Page 68 of Only Mine
The worn brown Stetson transforms him completely. Gone is the controlled chef in his pristine kitchen. This version of Saint looks dangerous. Capable. Like he could pin me against a barn wall and?—
“Miss Wrenley, you’re all red!” Ivy observes cheerfully. “Did you get sunburned already?”
“Must have,” I say.
Saint’s eyes crinkle under the shade of his hat, and I swear he knows exactly what I was thinking. The corner of his mouth lifts in the barest hint of a smirk.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
He guides Dante closer, close enough that our knees brush. “Remember what I said. Heels down.” His gaze drops to my legs. “Grip with your thighs.”
Jesus Christ.
“Are we going or what?” Ivy calls, already halfway to the trail entrance.
Saint doesn’t move. Neither do I. We’re trapped in thischarged moment, the horses shifting beneath us, and all I can think about is how good he looks in that hat. How his hands look holding the reins. How I want to knock that Stetson off his head and run my fingers through his hair and hear him murmur all the dirty things he wants to do to me.
“Wrenley.”
My name on his lips is a warning. Or maybe a plea.
“We should go,” I breathe.
“We should.”
Neither of us moves.
“Well, I guess Ivy’s taking the lead,” Rome drawls, grabbing Scribbles’s reins and walking alongside, notably a good distance away from us.
Saint clicks his tongue, and Dante starts moving. To my pleasurable surprise, Penny does, too, and keeps pace alongside Dante.
The trail narrows once we enter the trees, forcing Saint to ride closer. Our legs brush occasionally, each contact sending sparks through my borrowed boots.
“You’re a natural,” he says quietly, so Ivy and Rome won’t hear.
“Liar.”
“I don’t lie.” His voice drops lower. “You’re doing beautifully.”
The compliment steals my breath. This is the most he’s spoken to me all morning, and I’m pathetically desperate for more.
“Why did you—” I start, then stop.
“Why did I what?”
“Help me. Instead of letting Rome do it.”
He’s quiet for so long I think he won’t answer.
“I didn’t like his hands on you.”
The admission has me rolling my lips together so I don’tblurt out something stupid like,the only hands I want on my body are yours. I have to swallow a few times before rediscovering my vocal cords.
“Saint.”
“I shouldn’t say that to you. I know.” His knuckles are white on the reins. “Because of Monday. And Erin.” He cuts himself off, glancing at Ivy.
