She tugged off her gloves, adding, “Nothing beats a bacon butty after a ride.”
A sexy dent appeared on his cheek as he ran his fingers through his thick hair. “You got smoked bacon and thick white bread?”
“Don’t insult me.” She smirked. “Of course I do.”
The smile that flashed across his face caught her off guard. He looked genuinely delighted.
“Eating a bacon butty with you is perfect.”
Shannon tugged off her helmet, yanking out the elastic tie from her hair and running her fingers through it, relieved to be out of the shadows. Flat hat hair was the absolute worst.
She had washed her hair that morning and hoped it wasn’t plastered to her head like a shower cap now. Her forehead probably showed a bright red imprint from the helmet, too.
Wonderful.
Trixie lowered her head, allowing Shannon to slide the bridle off and release the bit from her mouth. She drew the leather straps over her shoulder and reached up to scratch the horse behind the ear.
“Good girl.”
“She’s a beauty,” Jamie said, his voice low and appreciative.
“I’ve put everything into training her.” Shannon kissed her beloved horse on the cheek. “We’re together every single day. She’s the one who takes up all my time.”
She glanced back over her shoulder at Jamie. “The horses are the pets I told you about.”
He nodded. “Guessed as much. You still need time for yourself, though.”
Leaning into Trixie, she whispered for her ears only, “Wish me luck, girl. Think I’ll need it with this guy.”
Jamie swung the door open and stepped back, a relaxed smile on his face. His eyes gleamed with something unreadable, and he radiated an energy that made her heart skip a beat.
“I’ll carry the saddle, love.” He hoisted it over his forearm, following her into the tack room that smelled of polished leather and hoof oil.
He placed the saddle on the rack above the bronze plaque that read, ‘VENATRIX.’
“Thanks,” she said, her gaze eating up the sight of him in her territory…somewhere he seemed to fit into with ease.
Turning around, Jamie’s gaze swept over the brick walls lined with hooks and draped in riding equipment. To his left, a tall steel bucket overflowed with riding crops and schooling whips.
He stood still for a beat, the silence stretching between them, his head tilted, and his hands balled into fists at his sides.
“I’m hungry,” he said, his voice low and urgent, coated with desire.
“Me too,” she murmured, her pulse going wild.
His eyes flicked to the riding whip Harry hadbought at the show the day before, its handle pristine among the used ones cluttering the old milk canister.
Without a word, he grabbed it, his fingers sliding over the supple leather with a slow, thoughtful motion.
Her lashes fluttered, the sensation of his gaze and touch making her stomach tighten.
“It’s new,” she said as his nostrils flared.
A low growl rumbled deep in his chest.
“I like this one.” He let the whip dangle in his hand, his eyes never leaving hers. “Let’s take it upstairs.”
16
