“Actually,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck, “I thought we could go on a trail ride.”
Her face lights up immediately. “Sounds fun! Let me put my stuff up.”
“I’ll get the horses and meet you up here,” I mumble, already turning away before she can see the way my jaw tightens just being this close to her.
She stands, steps toward me, and kisses my cheek before heading inside with her things.
That simple little kiss damn near knocks the wind out of me.
My body heats instantly, hotter and hotter every time she’s near, but when her mouth touches me, even like that, it does something else entirely. Something deeper. Something I don’t have a name for and don’t really want to examine too closely.
I head to the stables and grab Magic and Shadow. Her horse.
Nobody ever chose Shadow before her. He’s picky. Stubborn. But a great horse who likes who he likes. Guess that makes him hers now, at least in my head. It’s weird thinking that way, like I’m already claiming things that belong to her.
She comes back out wearing those cut-off jean shorts and a white T-shirt, her bikini top visible underneath if you look long enough. And I do look long enough. Too long.
She wears bikinis like she doesn’t give a damn what anyone thinks, soft belly, thick thighs, curves she doesn’t try to hide. Layla’s a bigger girl, and the confidence she has in her body? It’s such a damn turn-on it almost hurts.
She swings herself up onto Shadow like she’s been doing it her whole life.
“Where to, Scrooge?” she asks, winking at me.
I shake my head, laughing despite myself. “You’ve really gotta stop calling me that.”
She just grins wider.
We ride side by side out into the pastures, the sun beating down, the land stretching wide and open in front of us. For once, my chest doesn’t feel so damn tight—and that alone pisses me off. It’s just us and too much open space, and I don’t like how easily she slips past my guard.
I tell myself this is nothing. Just a ride. Just another afternoon. But it already feels like a road I shouldn’t be on—and I’m riding it anyway, because turning back would mean admitting I don’t trust myself around her. And I invited her on this trail ride to show I can be a gentleman even if she thinks otherwise.
I glance over as our horses move in step. The late afternoon sun catches in her hair, turning it into liquid fire, and I hate that I notice. Hate that she looks comfortable out here, legs loose in the stirrups, one hand resting on the horn like she belongs in a saddle—even though I know damn well she doesn’t.
She shouldn’t fit this easily. She shouldn’t make it feel this effortless.
And that’s exactly the problem.
“What do you got waiting for you back home?” I ask, keeping my voice casual even though my pulse is already kicking up. “I mean your friends? Your writing business? Are you famous? Are you famous and I don’t even know it?”
She throws her head back and laughs—full, unguarded, the kind of laugh that makes my chest tighten. God, that sound does things to me. A sound that I find somewhat annoying also easy something in my brain.
“I’ve sold a lot of copies in my career,” she says when she finally catches her breath, “but I go by a pen name, so nobody knows my real name when I’m walking down the street. True fans might recognize me from social media or the author pages, maybe catch the way I phrase things or the little quirks I can’t quite hide, but that’s it. And friends?” She shrugs, gaze drifting out toward the dark line of pines. “I’ve got a best friend, but she moved to Florida with her husband a couple years back. I have a few acquaintances I’ll hit clubs with after work, grab drinks, dance until my feet hurt—but nobody close. Nobody who’d notice if I didn’t come home for a week. Just work. That’s all that’s waiting.”
Her voice stays light, but there’s an ache under it that makes me want to pull her off that horse and into my lap right here. But neither of us really want that.
“Why do you ask?” she says, turning those big eyes on me.
I shrug, playing it cool. “Just small talk.”
She smiles, small, private, like she’s keeping a secret and damn if it doesn’t make me want to kiss it right off her mouth. But I’m not letting this chick know she’s got my interest. She said she wanted no strings attached and that’s what she’s getting.
Then she gets quiet for a beat. “Sooo, what happened with you and Abby? Like… what really happened?”
I let out a long breath. “Ahhh.” My fingers tighten on the reins. “Abby and I were together eleven years. I proposed. Built that guest house you’re staying in right now—for her and me—”
“Oh god,” she interrupts, eyes wide with sudden worry.
“No, no,” I rush to say, “it wasn’t finished. We never even used it.”
