The Black Sheep and the Hidden Beauty by Donna Kauffman Page B

study,” she told him. “A few more lessons and you’ll have the basics down. Enough to trail-ride with Finn and Mac, anyway, if that’s your goal.”
    â€œOkay,” he said, then hesitated for a second, as if he was going to say something else, but apparently changed his mind. “I appreciate you taking the time.”
    â€œFor a friend of Kate’s, not a problem.” Best he understand her motivation was purely professional, just in case he had other ideas. Especially if they were anything like the ideas she was having.
    His wry grin reappeared. “So, how do I get down from here without blowing what little horse cred I built up tonight?”
    She laughed again. He really had to stop making her do that. This would all be a lot easier if he’d stayed an enigmatic hard-ass. “Hand on pommel, body weight forward, swing your right leg behind you, kick your left foot out of the stirrup, and slide to the ground.”
    â€œWhat do I do with the rope?”
    She stepped forward and showed him, this time far more aware of his hands, his thigh brushing her shoulder, than she wanted to be. He slid off far too easily, and before she could step back, landing him once again deep inside her personal space. Right where she wanted him most, and least needed him to be.
    He smiled as he handed her the rope, his knuckles brushing the inside of her wrist. A sensitive spot she hadn’t known she possessed until that exact moment.
    â€œNot too bad,” he said, that smile flirting at the corners of his mouth—a beautifully sculpted mouth.
    A mouth she had no business looking at.
    â€œAt least I didn’t end up on my ass.”
    â€œNot this time, anyway,” she said, intending to create distance. But neither of them stepped away.
    There was a tremendous pull in that tiny space between them, the kind of pull that made it almost impossible not to lean forward, or pray he did first, allowing her to indulge, just for a moment, without any of the guilt of having taken the initiative.
    This close, she saw that his eyes weren’t black, but a brown so dark they almost matched his irises, but with just enough color in them to create that gleam, that twinkle. His skin was incredibly smooth, despite the hint of five o’clock shadow, with such a gorgeous golden tone to it, she imagined it would always be naturally warm to the touch. And yet the angles of his jaw, the hard line of his nose, his chin, the thin white scar that ran length-wise, just above one eyebrow, all combined to make him more rugged than pretty. Made her want to touch. Taste.
    â€œShouldn’t you hold on to this?” he asked, grabbing the lead rope from her suddenly lax grip. That teasing glint was back in his eyes, as if he’d been able to read her every thought. And, mortifying as it was to contemplate, maybe he had. She wasn’t skilled in these kinds of games.
    It took enormous willpower not to snatch the rope back from his hand and drag poor Petunia away. “Thanks,” she said, as casually as she could manage. As if just looking at him didn’t make her want to get naked and do things she hadn’t thought about doing, much less needing to do, in a long time. “I can take it from here.”
    He stepped the tiniest bit closer and for a second, she wasn’t sure what his intentions were. She went still rather than move away, her breath trapped in her chest. But he only moved between her and the horse, so he could stroke Petunia’s neck and murmur a few good-byes.
    She felt supremely foolish until he turned to her with a half smile and a knowing look that suggested maybe he’d been using the horse as an excuse to get closer. Not that he needed an excuse.
    â€œWe still haven’t discussed your fee.”
    Had his voice always been that deep? That smooth? Her gaze dipped to his mouth, unbidden, and she had to fight the urge to wet her lips.
    â€œElena?”
    The way