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Adrian slows to a trot, and I realize we’ve been moving this whole time, and that I am not as scared as I was.
When I grip the reins tighter, my horse, a beautiful white mare, makes a low whinnying sound and stomps her hooves.
He sidles up to me, a vision atop his own black steed, and rolls his shoulders.
“Loosen your grip,” Adrian instructs, pausing to lean forward between us “Don’t dig your heels in too hard.”
I glance over at him and try to mimic his stance. “Okay, how’s this?”
His hand brushes against mine, and my breath hitches in my throat. “You’re doing great, Danielle. I’m sure you’ll be riding like a pro in no time.”
Considering I’ve only been here a few days, and I break out into a sweat at the mere thought of being thrown off, I doubt Adrian knows what he’s talking about.
Still, I appreciate how patient and kind he’s been about the whole thing.
Especially when I am, far and away, the worst rider here. I feel like the amateur I am.
“Did everybody else get private lessons or something?”
Adrian glances over his shoulders at the rest of the group, and a furrow appears between his brows. “Not everyone gets the hang of it so quickly. It really depends on the person. On their willingness to let go of their need to control. And on their willingness to bond with the horse.”
I choke back a laugh and try to ignore the tingles racing up and down my body “Um, have you met me? Relinquishing control isn’t exactly my forte.”
Nor is putting my trust in a muscular and tanned ranch owner. But, hey, this trip is supposed to be about change.
And taking risks.
I open my mouth to say something else but pause when Adrian takes both of my hands in his and changes my grip on the reins.
My throat is dry, and I’m sure I’ve forgotten how to breathe as he gives me instructions in a slow, soothing voice.
But I can’t make out anything he’s saying. I'm not even listening anymore. I see his mouth moving and words coming out, but I can't make out what he says.
I like the timbre of his voice and how it unlocks a deep, primal response in me.
And I like how it feels to be so close to him, close enough to feel the heat emanating from his body.
All I have to do is lean forward and hug him.
Jeez.
He twists to look at me, and my stomach dips. “Did you get all of that?”
“Uh-huh.”
He is still holding my hand, and I’m sure my brain is going to short-circuit any minute. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, he releases my hands and leans back.
I swear he can read my thoughts.
Then he pauses and reaches for the edges of his shirt. He pulls it over his head and drapes it over the saddle.
Then he leans forward to pat his horse and adjusts the hat on top of his head.
Sitting astride his horse in a pair of jeans with a large belt buckle at his waist, he looks like he walked off the set of a western.
And when beads of sweat start rolling down his stomach and back, my mouth is completely dry.
Again, I imagine what it would be like to run my tongue all over his taut stomach. And when I blink, I spot a few of the guests doing double takes and salivating over him.
