. The fabric of her skirts enveloped his legs; the bodice of her dress brushed the lapels of his coat.The zing in her chest was now a cascade, raining down on her pounding heart.
“Sorry,” she said on a breath, “I wasn’t expecting you to—” She laughed. “That is, the grooms at Winscombe stoop like this...” she demonstrated going down on one knee “...and make a cradle with two hands by interlocking their fingers, and I step into their hands. I wasn’t expecting you to lift me from—well, I wasn’t expecting to be lifted.”
He took a step back.
“Although,” she said quickly, following him, “your way is perfectly alright; I simply—”
“I’ve never seated a woman on a horse before,” he cut in.
In the same moment that he said it, she blurted out, “I’ve never had a manlift meonto a horse before.”
She laughed and raised her hands to his shoulders. His blush persisted, brighter now, and he was still frowning. She was just about to suggest that he lift her again, that she waspreparedthis time, when he dropped to his knee and interlocked his fingers. Because of their closeness and the position of her hands, she tipped forward when he went down. He was given no choice but to grab her around the legs to steady her. She fell, leaning into him, pressing her thighs into his shoulder and her belly into his cheek.
“Oh,” Ryan exclaimed, her hands sliding from his shoulders to the back of his head. His hat dropped to the ground. For a long moment, they hovered there: Gabriel on one knee, his face pressed into her middle, Ryan clutching his head. The memory of last night swept over her, the closeness, the safety, the intimacy. She squeezed her fingers into his hair and closed hereyes, basking in the feeling of being held by him again, of his shoulder against her legs, of his hands tangled in her skirts.
He would pull away, she knew—any moment he would go—but until he did, she held him. But then he didn’t move, and so she didn’t move, and she nudged closer. He hesitated a moment and then encircled her legs in his arms, crushing her against him, burying his face against her breasts.
Ryan stifled a whimpering noise and closed her eyes. She folded over him and dropped her mouth to the top of his head. Oh, therightnessof it, she thought. How could he feel so familiar after only one night? She moved her fingers through his hair, inhaling the scent of him. The embrace was sweet, and unexpected, and restorative. After everything he’d not said, and she’d not said.
It wasn’t a moment for chatter, but her mind cast around for something to say.I’m sorry.Or,It feels very good when you hold me. Or,Please don’t send me away. These were wrong, of course. She wasn’t sorry. And his arms felt far better than “good.” And the problem wasn’t that he sent her away, the problem was that he refused to go awaywithher. He would remain, and she would not challenge him.
After a second, a minute—she didn’t know—he drew back his head, let his hands fall away, and shoved up from the ground. He turned briskly away. Ryan staggered a little—he’d released her as swiftly as he’d snatched her—and she reached out a hand to the mare. The moment dissolved.
Breathing hard, she watched him walk to the paddock fence, grip it, and turn back. His face was tight and unreadable. Was he angry? Pained? Sad?
“But are you angry, Gabriel?” she asked.
It was one thing to say too much, but quite another to say nothing and simplyguess. Ryan preferred to understand.
“Or hurt?” she offered. “Sad? Forgive me, I don’t understand what’s happened between us.”
“Nothing’s happened,” he said. “I’ve never seated a woman on a horse before. I’ve never had a woman hover at such close proximity. I’ve never—” He stopped himself.
“I apologize,” he said, clearing his throat. “Shall we mount the mare your way or shall I lift you?”
She blinked at him. “Your choice.”
“Fine. Up you go.” In one swift movement, he picked her up around the waist, lifted her, and plopped her on the saddle. Her skirts and cloak got in the way and she scrambled to hook her knee around the pommel and arrange the fabric.
“Thank you.”
