Page 61 of Paper Horses

Her mouth opened, slamming closed quickly and revealing the soft spot she had for him.

“Maybe, but he’s very chatty, and all he talks about are cars. Just like Gabe always did, going on about this car or that. Even has a collection of them like Gabe did before…”

I waited as the memory stole her, contorting her features with pain, and I wondered if her brother knew how much she loved him. I doubted she had ever told him. She was too distant, but if I could convince her to keep opening up, to release the bad and let good into her life, to let me stay in it, I would ensure she told him. It was clear to me, and I suspected it was to Tori. A bond between the two that had kept them grounded while the world combusted around them.

“Anyway, I suppose he might.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at how her snarky side was back to cover the fragility the memory had presented. Perhaps I would need to learn to love that part of her, too, because I doubted it would ever fade. It was a permanent part of her.

“I’m willing to bet he does.”

“I thought you were going out to check on the horses. Are you using me as an excuse to avoid the rain?”

And she was back, but the light was still there, shimmering in her irises, accentuating the gold tones.

“Can’t put anything past you, can I?” I gave her a wink, kissing her head as I rose.

“You might want to consider a shirt. As much as I enjoy looking at your chest, it might be a distraction for the horses.”

I glanced down, seeing that I had indeed forgotten to put my shirt on. “They’ve seen it before. In fact, they behave better when I’m shirtless,” I teased as I looked for my shirt.

She leaned over, her hair spilling over her shoulder like a wave of auburn, and my eyes followed the curves of her body, my pants growing uncomfortable again. I ran my hand through my hair as she sat back up, holding my shirt. She contemplated it for a few moments, then pulled it over her head. The air froze in my lungs as she maneuvered her hair from under it and tugged it down. Images of all the times she’d worn my shirts with nothing else except for the occasional pair of skimpy underwear that didn’t stay on long, had my heart expanding.

Raising her eyes to me, she smiled, the sight assuring that every space in me that had continued to love her spread to encompass any others that had yet to get in line.

“Guess I’ll grab another shirt,” I grumbled, even though my grin was tugging at my lips.

“I guess you will.” She rose, and the shirt fell to cover the rest of her, ending halfway down her thighs. Sexy and adorable at once. I was doomed, but then again, I always had been with Olivia.

“I thought I told you to stay in that bed.” I snatched a T-shirt from my drawer as she sauntered out of the room.

“You did, but I’m thirsty,” she called.

I followed her out, seeing her head into the guest room. In a few seconds, she emerged with a pair of socks with puppies on them.

“Courtesy of Sheila,” she said, leaning on the doorframe and tugging one on before switching sides to put the other one on.

My grin was wide. “I’m definitely getting a picture of that.”

Her hand swatted me, and I caught it, pulling her to me. “You’re the most adorable woman I’ve laid eyes on.”

“I’m not adorable. That’s insulting.”

I threw my head back as I laughed. “Why is that insulting?”

“Because it makes me sound like a child.”

I rolled my eyes and released her, turning her toward the stairs and swatting her ass. “Be a good girl and get your water so you can crawl back into that bed and wait for me.”

“Demanding ass,” she muttered as she descended the stairs.

“But you like my demands.”

She peeked over her shoulder at me, a grin fighting her hold on it.

“And you are adorable. Deal with it. You can return to being sexy and beautiful when I’m done ravaging you.” Not that anything would keep her from being either of those things.

“I can’t be adorable when I’m running a billion-dollar company,” she said, continuing her path into the kitchen and not noticing that her words had halted my steps. The reminder that this was limited, that her life would be an obstacle I didn’t know if I could surmount. I’d told her we’d make it work, but would we? It had been a rushed proclamation, a desperate attempt to diminish the fact that our lives were starkly different.