Page 10 of Leather & Lies

Something dark twists in my gut as I watch Shiloh earn another creature’s willing submission. Envy, perhaps, for her attention, or a darker emotion that wanted to do the same to her.

“You’ve known me a long time, Miguel.” My voice carries an edge that would make most men step back. “Don’t mistake that for permission to question my methods.”

“Your methods?” His laugh holds no humor. “She’s a person, not a horse. I’ve watched you build this empire, Jackson. Seen how you break men who cross you. But her?” He nods toward Shiloh, who’s now checking the mare’s leg with gentle hands. “Did you ever see her break a horse’s spirit to control it? No. She earns their trust. But you’re too obsessed with owning her to learn from her methods.”

I turn slowly, giving him the full weight of my attention. “Careful, old friend.”

He meets my gaze without flinching. “Do you think I’m stupid? You’ve been stalking her for years.” His expression hardens. “But if you break her spirit, you’ll destroy what makes her valuable. What makes her Shiloh.”

The truth of his words scorches through me like wildfire consuming dry brush. She’s already moved to the next horse, her movements so confident they border on seduction. And, goddammit, I’m not the only one watching.

“Go check the south fences.” I turn back to the paddock, dismissing him. “Take Dylan with you. Keep him busy.”

Miguel taps the flat palms of his hands twice as he pushes up from the fence to leave, his lips tilted up in an unexpected smile. “She could be good for you, boss, but she’s not one of your horses. You can’t break her and then rebuild her to your specifications.”

“I don’t intend to,” I snap, even though he’s right about my intentions toward the woman.

“Then why not ask her to dinner and woo her like—” He cuts himself off, but we both hear the unspoken. Like a normal person. Like the other men who’ve wooed her and tried to get into her pants. Miguel takes a deep breath, then lets it out with a sharp exhale, as if he’s disappointed in me. That stings more than it should. “She could be a real partner to you—she knows these horses better than anyone.”

“Partnership requires trust. And trust can be betrayed. No. She works here—nothing more, nothing less.”

Miguel snorted. “Sure, boss.”

“It doesn’t matter.” My voice drops lower, darker. “She’s mine. In every way that matters.”

His sigh carries the weight of decades of watching me build this empire through calculated violence. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

That evening, I find Shiloh in my study, lamplight catching in her damp hair as she reviews paperwork. She’s wearing one of my shirts—another small rebellion, taking what’s mine without permission. Or maybe, I think with surprise, it comforts her. Thesight of her in my clothes, surrounded by the trappings of my power, makes something primitive roar to life in my chest.

I set the platter of food I’d brought from the kitchen on a side table, then growl, “Strip.”

She startles, nearly dropping the file. But when she meets my gaze, that familiar defiance sparks gold in her eyes. “I’m working.”

“No.” I stalk closer, savoring how she tenses without retreating. “You’re in my study, wearing my clothes, touching my things.” I trace one finger down her throat, feeling her pulse jump. “Now strip. Before I do it for you.”

For a moment, she holds my gaze. Then slowly, deliberately, she begins unbuttoning the shirt she wears. Each inch of exposed skin makes my mouth water, but I maintain enough control to keep from touching her. She slides her panties down her legs, and I’m delighted to see a damp spot on them. When she’s naked, I drop onto the leather couch, then crook my fingers. “Come here.”

She looks at me for a long moment, the firelight flickering over her soft curves, so different from my own hard edges, then takes tentative steps toward me, until she’s standing between my knees—trembling with need or anticipation or fear. Her heavy breasts lift with each breath, showing how hard she’s fighting for control.

I want to reach out, to touch her, to reassure her that, just like her horses, it can be rough going in the beginning, but she’ll be happier by the time we’re done. The instinct surprises me.

Instead, I grab a pillow and drop it to my left. “Kneel,” I murmur. Her eyes shoot to mine, gold reflecting in the dim light.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

I raise an eyebrow, and then, to my surprise, she sighs, the fight going out of her. She lowers herself to the pillow, wincing as her weight shifts.

“It was a full day,” she says quietly when she notices me noticing. “I’m a little sore.”

“Take a hot bath before bed,” I tell her.

Shiloh raises an amused eyebrow, a mirror of my earlier expression, and I’m strangely relieved that she’s still fighting me. “Why do you care?”

I don’t admit that the thought of her aching and sore presses against my chest in an unfamiliar way. “Because you’re mine, and I take care of my toys,” I snap.

She says nothing, settling onto her knees, her luscious breasts swaying slightly as she gets comfortable.

“Good girl.” I stroke her hair once, letting her feel the approval in my touch. “Now stay.”

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