Page 40 of Major Love

“I take cream,” I admit, touched by the gesture. Something so seemingly simple and yet so sweet. I look up at his strong profile and say, “Thank you, that was really thoughtful.”

Because not only did he just purchase multiple versions of my favourite drink, he actually remembered that hot cocoaismy favourite drink.

He gives me a hint of a smile but keeps his eyes on the road of Main Street, hooking his arm around the back of my seat as we pull up behind a red light.

And when we roll to a stop he finally glances down at my outfit, eyes lingering on my chest before moving slowly down my thighs.

And then his attention is back on the road, his arm dropping from my headrest, and my stomach flips at what just happened as he eases through the green light.

“How often do you ride?” he asks casually.

“Whenever I’m off-shift,” I admit.

“And how often’s that?”

Not often at all.

Without me even saying a word, he does the same calculation that I do, thinking about how many years I’ve dedicated to the now-most-loved bar in Nashville.

I wouldn’t change it for the world, but it really was all work and no play.

And the thing about life? It all balances out eventually.

He glances down at me with an unreadable expression, his chest swelling as he watches me.

“Not often at all,” he says, answering the question for me and reading my mind.

“Hence the… vacation,” I say vaguely, which tugs a small smile from his handsome mouth.

“Uh-huh,” he drawls, totally not buying it.

“How come?” I ask, as I glance back out of the front windshield.

I feel him shift in the seat beside me, that broad chest heaving in my peripheral vision. He swipes a palm down his stubbled jaw and then flicks his indicator with two deft fingers.

“Just want you to be prepared,” he admits. “The ranch’s horses are pretty powerful.”

“How powerful?” I ask carefully, almost amused by how elusive he’s being.

He keeps quiet for a moment and then asks, “Ever ridden a thoroughbred stallion before?”

My eyebrows hit the roof. “What?!” I exclaim.

He swipes his palm down his thick thigh. “Take that as a ‘no’,” he rumbles quietly.

“Jason!” I yelp, before throwing my head back in the seat and laughing. “Please tell me that this ranch isn’t for, like, multi-million-dollar show stallions or something.”

His mouth opens for a beat and then, after a moment, he closes it again.

“Jason!” I shout. “You havegotto be kidding me.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says gruffly, although his cheekbones are starting to burn up. “I already know that you’re going to be real good in the saddle.”

I’m way too distracted to analyse that assessment right now.

“I’m not scared for me,” I explain, as gently as I can. “I’m scared because I don’t want to injure someone’s very expensivestallion.”

Penetrating eyes meet mine. “We’ll go slow,” he rumbles.

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