Chapter 31
PIPER
Athought hits me when Nash and I are both home one day.
“Does the petting zoo have horses?” I ask while Nash is putting some groceries he went out to buy into the refrigerator.
Nash shrugs, the big muscles on his back popping with the motion. “Sure. Why?”
“Can we go see them? Maybe I can try to ride one?”
Nash turns around, resting on the wooden countertop and pointing an amused look at me. “You want to ride a horse?”
I tilt my shoulder. “Well, since there are no cowboys around …”
Nash breathes a laugh, a mixture of amusement and bemusement in his expression. And maybe a hint of heat in his amber eyes at my suggestive joke. “Sure, why not? Let’s go.”
I’ve always thought horses were pretty, and I just finished a cowboy romance book that included a lot of horse-riding scenes. It would be fun to pet one, maybe try to sit on one and see if I can handle it trotting around.
We get into Nash’s truck, and while we drive the short way down the road to the petting zoo’s entrance, I make a point of finding the local country station on Nash’s radio, for the vibes. I could swear Nash hums along to one of the tunes, but when I call him on it, he denies it.
When we park and approach the entrance, I’m caught off guard by how the employees react when they see Nash. Their expressions brighten, smiles unfurl on their faces, and they all rush to greet him.
He hardly ever comes to the zoo, at least as far as I know. Why do they like him so much? I can’t help but wonder. Are they just excited to be working for a famous hockey player?
Nash talks to one of the employees, Marco, and Marco takes us to the horse stables. While Marco is getting a horse ready, another worker, who’s dressed like he’s a manager, comes to talk to Nash.
“I told you, Hank, I trust your judgment. You don’t need to run decisions like this by me,” Nash is telling him, having stepped aside to talk.
“I know, Mr. Miller, but this purchase will change the quarterly budget quite a bit. I’d just feel better if you took a look at it and I got your direct approval.”
I can tell Nash wants to sigh, but he bottles it up and nods. “Fine, fine.” He turns to me. “Piper, I have to run to the office real quick. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Sure,” I answer. “No problem.”
While Nash is gone, Marco emerges from the stable, and I gasp when I see the gorgeous horse he’s leading behind him.
The horse’s coat is a glossy chestnut, and her neighs are like purrs as Marco gently leads her towards me.
“She’s beautiful,” I breathe, stepping forward to run my hand against her coat. “She? He?”
“She,” Marco answers. “Her name’s Milly.”
I gasp when she moves her head toward me while I pet her pretty neck. She’s so tall, too. I have no idea how I’m going to make it into the saddle.
As transfixed as I am by interacting with this beautiful animal, my curiosity about how the staff treated Nash is still pinging in my head. So, I say to Marco, “Everyone here seems to really like Nash, huh?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Marco answers, the enthusiasm in his voice only making me wonder even more.
“Please, call me Piper,” I say. “Does Nash spend a lot of time here or something?”
“No, he doesn’t, unfortunately. We’d love to see him more.”
“Then … okay, this might sound like a funny question, but why does everyone like him so much? I know my husband can be a little … prickly.”
Marco laughs. “Maybe so, on the outside. But after he took over this place and saw what the previous owners were paying us, he doubled everyone’s salary instantly.”
A light feeling winds through my chest, hitching my breath. Is it … admiration?
I think it is. I think I admire my husband’s generosity and selflessness, traits no one really even knows he has. Except those on the receiving end of them.
“I’m back,” Nash’s low voice announces.
When I turn to him, a tender smile pulls on my face. I take in the sight of my husband, looking at home next to a horse stable with his blue jeans and tucked-in checkered shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and somehow looking a little … different in my eyes, knowing what I just found out.
That sense of admiration mixes with another feeling that’s a little harder to describe, bringing a sweet but unsettled sensation to me, that almost feels like …
“Ready to get on her?” Marco asks, interrupting my thought, keeping me from searching for a name to assign to that feeling. Probably for the best.
“Can I?” I ask.
Marco nods. “Sure. She’s a good girl. She’s nice and gentle, and takes well to new people. I can give you a leg up.”
“I’ll do it,” Nash says. His voice is firm as he strides toward me, almost as if the thought of another man helping his wife into the saddle instead of him makes him jealous. The idea of his feeling that way is a little too appealing.
Nash sinks to one knee. The sight of my husband kneeling in front of me has heat dancing all over my skin. I chase away the dangerous thoughts that start to bloom in my mind, featuring Nash on his knees in front of me for entirely different reasons.
“Grab the saddle,” Nash says, his voice raspy and direct as he gives instructions. “Put your foot in my hands, and I’ll lift you up.”
I do as he says. Something about having my leg crooked so close to Nash’s face makes my pulse stutter. Looking down, having my foot resting in the cradle of Nash’s hands like this is far too close to the sight of my leg resting on one of his broad shoulders.
Nash’s gaze brushes over the spot between my thighs, and a pang of want stabs into me.
I yelp when Nash lifts, levering my weight up like it’s nothing.
I swing my other leg over the horse’s back and land in the saddle.
I feel higher up than I really am, almost dizzy with the sense of height.
Maybe that has something to do with the heat curling through my stomach from being manhandled by my husband.
My temperature only shoots up when Nash wraps his strong hands around my calves and positions my feet into the stirrups. He’s gentle with that movement, in contrast to the explosive power he generated hoisting me up.
I bet Nash is really good at knowing exactly when to be rough and forceful, and exactly when to be gentle.
My breath catches when Milly starts to move underneath me. It makes me feel giddy. I hold on tight to the reins, and Marco strolls her around. I laugh as I adjust myself to the saddle, moving my hips with the horse’s gait. This is fun.
