But I was done trying to fight the urge to look my fill.
If the woman was going to torture me, I was going to memorize every damn curve. I had a feeling it would come in handy on a cold night…
They started the shoot and I could not look away. Not even to blink. She was wearing a tiny bikini, a straw cowboy hat and fancy boots. She started washing the horse and I nearly spit out my iced tea as the soapy water started sliding over her body.
I could imagine myself over there, my hands holding the sponge. Except instead of washing the horse, I'd be washing her.
Just when I thought I was going to bust a nut right there, it got worse.
Much, much worse.
They turned her and the horse so that she was looking over her shoulder. Her perfect ass was on full display from this angle, as she bent forward and playfully washed the horse. I swallowed hard as suds slid down over the gorgeous round globes and dripped down her thighs.
She smiled at the camera. Then she looked at me, a teasing smile on her face. She knew what she was doing to me, I realized. And she was loving it.
But she wasn’t just doing it to torture me. Or just to do her job as a spokeswoman. No, she had a darker purpose.
A shock ran through me as our eyes locked.
Sweet lord in heaven, Phoenyx Delancey wanted me too.
I was caught. Trapped. She'd seen the lust in my eyes, I knew it. But I was shocked as hell when I saw it directed right back at me.
Oh no.
Oh hell no.
That feeling in my gut. It was reflected right back at me in her beautiful eyes. It hit me like a sucker punch to the gut.
That was it. I knew I was done for.
It was bad enough with me lusting over her every minute of the day. The season was just getting started. I knew I'd be taking cold showers until the competition in December.
Oh yeah, I wanted her. Bad. Worse than I'd ever wanted a damn thing in my life. By far.
I would resist her as long as I could. Eventually, I expected I'd make an ass of myself. I'd already accepted that was going to happen. She'd reject me for being too old and cranky. I would go away and lick my wounds and try to forget her.
That was how it was supposed to happen.
But if Phoenyx Delancey wanted me back, I didn't stand a chance in hell.
Chapter Eight
Phoenyx
Sometimes, a plan can work a little bit too well.
I shivered in the hot sun, realizing I had overshot my mark. I was playing with fire and right now, I was pretty sure I was going to get burned. Heck, I knew I was.
Hot blue eyes stared at me. Into me. I felt branded. Seared by all that fire. I never knew blue could hold so much heat.
I couldn't move. Couldn’t look away. I felt like a rabbit in a snare, locking eyes with a wolf. The man was a bonafide sex tornado. I blinked and it was over, leaving me feeling weak and limp, like overcooked pasta.
Actually, my pasta was always overcooked. Or under. I was a terrible cook. Another thing Clint probably wouldn’t like about me. I knew he wanted me. But what the hell would happen after that?
I was trying to calm myself down when Clint jumped up from his lawn chair like a Jack-in-the-box. I half expected to see a rattlesnake under his chair.
Instead, he ran off with his cowboy hat held over his lap.
That was… interesting.
My mood lifted suddenly. Clint might be intimidatingly manly but he was definitely effected by me. Maybe even more affected that I was, if that was possible.
I shook my head and smiled at the camera. I had a job to do. And I had a sudden inclination that I'd just witnessed Clint McRae losing his cool.
All because of little ole me.
Hmmm… seems this was a two way street after all. He wanted me. Bad.
More than I'd thought. My impression was that he saw me as a silly little girl. Sure, he'd given me a few lingering looks, but all men did that. It didn’t mean anything.
Everyone I wasn't related too, anyway.
It had been like that since I sprouted tits. Nothing a man did to get my attention surprised me anymore. I'd done such a good job of ignoring them all, I'd forgotten to educate myself about them.
I chewed my lip while they fluffed my hair. I had an idea.
A very good idea. Or a very bad one, depending on who you asked.
Clint was older. Experienced. He might be a good teacher…
I nodded to myself. Yes, that was a brilliant idea. Clint could teach me about more than riding. He could be my first. I'd get the practice I wanted and he'd ease up on me in the ring.