The Black Sheep and the Hidden Beauty. Donna Kauffman

surprised he owned a pair of worn-out anything. He was always so immaculately and sharply dressed. But that was a leading comment she definitely didn’t need to make. “Never mind.”

      “What?”

      “Nothing. For what you’re doing, they’ll be fine. If at some point you find yourself doing any amount of trail riding, you might want to invest in a good pair of boots.” She glanced up. “Western. Although I could teach you how to ride English if you prefer.”

      “Which is easier?”

      “Western, like you are now.”

      “Then let’s go with that.” He smiled a little. “For now.”

      With the attention to detail she’d noticed in the clothing she’d seen him in so far, she could easily imagine him in a nicely cut, proper English riding jacket. For certain, those tight English riding pants would show off…well, what wouldn’t they show off was more like it. Not that he couldn’t do some damage in jeans and chaps, it’s just that he wasn’t the scruffy cowboy type. Far more lord of the manor. With a little Latin flair.

      “Okay, now what?”

      Now I need a fan, and something cold to drink, and an extended period of getting myself seriously under some kind of control, she thought. She motioned to the rope. “Hold it with some slack. Click a little, with your tongue, then nudge her with your heels or knees. She knows what to do.”

      “How do I steer?”

      “Tug a little on the left rein for left, right for right. Pull back and release to slow her down and stop. You don’t have to yank, just a steady pulling motion until she slows down to where you want her, or comes to a complete stop.”

      “Sounds simple enough.”

      She smiled. “Should be. Let’s see how you do.”

      First, he leaned forward and spoke gently to Petunia, making her ears twitch forward and back. Then, he straightened and, after a gentle nudging with his heels, they moved smoothly along the fence line. She wished she could say she was surprised, but by now, she wasn’t.

      “You’ll get used to her rolling gait. Just keep your weight centered, stay relaxed, knees with even tension, which is to say, very little. She’ll be very sensitive to the tension she feels in your body, which is mainly telegraphed by how tightly you hold the reins, and the pressure you exert with your legs against her sides.”

      Not that he appeared to need this little bit of instruction.

      She let them go around the ring once at a steady walk, then said, “Okay, now, slow her down. You can pull back slightly on the reins.”

      He pulled Petunia to a stop right beside her.

      “Pretty good,” she said.

      “Pretty good?”

      “Okay, you were very good.” Probably needed to hear that after every performance, she thought, knowing she was being less than charitable, but reaching for anything that would give her an edge against the effect he seemed to be having on her so effortlessly. “For a beginner.”

      He took the comment in stride, but didn’t tip his imaginary brim again.

      “Next class we’ll work on turning around and coming in to the center of the ring. After that, we’ll work on speed. Trotting, then cantering.”

      “No galloping?”

      “No galloping.”

      His dark eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. “How about outside of the ring?”

      She smiled dryly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”

      “Well, the idea is to eventually ride the horse in something other than an endless circle.”

      “Yes. But this isn’t like the movies. I hate to break it to you, but trail riding rarely involves galloping.”

      “Do you?”

      “Trail ride?”

      “Gallop your horse. In or out of the ring.”

      “Neither at the moment—she’s pregnant.”

      “But otherwise?”

      She folded her arms. “Why do you ask?”

      “You normally work with racehorses. I assume it’s rather like guys who work around race cars. Or Lear jets.”

      “You think I’m a speed junkie?”

      He looked down at her from his higher perch, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Actually, I don’t know what to think about you.”

      “I could say the same,” she responded, before she thought better of it.

      He held her in silent regard for a long moment. He seemed quite relaxed, but Petunia stepped a little restlessly, proving there was more tension in him than he was showing. “Could I interest you in grabbing a bite to eat? Later, once you’re free?”

      The offer shouldn’t have caught her so off guard. They’d been circling each other almost from the moment he’d entered the stables. But it did. “I—I have chores. Then my horse…I have to see to her.” She was stuttering. She never stuttered. “I’d feel more comfortable if we kept this purely a professional relationship.”

      “Okay,” he said, a little too easily.

      Perverse creature that she was, she wished he’d at least been a bit more put out by her immediate refusal.

      “Doesn’t mean we can’t share a meal, does it?” he went on, making her feel inordinately better, which was a double warning sign.

      She didn’t want him pursuing her. On any level. No matter how good it made her feel. She couldn’t risk enjoying even something as simple as having her ego stroked. Much less any other part of her. She tried like hell not to look at his hands again.

      He grinned a little. “We can discuss a strategy for helping me show Mac up when we ride together for the first time.”

      She laughed in surprise. “So, that’s it, then. This is all just some kind of macho contest.”

      “Where men and horses are concerned, isn’t it always?”

      She chuckled. “Most of the time, yes. And yet, somehow I don’t see you as the cowboy type.”

      “What do you see me as?” He laughed a little and shook his head. “Never mind. Maybe I don’t want to know.”

      He caught her gaze and held it. The combination of that twinkle in his eyes and the laughter was downright lethal. Her nipples ached, her thighs were all twitchy, and there were butterflies dancing in her tummy.

      “Or you can tell me over dinner.”

      She’d never wanted to accept an invitation more. She had no doubt that if the two of them were alone anywhere outside of a business-only situation, dinner wouldn’t be all they’d be having. Reason enough to end this little banter session. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

      She thought he might continue to press, and was surprised to find, even knowing better, she almost wanted him to. Maybe he’d find a way past her defenses, find a way to make it okay to take what she wanted and damn the consequences. Only the consequences, in this case, were huge. And didn’t involve only her. Knowing that didn’t make the ache go away, though. If anything, it only intensified. Her desires had always been career-oriented. She’d never wanted anything purely for the sake of having it.

      But she’d be lying if she said that, right then, right there, she didn’t want him. Just for now. Or at least until he could make the damn ache go away.

      “Okay, then,” he said, easily enough. Damn him. “Class over, I presume?”

      She broke eye contact, praying that nothing of the thoughts going