Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
MACK
S eeing Grace come undone snapped something in my chest I’m sure was supposed to be whole. She’s quiet when she comes out to make supper. But finding me already halfway through making our evening meal, she hovers by the counter, like she doesn’t know if she should stay or leave.
“Wanna help?” I ask, scraping diced chicken into a hot pan. It sizzles and the aroma from the spice blend I coated it with bursts to life, filling the kitchen.
She walks around the counter and comes to my side. “Sure, what do you need?”
I turn and pull her into my chest, dipping my head into her hair by her neck. “Just this.”
“You’ll starve if you only need this.”
I push up tall and hold her at arm’s length. “I would never go hungry or alone if you were here. You’ve proven that to me time and time again.”
She rolls her eyes at me.
“You need me to show you how you satiate me again?” I ask, raising a brow.
Her cheeks blush, but she holds my gaze this time. “Thank you for the orgasm.” She turns to head to the fridge.
I grab her wrist. “Grace, it’s not tit for tat. There’s no your pleasure in exchange for mine.”
“Only because you haven’t had yours.”
I shake my head. She’s not getting it. “That’s not how it works. There is no score sheet for this shit.”
“Noted.” But her face is pulled into a frown.
“You don’t owe me because I made you come. I got as much out of it as you did.”
She scoffs. “I highly doubt that.”
“I mean, I know I’m good, Gracie, but still, the fact remains.”
She slaps my arm and plucks the juice from the fridge, setting it on the counter. Moving beside me again, she starts cutting up the salad ingredients I have laid out. I dot a kiss to the crown of her head. I wasn’t lying—taking care of this girl is my pleasure. Seeing her come almost made me lose my load in my shorts.
Those blue eyes glance my way, and she clears her throat.
“What?” I ask, shunting the chicken in the pan around with a wooden spoon.
“Scorecard or not. I want you to have what you gave me, too.”
The spoon slips from my hand, clunking onto the side of the pan. “Lunch first?” I manage to rasp.
The vision of those pretty pink lips wrapped around my cock hijacks the functioning part of my brain. She leans a hip against the counter, her tattered short denim shorts sitting over her fitted pale blue V-neck shirt. The cleavage I had my head buried in half an hour ago heaves. Apparently, I have the same effect on her as she does on me.
But she says, “Lunch first.”
An hour and two full bellies later, we curl up on the sofa. Grace flicks through the channels. I’m not paying the big rectangle any attention, with my gaze fixed on her. Her long hair is pulled around to one side. We bask in the AC like lounging lizards. She turns on her seat and drapes her long legs over my lap.
“Can you give me a riding lesson later, when it’s cooler?”
I can’t help the grin bursting over my face. I chuckle and rub my stubbled jaw.
She pulls the cushion from under her head and tosses it at mine. I lean down and dot kisses up her leg.
“Stop,” she says between breathy giggles. “Stop it, I’ll pee my pants.”
“You want me to get you wet, gorgeous?”
“No, I want a riding lesson on a horse . Thank you very much, Mr. Rawlins.”
“Mr. Rawlins?!” Both eyebrows shoot into my hairline. I scoff at her. “Gracie, I am not that old.”
“Sure, you are.”
“One orgasm and you turn into a brat.” I toss the cushion back to her and it smacks her in the face. I freeze.
Shit, I didn’t think before I threw it.
A fit of giggles bursts from her lips as she throws her head back. Her legs disappear from my lap, and a heartbeat later, she is straddling me, her hands gripping my face. Soft lips press to mine. I open for her, like she has for me.
She can take anything she finds in this man’s heart.
Gracie’s a natural. She rises with every other footfall Trigger makes around the round yard. In her old jeans and a yellow checked button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves she found at the charity shop, she grips the pommel with one hand, the other holding the reins. The wind is up this afternoon, but the gelding is sound, head down, ears forward. It’s as if he knows he’s responsible for precious cargo.
“How about a lope?” I call to her.
“What?” She glances at me, gripping the pommel tighter.
“Push him into a lope. Squeeze him with your legs and sit back as he rocks into the faster gait.”
Her face twists, and she reins the gelding to a stop.
I walk to where they stand. Grace’s breaths are quick in what I’m sure is excitement and a little fear. I mean, who wouldn’t be a little scared on a horse the first time?
“You want me to hop up there with you?”
“Can you do that? It won’t be too heavy for him?”
I slide her sneaker-clad foot out of the stirrup, and it hangs by Trigger’s side. I make a mental note to get her real boots. And a hat, for that matter. Sliding my left boot into the stirrup, I push off the ground and haul myself up onto the horse behind her. I remove myself from the stirrup, wrapping my arms around Grace. She glances back, happiness radiating over those elegant features, concentrated in her blue eyes.
I cluck my tongue and Trigger walks on. “The trick to lopin’ is to relax into the rocking motion.”
