Page 36 of The Devil of Downtown

He steps beside me, his presence steady, giving nothing away.

The horse shifts, tail swishing, a soft snort breaking the stillness. Dane reaches out, resting a hand on its flank with a calm familiarity that feels almost intimate.

“Come here, Sloane,” he says; the quiet command in his tone sending electric chills down my spine.

I hesitate, but he moves behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat at my back. His hand finds mine, guiding it forward until my fingers press against the horse’s warm neck.

“See?” His breath brushes my ear. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

The horse snorts softly, tail swishing. Dane shifts behind me, the movement sending a faint ripple of awareness through me.

“They like confidence,” he says quietly. “Not fear.”

His hand closes over mine, steering my palm slowly along the horse’s neck and down the smooth line of its shoulder.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “They lean into trust.”

The horse exhales as Dane’s hand drifts to its neck, stroking absently.

“I think Eros likes you.” I grin, disarmed by the gentleness in Dane.

“My mom’s sister kept a ranch in Montana,” he says. “I would escape there as often as I could when I was growing up. I used to hide out in the stables, sometimes to smoke, sometimes to sneak girls back there.”

I smile softly. It’s not lost on me that this is the first time he’s shared something personal with me.

I glance back at him. “Nothing changes then.”

That earns a quiet laugh. “Maybe not.”

My breath stutters when his hand slides from mine, tracing up my arm, leaving a trail of tingling heat. He reaches up, brushing my damp hair aside, fingertips grazing the curve of my neck.

His lips find the hollow just below my jaw—a whisper of warmth that climbs slowly upward until his mouth hovers beneath my ear.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, voice raw, rough-edged. “Why would you let him lead you away?”

There’s something under the possessiveness in his tone—something he’s trying to keep buried, not quite vulnerability but close enough.

“You seemed busy.”

“I was,” he growls. “Busy imagining all the ways I’m going to kill Dominic for thinking he can take what’s mine.”

And there he is.

“Last time I checked...” I start, the words stalling as his fingers slide along my ribs, a teasing brush that sends heat spiraling low. “You don’t own me.”

Amusement threads through his reply. “Yet.”

He turns me to face him, one hand firm at my side, stealing my balance before I can find it again.

“I think it’s about time we finished our discussion from the pool,” he says softly, eyes dark. “Don’t you?”

My stomach flips.

His hands slide to my waist, urging me back toward the porch as the wind howls and rain lashes the air. I barely have time to register what he’s doing before he drops into a weathered armchair and pulls me down with him, my thighs bracketing his hips, the storm closing in around us.

A startled breath leaves me. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you what you want,” he murmurs, his hand rising to cradle my jaw.