The rush of air as he lifted her made her heart tumble about, made her pulse sing. She sat sideways and folded her hands primly in her lap, as is if she sat everyday sideways on a horse with a rip halfway up her skirts and shift.
He placed a hand on the mare’s back and leaned in close, tilted his face up to her. “You’ll be able to move with greater ease now. Because of the ripped skirts. And I’ll buy you a new frock.”
Buy her a new gown. As if he had the right. As if he were a husband. What would he choose for her? Something with a low bodice and silky against the skin? Or something with frills that covered her head to toe? Ha. Likely not that. She should not imagine it. Buying her a gown suggested he had a right to give such an intimate gift. She wished she could give him the right. The more possessive he became the more she wanted him to possess her, heart and mind and everything else.
“No,” she said fingering the ripped, frayed edge of her skirt. “I rather like this one this way. And there is no need.”
His jaw ticked, and his eyes fired. “Very well. I’m rather fond of it as well. Or rather, what is under it, showing so easily.” He winked.
And she tried not to let desire drown her.
“Let us continue.” He held his hands out to her. “Now you stand. Take my hands.”
She took them, the better to … “What next?”
“Swing your legs forward so your toes are pointing toward Exquisite’s head.”
She nodded. Heavens. She’d have to curl up into a little ball, wouldn’t she? She grunted a bit as she turned and lifted her feet, and he laughed but held her steady. He’d never let her fall. That she knew with the utter certainty of summer giving way to autumn. When she’d finally managed to stuff her entire body in a ball, feet on the horse’s back, pointing toward her head, he moved a bit, stepping down the length of Exquisite’s body, still holding her hands, to stand beside the horse’s head.
“Lean into me,” he said, “and come to your feet.”
“Must I?”
“I suppose you don’t have to. Do you trust me?”
She nodded.
“If you’d like, you can take it slower. Don’t come immediately to your feet. Instead, put your hands on Exquisite’s neck and lift your bum a bit, find your balance in that middle position using hands and feet. Only raise fully up to standing when you’re ready. I’ll be here.” His eyes widened and his hands squeezed her. “Wait a moment. Stay there. Don’t try it yet.” He ran and disappeared backstage.
“Grant,” she called after him, his name echoing in the empty space. “This was your plan, was it? Rip my skirts and leave me here. Marooned in a circus?” She huffed.
He returned at a loping run, his elegant strides long and fluid. And he carried a stool in his hand. He chuckled as he placed it next to Exquisite. “Just needed a bit more height for when you’re so tall on Exquisite’s back.” He held his hands out once more. “Are you ready?”
No. Not really. But this seemed bolder than anything she’d yet done but for seducing the man holding so tightly to her. She should squeeze the experience to the very marrow. She took a deep breath. She could do this. She could.
“Okay,” she said, “I’m ready.”
“Of course you are. Now, as you stand, you’ll need to lean forward, place your hands on the mare’s neck for stability. There, you can straighten your legs and lift halfway.”
She did as he instructed, making a sort of table with her body. The air danced around her, electric with fear and excitement.
“How do you feel?” His voice sounded so far away, though his hands hovered near, ready to catch a falling body. “Do not go further than that if you are not ready.”
“I feel … ready. It is quite high, but I feel steady.” Especially with him beside her. “This horse is a wonder.”
“So are you. Keep that in mind.”
“I shall endeavor to do so. I think I’m ready to stand all the way up.” Her muscles wavered, rioted, pleaded to hold tight, but she released Exquisite’s mane. She trembled upward, and he jumped off the stool and raised his arms toward her.
But she did not need him. She found her balance in the air, each breath pushing and pulling her body into the right spot between precarious and safe.
“Put your arms out to the side,” he said. “Better balance that way.”
“I’ve seen you do that.” She held her breath and stretched her arms out slowly, acclimating to the ways the movement tilted her body left and right of center. She wobbled a bit, her heart lurching up into her throat.
“Steady,” Grant crooned as if to a wild horse.
She sucked in a breath, steadied the waving windmills her arms had become, and found her balance.
