Sliding my hair out of the way, he continues the diabolical assault. He stays on my arm, never dipping past my elbow or extending toward my chest and neck. It’s the weirdest and best thing I’ve ever experienced.
It feels safe.
His groin presses so tightly against my backside I know he isn’t aroused. He’s giving me this…this nonsexual gift, and that alone rocks my world off its axis. He’s gone eight years without the touch of a woman, yet he’s doing the touching, the giving, without taking anything in return.
It makes me uneasy, suspicious, and my stomach hardens inside a fist of dread.
I must’ve tensed, because he pulls his hand away.
“We should get back.” He straightens and grips the reins. “Yah!”
His sharp command launches Captain into a canter. I clutch Lorne’s legs for balance, marveling in the hard feel of his thighs through the denim. A tremor moves through him, his breathing deep and erratic. He feels like a livewire, strung taut and amped up.
“Why did you do that?” At his silence, I clarify. “If you don’t want to have sex, why did you touch me?”
“You didn’t tell me to stop.”
“But you didn’t get anything out of it.”
“Of course I did.”
I grind my teeth. “If you tell me that giving a woman—”
“It calmed me.” He tightens his arm around my waist and leans over my shoulder. “Touching your skin, your hair… It quieted my mind.”
My ribs expand. “After everything that happened all those years ago, I know you feel things about it. If you don’t want to tell me about the ravine, will you share one thing you were thinking about back there?”
“Colors.”
“What?”
“The colors of the land and the sky and all the little things I never noticed before.”
I blink at the surroundings. All I see is shadows and darkness and obscure, very non-colorful objects and bulges. “I don’t understand.”
“I haven’t touched a tree in eight years. I used to pick wildflowers in the field and put them in Conor’s hair. Back then, I didn’t appreciate the hues of the petals. I just liked the way they made her smile. But now, I’m just… I’m overwhelmed by the abundance of color.”
That’s so tragically beautiful it makes my heart sigh. I caress a hand along his thigh, lost in the enigma of this complicated man.
We ride the rest of the way in silence. Rather than returning to the stable, he drops me off at the back porch of the estate and helps me dismount.
“If you need something to sleep in,” he says, swinging back into the saddle, “there are clothes in my room. Just dig through the boxes.”
“Are you not coming back?”
“No.”
“Lorne, I don’t feel right about—”
“Lock the door.”
Captain stomps a hoof, and Lorne rocks with the movement.
“Go on.” He runs the reins through the curl of his hand.
He can sleep where he wants. That’s not my call, even if it makes me feel bad. So I head inside, close the door behind me, and find his gaze through the glass.
He doesn’t move, his eyes watchful and stern, waiting.
I turn the lock.
Cupping a hand over the top of his hat, he bows his head in acknowledgment. Then he kicks Captain into a gallop and vanishes around the corner.
He has a protective heart. Vigilant and, on rare occasions, chivalrous. But also lethal.
The mean glint in his eyes clashes with the gentlemanly boots and hat. He harbors a darkness that doesn’t fit quite right in leather so respectfully worn.
When he opens his mouth, it’s with a sexy drawl, and the skin on his hands is softer than my baby sister’s. His bearing radiates confidence, and his eye contact never wavers. It’s as if he knows the affect he has on women and uses that as bait to lure and trap.
I could never trust a man so perfect. As far as I’m concerned, the more handsome the picture, the greater the danger.
Good thing I know how to deal with his kind.
I wander through the sprawling estate, its occupants shut behind bedroom doors. Hopefully, they’re working off some of that noxious sexual tension.
In Lorne’s suite, I shower, pull on one of his oversized t-shirts, and make my way to the kitchen to take an inventory. I have five ranchers to feed at the crack of dawn.
Last time I was here, I started an herb garden out back and foraged an abundance of native ingredients from the property. Things I dried, canned, and stored. When John learned that I love to cook, he banned me from the kitchen. He was afraid it would distract me from my job as his whore.
I rifle through the pantry, digging way into the back, searching for… Yes! Airtight cannisters of herbs and spices, jars of roots, everything I left behind is still here.
As my mind sifts through family recipes, my insides tremble with excitement. I have a purpose, a legitimate job, and a real chance at killing John Holsten.