Page 69 of Holding Penalty

Another employee runs over. “Oh, Marco, there you are,” she says. “The vet is here to vaccinate the goats, but that one ornery goat who only responds to you is giving her a hard time.”

Marco looks at Nash, who nods to him. “Go ahead.” He steps forward and takes the reins. “I can keep an eye on her.”

The zoo workers walk off, leaving just me, my husband, and the horse.

A scene from the cowboy romance I just read plays through my memory. When the two main characters had to ride home together on the same horse, their bodies molded together in the saddle, while they were still trying to fight their mutual attraction. It was one of my favorite parts of the book.

Before I can think better of it, I say to Nash, “I have an idea.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“We don’t have enough pictures together on our social media, you know. I mean, for a newly married couple.”

“I don’t have social media.”

Of course he doesn’t.

“Well, I don’t have enough pictures of us together on my social media, because I’m a normal person, and if I supposedly just got married to the love of my life, I should have plenty of them.”

“And?”

“This is a perfect photo opportunity.”

A questioning look pulls on Nash’s face. “What? Me standing next to you on the horse?”

“I was thinking we’d get a picture of both of us on the horse. It’d be cute. Exactly the kind of picture I’d want of us if we were,” I lower my voice, “actually married.”

“Hmm,” Nash hums.

“We’re still trying to keep up appearances, after all. I’m sure that damn lawyer is keeping tabs.”

“So you want me to … what? Come up into the saddle with you?”

Electric heat starts to dance over my skin now that he’s put it into words. “Yes,” I nod.

“Because you think a photo of that would look … cute?”

“Right.” Of course that’s why. Just for Instagram, that’s all. It’s not like I want to feel his hard chest pressed against my back, or anything like that. It’s purely for show, to keep that busybody lawyer off my back and to make extra sure I get my inheritance money without delay.

Nash looks like he’s thinking about it. A shadow passes over his expression, as if he’s thinking the same thing I should be thinking: that us having that much physical contact might not be the wisest choice. But the shadow passes, his throat works, and he nods. “Okay.”

I take my phone from my pocket and hand it to him. There’s a little stand near the wall of the stable. I point to it and say, “Just open my camera to video mode and prop the phone on the counter there to face us. I’ll screenshot a good angle.”

He does so, and then comes back to the horse.

He plants one hand on the flat of the saddle right behind me, one on the raised cantle on the back of it, and hoists himself up, swinging his leg over Milly’s back and landing right behind me, his legs on either side of me.

I sit in the cradle of his hips, his broad chest plastered against my back, his frame feeling very, very big looming over me from behind. My throat works on a dry swallow as I fail to control the sparks that skitter over me.

He angles his hips, pushing me an inch forward in the saddle, and desire swells between my thighs at the friction. The pommel of the saddle is right in front of me, wedged against my pelvis, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from swiveling my hips and generating the kind of friction that my clit is begging for behind my denim.

Nash reaches forward, his strong arms bracketing me as he grabs the reins. I watch his grip flex on the leather straps. His sharp, masculine scent swims into my nose, and my senses are surrounded and overwhelmed by him.

“Let’s find the right angle,” he says, the low timbre of his voice vibrating through me. He pulls on the reins like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and the horse starts to turn.

“The right angle?” I ask, my brain short-circuiting.

“For the camera,” he says. I can even feel the way his head nods toward it, he’s so close. “I’ve always had a knack for finding the right angle, you know.”