I look at Nash, who’s standing with his arms crossed, but an amused look on his face.
I can’t help myself. “I’m pretty good at riding, huh, Nash?”
Blush splotches beneath his week-old stubble. He clears his throat. “Seems that way.”
I’m still far too amused at making my husband lose some of his composure.
I wonder just how much of that composure I could make him lose, if I really tried. That might be a dangerous thought.
Another employee runs over. “Oh, Marco, there you are,” she says. “The vet is here to vaccinate the goats, but that one ornery goat who only responds to you is giving her a hard time.”
Marco looks at Nash, who nods to him. “Go ahead.” He steps forward and takes the reins. “I can keep an eye on her.”
The zoo workers walk off, leaving just me, my husband, and the horse.
A scene from the cowboy romance I just read plays through my memory. When the two main characters had to ride home together on the same horse, their bodies molded together in the saddle, while they were still trying to fight their mutual attraction. It was one of my favorite parts of the book.
Before I can think better of it, I say to Nash, “I have an idea.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“We don’t have enough pictures together on our social media, you know. I mean, for a newly married couple.”
“I don’t have social media.”
Of course he doesn’t.
“Well, I don’t have enough pictures of us together on my social media, because I’m a normal person, and if I supposedly just got married to the love of my life, I should have plenty of them.”
“And?”
“This is a perfect photo opportunity.”
A questioning look pulls on Nash’s face. “What? Me standing next to you on the horse?”
“I was thinking we’d get a picture of both of us on the horse. It’d be cute. Exactly the kind of picture I’d want of us if we were,” I lower my voice, “actually married.”
“Hmm,” Nash hums.
“We’re still trying to keep up appearances, after all. I’m sure that damn lawyer is keeping tabs.”
“So you want me to … what? Come up into the saddle with you?”
Electric heat starts to dance over my skin now that he’s put it into words. “Yes,” I nod.
“Because you think a photo of that would look … cute?”
“Right.” Of course that’s why. Just for Instagram, that’s all. It’s not like I want to feel his hard chest pressed against my back, or anything like that. It’s purely for show, to keep that busybody lawyer off my back and to make extra sure I get my inheritance money without delay.
Nash looks like he’s thinking about it. A shadow passes over his expression, as if he’s thinking the same thing I should be thinking: that us having that much physical contact might not be the wisest choice. But the shadow passes, his throat works, and he nods. “Okay.”
I take my phone from my pocket and hand it to him. There’s a little stand near the wall of the stable. I point to it and say, “Just open my camera to video mode and prop the phone on the counter there to face us. I’ll screenshot a good angle.”
He does so, and then comes back to the horse.
He plants one hand on the flat of the saddle right behind me, one on the raised cantle on the back of it, and hoists himself up, swinging his leg over Milly’s back and landing right behind me, his legs on either side of me.
I sit in the cradle of his hips, his broad chest plastered against my back, his frame feeling very, very big looming over me from behind. My throat works on a dry swallow as I fail to control the sparks that skitter over me.
He angles his hips, pushing me an inch forward in the saddle, and desire swells between my thighs at the friction.
The pommel of the saddle is right in front of me, wedged against my pelvis, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from swiveling my hips and generating the kind of friction that my clit is begging for behind my denim.
Nash reaches forward, his strong arms bracketing me as he grabs the reins. I watch his grip flex on the leather straps. His sharp, masculine scent swims into my nose, and my senses are surrounded and overwhelmed by him.
“Let’s find the right angle,” he says, the low timbre of his voice vibrating through me. He pulls on the reins like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and the horse starts to turn.
“The right angle?” I ask, my brain short-circuiting.
“For the camera,” he says. I can even feel the way his head nods toward it, he’s so close. “I’ve always had a knack for finding the right angle, you know.”
Nash’s voice is a lewd purr in my ear, like he’s paying me back for making him sweat with my riding comment moments ago. Flames lick through my core as I imagine him finding the right angle with his hips between my legs.
Nash maneuvers Milly so we’re facing the camera. He leans his scruffy chin on my shoulder and whispers, “Smile.”
I try to push the heat out of my cheeks and smile as we hold the pose for a couple seconds.
“Alright, that should do it,” I say, my voice sounding too squeaky in my dry throat. “We can get down now.”
But just at that moment, Milly bellows a loud neigh, her head rears back, and her front hooves come off the ground.
I gasp, falling back against Nash’s chest. He straightens his posture, and his muscles coil and dance as they fight to maintain balance.
His thighs flex into rock-hard slabs as his legs squeeze against my hips to hold me in place.
His knuckles turn white, pulling heavily on the reins, trying to wrestle some control over Milly.
“Whoa, girl,” he says, his voice firm but soothing. He sounds entirely too much like an experienced cowboy, and it turns me on entirely too much, especially with my heart already tap dancing in my chest.
He manages to restrain her, and she settles back on the ground. When her hooves land on the grass, my body shifts forward, the saddle’s pommel pressing hard between my legs, and a wave of pleasure expands through me.
The sensation is so intense, heightened by Nash’s body covering me, his muscles so corded and tight that I feel their sharp outline underneath his clothes. I clench my teeth to bite back a whimper.
Marco returns at just the right moment to help Nash calm the horse.
But my body doesn’t calm down for a long time. Not as we leave the zoo, not when we get home, not after I post the picture of us on Instagram, not after I crawl into bed.
Not until I succumb to the winding ache between my legs and get myself off in Nash’s bed for a second time, with him sleeping on the couch right outside the bedroom door.