Miles leans over the gate and watches them. The smile on his face, the contentment in his expression, is a feeling I know well. It sits deep in my chest, one that’s hard to describe unless you’ve lived it. Miles and I aren’t that different when you boil it down. Our bank accounts and our skills might differ, but we’ve come together because of animals and a sport we love.
“Amazing, aren’t they?” He turns his smile to me, and a silent understanding passes between us, a secret that only we share.
Stepping up onto the fence next to him proves difficult, however, and he notices me wince.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Ruby—”
“I’m just a bit sore from the lesson. No biggie.”
He nods, he’s not going to admit he was hard on me, and I don’t want him to, either. I need to be put through my paces, or I’ll never improve. I don’t want him treating me like I’m delicate.
“There’s not much more we can do here, anyway. Mav and Calamity will eat, have a check over, and sleep. I think we should go home.”
Home. Together. The thought of lying down almost makes me weep in joy.
“Sounds good to me.”
It only takes fifteen minutes to get back to the house from Foxleigh Park, but that’s all my body needs to seize up. It takes all my effort to hobble up the path. I don’t even know how I’m going to get up the stairs, not that it’s any concern to fucking Miles, who sprints up them the moment the front door shuts.
Guess the husband act is only for public consumption.
I’m all the more surprised when he reappears five minutes later, looking as sweaty and dirty as he did when we walked in.
“Why are you sitting at the bottom of the stairs?” he asks, towering above me.
I glower. If he can’t fucking work it out for himself, then I’m certainly not going to help him. In response, he turns and walks into the kitchen. I only just manage to pull myself to stand when he appears next to me, holding a large glass of red wine.
I take back everything I said. This guy isunbelievable.
But I don’t have the energy to complain when he takes hold of my arm and tugs me into his chest while practically pushing me up the narrow steps.
“C’mon, Trouble. Let’s go.”
We stay in this position, him behind me, until we reach my bedroom, the door wide open. He pushes me over the threshold and steps back. The sound of running water doesn’t register until the thick, heady scent of lavender wafts through from the bathroom.
“Here.” He holds out the glass to me. “I’ve run you a bath. The Epsom salts should help with the aching. If not, this wine will. When you’re ready, come down, and we’ll order dinner.”
He’s run me a bath.A bath.
My body weeps with gratitude, and I search for words to thank him, but come up empty.
I’m tired, and the steam from the hot water is messing with my head. I thought he’d forgotten me, that the act had dropped. Yet here he is, standing in front of me, his gaze fixed on mine, holding the glass I still haven’t taken. And as I watch, his pink tongue peeks out, wetting his bottom lip, and a slow grin creeps up one side of his face.
“Do you need me to help you undress too? Because I’m excellent at it.”
A heavy thudding kicks up between my legs, and it’s like I’ve been sucker-punched intounreality. But. ..
This isn’t real.
So before I do something stupid, I grab the wine, give him a hurried, “Thank you,” and slam my bedroom door in his face.
CHAPTER 11
Miles
