of how to move around a horse, where not to go, where not to stand—which mostly had to do with the rear feet—as well as being careful of horses who can swing their heads around and try and nip at you. He’d looked at Petunia when Elena had made that comment, and he swore the horse gave him an innocent “who, me?” blink.
After a quick demo of her instructions, he stepped into the stall beside her. Despite the fact that the interior of the stall was roomy, they all seemed crowded into the front corner by the stall door, which, despite Petunia’s relaxed manner at the moment, did little to smooth over his reservations about this whole thing.
He lifted the halter, but Elena blocked the move with her hand. “You’re not through making friends yet.”
“What?”
“You just invaded her personal space. Never do this unless invited or instructed to do so by me or one of the stable hands, okay?”
“Why is it I think this isn’t standard procedure?”
“You don’t feel comfortable around big animals. I’m adjusting your lessons accordingly.”
“What makes you think that? About the large animals?” It was completely true, mostly because he’d simply never been around any. The neighborhood he’d grown up in was big on rats, the occasional stray dog, but that was about it. Still, he hadn’t thought he’d telegraphed that in any real way. Well, other than his overt lack of enthusiasm for being up close and personal with Petunia. But that was just being smart. She was a whole lot of horse.
“Body language,” Elena replied. “You’re doing fine, actually, but you’re not entirely comfortable, which is understandable. The more you’re around horses and get used to the spatial differences between you two, and become comfortable with—while not losing respect for—her power and size, the more swiftly you’ll progress. Remember, I said it was about trust. And that goes both ways. If you’re tentative, in manner or movement, she’ll sense it and react to it.”
Elena beckoned him closer, but Petunia chose that moment to shift her feet a little, so he stayed just inside the closed stall door. “Seems to me we’d all be more comfortable out in the aisle. Shouldn’t I earn her trust a bit more before we get this…intimate?”
Elena smiled and he thought he caught a flicker of…something else before she quickly looked back at the horse. And that something else, if he wasn’t mistaken, had been a purely female reaction. He hadn’t intended the double entendre and he almost wished he hadn’t noticed her reaction. She might not be his type, but she did rather command a person’s attention. Clearly she’d gotten his. He’d told himself he was only thinking about her night and day because he’d been doing research. He’d also told himself that he’d made the ultimate sacrifice of getting on horseback because that had been the only way to earn her trust enough to get her to talk freely. Strictly doing his job. Going above and beyond, even.
Standing here now, listening to her voice, which managed to be both soothing and no-nonsense, and looking into eyes that were quick to crinkle at the corners, yet easily held his own when challenged…yeah, he was finding his rationale a little harder to hang on to.
His body was finding it even more difficult. But he was a man, after all, so he could hardly be faulted for noticing things like how her braided hair swung halfway down to her ass, or how, when she reached up to stroke Petunia’s neck, it pulled the backs of her overalls just tight enough across her hips to showcase that very same ass in what was a surprisingly flattering way.
But he didn’t need her looking at him as if she was thinking any of those same things in return. Temptation, in this case, was not a good thing. He had enough to handle just trying not to get stomped on by a thousand pounds of horseflesh. Not to mention that he was, in fact, here to do a job. He couldn’t afford to be noticing things, or noticing her noticing things, either.
“Keep doing what you were before,” she instructed, motioning to the horse. “Rub your hand down her neck, along her flank.”
And all he could think, looking at the amused spark in Elena’s eyes, was what it would be like to run his hands along her long, lean flanks.
Trying like hell to rid his mind of that little visual, he stepped closer and reached out once again to stroke Petunia’s neck. She swung her head around, and though he instinctively shifted his shoulder back out of reach of her mouth, he left his hand on her neck. “Easy now,” he said quietly. “It’s true, I have no idea what I’m doing, which you have undoubtedly figured out, but my intentions are honorable.”
Petunia made a snorting noise, and he could have sworn he heard Elena swallow a similar noise. He didn’t dare look at her, though. This entire experience was proving humbling enough as it was.
“So, how about I promise to try not to hurt you. And you don’t take a chunk out of my shoulder when I’m not looking. Deal?”
Petunia’s ears flickered, but, all in all, she didn’t seem all that interested in his proposition.
“Just keep at it,” Elena coached. “She’ll get used to the sound of your voice, to your touch, your scent.”
Jesus, she was trying to kill him. Shifting to accommodate the sudden lack of room in his khakis, he kept his focus on the horse. “Scent?” he asked, damning the slight roughness of his voice. Did she have any idea the effect she was having on him? Probably not. He didn’t even fully understand it. But tell that to the rest of him, which was having no problem at all responding to her. Think about the horse, he schooled himself. And only the horse. Not about touching Elena, stroking those long legs, and finding out what her scent was like. Would she be sweet? Musky?
“Everyone has a distinct smell, their own natural scent,” she said.
He might have groaned a little. If she said one word about taste, he wouldn’t be held accountable for his actions.
“And that scent is layered with shampoo scents, soap scents, laundry scents. And then there are other things, like smoke, alcohol—”
“I don’t smoke. And I don’t plan on drinking and riding, so—”
“I wasn’t saying those things were necessarily bad, just that she’ll come to know your scent and identify it with you. She may sense you coming before she even sees you, just by the cologne you wear.”
“I don’t wear cologne,” he said.
She glanced at him, looking briefly surprised. “You don’t?”
Which meant, he gathered, that she’d smelled him. Wonderful. This was turning into one big pheromone fest. And they hadn’t even gotten the horse out of the damn stall yet. “Just the regular laundry and shower stuff.” And how in the hell had they gotten into this, anyway? He was supposed to be finding out more about her, not the other way around.
“Hmm,” she said, looking mildly embarrassed, but smiling all the same. “Remind me to ask what detergent or shampoo you use, then. Smells nice.”
His body leapt in response to her softly spoken compliment, urging him to do something—anything—about it. Hard to keep telling himself she wasn’t his type when the sexual tension between them was clouding the stall in a thick fog.
Petunia took that moment to nod her head and whinny softly. It might have just meant she was suffering from a sudden lack of attention, but it looked like she was agreeing
