Page 101 of Huckleberry Hill
“A ride?” I asked in confusion. “Why?”
“Because you need it. It’ll clear your head. And then you can decide if you want to confide in me.”
I blinked. “It’s not that I don’t want to confide in you. It’s just I don’t want to talk to you about my ex. It’s not fair.”
I let him tug me toward the direction of the stables.
“You’re all tied up in knots. So we’ll go for a ride. And then we’ll get back to my place. You’ll shower, wear my clothes, and I’ll make you a frozen pizza. Come on, bear snack. Let’s go.”
We rode long enough for my brain to clear and my mood to lift. As if Declan could sense the change, he turned Merlin back in the direction of home. Goldie happily trotted after him.
I was beginning to feel like Goldie was mildly obsessed with Merlin. She threw a fit when they were separated. And like the horses’ attraction to each other, Declan was becoming a calming, protective beacon that I was gravitating to as well.
After we stabled the horses, fed, watered and rubbed them down, we went back to Declan’s cabin. The moon had risen and it lit the path to his porch. He took my hand and guided me up the steps.
We hadn’t spoken on our ride, but Declan didn’t push to fill the silence.
“How did you know that was exactly what I needed?” I asked as I took off my boots.
“Just did.” He shrugged. “Oh shit, I forgot to throw my clothes into the washer. Go ahead and get in the shower. I’ll get you some clean clothes.” He fingered the strap of my overalls. “I like these.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He leaned down and captured my lips with his. “I have a pretty vivid fantasy involving these overalls.”
I grinned. “Don’t tell me. Just surprise me with it.”
He swatted my butt playfully. “I’ll oblige.”
I went into the cabin and unbuckled the straps on my way to the bathroom. As the water heated, I stripped down.
While I was in the middle of washing my face—and lamenting the fact that I was washing off all my makeup—the bathroom door opened.
I thought it was Declan just leaving me a pair of his sweats and a T-shirt, but when he yanked back the shower curtain, I yelped in surprise.
“Easy,” he said, his hands going to my hips as he pressed his chest to my back.
I whipped my head around, lashing my wet hair against his skin. “What are you doing in here?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I thought it was obvious.”
“You didn’t say you wanted to shower with me. That wasn’t the plan.”
“It wasn’t?” His hand slid from my hip to my belly and then traveled upward to cup a breast.
“No.” I batted his hand away. “You said go shower. Nothing about you following me in here.”
“It’s just a shower. Why are you getting bent out of shape?”
“Bent out of . . .”
His finger flicked across my nipple as his other hand pressed my hip, silently urging me to lean against him.
“Showering is intimate.”
“Intimate.” His hand wandered toward the apex of my thighs, sliding between my folds and finding my clit. “What’s wrong with intimate?”
I clawed at his wrist, more to hold on than to stop him.