I push Trigger from the walk into a lope and Grace tenses, grabbing onto my hands. I twist my cap backward and hold her closer. We sway with the gelding’s long gait. The wind pushes her hair around us. I sink my face into her neck and breathe her in.
“Mack,” she breathes, leaning her head back on my shoulder.
I catch a glimpse of her face. Her eyes are closed.
In this very moment, I realize heaven is right here.
And I’m getting used to this beautiful view.
I drop the reins to Trigger’s neck. “Open your eyes, gorgeous girl.”
She does, and I open our arms out wide like wings to fly, our fingers laced together. Like the Titanic moment, but on horseback. Her laughter reverberates through my chest. Her head rests on my shoulders again, the smile over her face stealing the air from my lungs.
We lope the round yard, rocking with Trigger’s sturdy footfalls, another three times before her face turns serious. “Mackinlay.”
I rein the horse in, and he slows down to a walk. She tugs on the reins in front of my hands. Trigger halts.
“You okay?” I ask.
She twists in the saddle, pressing her palms to my chest. “Thank you.”
“You’re so welcome.” I search her eyes, hoping I haven’t triggered some horrible memory for her.
“Can I teach you something?” she asks.
“As long it’s not yoga.”
She laughs. “Definitely not. Can’t have you going to yoga class and checking out all those Lycra-clad girls.”
I brush the hair from her face. “I only know one Lycra-clad girl worth lookin’ at.”
Her gaze drops.
She still doesn’t believe the words. If she could see what I see...
What we all see.
Unfolding myself from our spot on the horse, I dismount and hold up my hands to help her down.
“I got it.” She swings her leg over the back of the saddle and slides to the ground.
A natural.
“Pretty soon, you’ll be out riding with Adds.”
“Really? Gosh, I would love to do that. She was a show jumper, wasn’t she? Maybe I could learn to jump?”
“Absolutely. But Trigger here is more of a reining cowpoke. Sure Huddo’ll have a horse for you, though.”
“Imagine! Grace Weston, horse owner.” Her hand waves in front of her like she’s reading some city billboard. I chuckle at her enthusiasm and lead Trigger through the yard and back into the barn. Grace lags behind, looking up at the mountains.
I unbuckle the girth, and Grace tugs the saddle from Trigger’s back, walking it into the tack room. I swap his bridle out for a halter and run the hose over him, washing away the sweat that accumulated in our one-hour lesson. Grace talks to him at his head, rubbing his muzzle. It’s the most female attention Trigger’s ever had. Poor old man probably doesn’t know what to do with himself.
With a nicker, he rubs his forehead into her hand, pushing it up to her chest. “Love you too, sweet man,” she says softly.
My gut flips.
After the two lovebirds have had their fill, I rise from the bale of hay I sat myself down on and walk with them as Grace puts Trigger back in his stall. She unbuckles the halter, and he stands rooted to the spot as she says her goodbyes. Poor guy is lovestruck.
“Come on, gorgeous, leave him to his new crush.”
She smiles and kisses his forehead, rubbing a hand between his ears before walking out and closing the stall door behind her. She hangs the halter on the hook by his door, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “I think you’re Trig’s first love, Gracie.”
She beams up at me.
I kiss her forehead.
The gelding can take a number. This girl is mine.
Sweet Jesus . . .
Jealous of a damn horse. I drag a hand through my hair as we walk from the barn, and Grace stops abruptly. I falter to a standstill as she gives me an incredulous look.
“What?”
She huffs a laugh. “Nothing.”
“Not nothin’.”
“Never mind, I’m going for a shower before supper.” She glances at the house. “Would you...”
“Spit it out.”
She hovers on the spot, worrying her bottom lip through her teeth. “Can you—I mean, did you wanna join me?”
“Are you inviting me into your shower?”
She blinks, as if she can’t believe she said those words. With a sliver of hesitation, she steps into my space, tilts her head up, and looks me in the eyes. “Yes, Mackinlay, I want you in my shower.”
“Well, sure, if you ask nicely.” I grin at her.
Annoyance lines her scrunched-up face before she huffs, “Mack, will you please have a shower with me?”
“Nah, I’m good. Not dirty.”
Her mouth drops open, and she slaps my arm playfully.
I compose myself, tamping the smile trying to tug my lips up, and stand taller. “Okay, ask me again.”
“Hmmm.” Her eyes narrow. Then, as if something flipped in that beautiful brain of hers, her eyes turn from frustrated to fire. She undoes the top button of her shirt, then the next. Shirt fully open, a lacy cream bra with a sweet bow in the center covers her perfect skin. Those dusky rose nipples are hard and my mouth waters, wanting to be over them yesterday . I all but groan at the sight.
I know she has read the change in my composure and is going to exploit it. Because I want her to. Because I have been helping her own what she wants and take what she needs.
A sly smile blooms over her lips. She sweeps her hair around one shoulder and turns on her heel and walks away from me. Her shirt, still stuck between two fingers, flings over her shoulder and rests at her back. The world’s best follow me eyes home onto mine. “You coming, Mackinlay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”