Page 81 of Sunrise & Serenity

Now that the fear and adrenaline of the ride are fading, my brain comes back online and the weight of the bag on my back registers. “Oh, shit.” I unstrap my camera bag, noting the darker patches near the zipper seams and the way water beads across the canvas exterior.

“Is it bad?” Holden asks.

“I don’t know yet.”

Chest tight, I drop to a crouch near the straw bales. My fingers are clumsy as I unzip the bag and check inside. When I find my camera dry, I sag a little. “Looks like the bag held up well,” I say, checking the lens carefully. “I think it’s okay.”

“You think?” He steps closer, pulling one of the horse blankets from a nearby hook. “Here.”

I blink up at him. “You want me to wrap my camera in that?”

“No. I want you to stop kneeling on the dirty floor while you check it.”

Only then do I realize that my wet jeans are turning the dirt beneath my knees to mud.

Holden spreads the blanket over one of the straw bales. “Sit here.”

“Thank you.” I take a seat, checking the lens first, then the battery compartment and memory card. All dry. I power it on, and as the screen lights up, relief overtakes me. “It survived.”

“Glad to hear it. Now you need to get out of those clothes.”

“What?” I whip my head up, finding him holding out a brown canvas jacket.

He exhales through his nose. “You’re soaked, and seeing as how we’re going to be stuck here for the night, it’s only going to get colder. You need to get out of those wet clothes before you freeze.”

Now that my concern about my camera has passed, I can’t ignore the chill of my clothes clinging to my skin. So, standing, I take the jacket. It’s heavy in my hands, wet on the outside but dry inside.

“Do you always carry spare jackets around?”

“Colorado,” he says simply. “You learn fast.”

As if to emphasize his point, thunder rattles the roof overhead, the sound even closer than before.

“What about you?” I ask.

His blue shirt, darkened by the rain, is plastered to his broad chest, and his wet hair curls against his nape as water trickles down his neck. His jeans, like mine, are soaked, clinging to the long lines of his thighs.

My attention lingers there a second too long before I force myself to look away. Now is not the time to be indulging in my attraction.

“I’ll be fine. The cold will affect you more than it does me.” He gestures toward the stalls. “Change over there. I’ll finish with the horses.”

I hesitate a moment longer, considering him, even as a shiver racks me.

Brows drawn together, he steps in close and catches my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “How about you don’t argue with me for once?”

His blue eyes burn into me, scrambling my brain. Or maybe the adrenaline is still pumping through my blood. Either way, my response is irrational. “How about you don’t order me around?”

A muscle in his jaw twitches and his lips flatten, but he dips his head. When he raises it again, the corners of his mouth have lifted and his gaze has softened. He brushes his thumb over my lower lip, then leans in, his breath warming my ear. “Pretty please, Sage. Get out of your wet clothes for me.”

A shiver of a different kind courses through me, my nipples pulling tight as heat curls low in my core.

I swallow hard, then wet my lips. “Okay.”

He releases me, focus fixed on my face until I step into the nearest stall.

Only when I pull the half-door closed behind me does he turn back to the horses.

I fumble with the buttons of my damp shirt, my fingers frozen, my hands trembling. The fabric clings stubbornly to my skin, but eventually, I peel the garment off. All my clothes are wet, bra included. I bite my lip, considering, then take a deep breath, unclip it, shrug it off, and pull the jacket on. The soft flannel lining warms me instantly. The sleeves hang past my hands, and the scent of rain, leather, and Holden settles around me. I close my eyes and breathe it in.