All or Nothing at All(90)

 

 

He stiffened as she tiptoed inside, listening to him in the dark. He deliberately evened out his breath until she moved past him and dressed. Her hourglass shadow tempted his vision when she dropped the towel, and he held back a groan at the thrust of her hard nipples and luscious curve of her ass. He waited, and sure enough, the wall of pillows began taking form behind him. His fingers itched to tear them apart and grab her, but he was able to tamp down on the urge and continue breathing. Finally the closet door squeaked, and the sound of fabric whooshing down drifted in the air. Then she climbed on the bed, dragging a blanket over her body and settling on the farthest edge of the mattress.

She hadn't gotten under the covers.

Tristan was torn between wanting to strangle her and laughing. Did she really think she was safer that way? One tug and he'd smash the line of pillows, grab her, and swallow her protests with his kisses until she begged for him to take her. But now wasn't the time. He still wanted to take it slow for both of them, so when he finally claimed her body, he wouldn't have any lingering ideas about love. After learning about Becca, he felt way too vulnerable, which scared the crap out of him. Even this past week, she'd come dangerously close to thawing him out. He loved watching her face light up when she spoke with Becca, the soft glint in her eyes reminding him so much of his mother. He admired her adept and sometimes ruthless ability to deal with multiple suppliers and workers on the job site populated mostly by men. He ached to take her in his arms and comfort her when she rubbed her temples with exhaustion but still managed to make dinner without complaint. And when she smiled at him, forgetting they were temporary enemies, his gut clenched into a hard ball of need.

No, he couldn't risk his heart with her again. When he finally made his move, it would be about sex, plain and simple. No more getting his heart all messed up.

It was so much easier this way.





chapter twenty




Sydney looked up at the huge chestnut horse and took a step back. "Hey, why don't you two go and I'll wait here?"

Becca giggled. Perched on top of a white pony, her pink helmet strapped under her chin, she looked happy and at ease. Unlike her mother. "You can do it, Mama. Don't be afraid."

The horse wrangler patted the horse's rump. "Bam Bam is very gentle. He won't hurt you. Now, swing your leg up and over."

She looked to Tristan for help, but he only raised his brow in pure challenge. Damn. The man looked sexy as hell riding a sleek black horse, hands loosely fisting the reins like a pro. Dressed in jeans, brown boots, and a plaid button-down shirt, he should've seemed more approachable. Instead, he gazed at her from behind a pair of aviator glasses, reminding her of some macho Western cowboy refusing to bend to society's rules. 

So hot.

She shook off her thoughts and followed orders. Her cushioned butt sat in the saddle, and she listened to the instructions on how to keep her heels down and direct Bam Bam by using the reins. Their teacher, Jim, seemed relaxed and in charge, keeping up a conversation with Becca as he guided her around the field a few times to get comfortable. Tristan was situated in the middle, and she was at the back. Seemed Bam Bam was the ultimate follower and preferred to go at a slower pace.

Fine with her.

They started out on the trail at a leisurely walk. Spring had kicked in and turned the trees back to vibrant green. Buds exploded into eye-popping colored flowers, and the sky was a deep powder blue with fat fluffy clouds. The breeze tugged at her hair, full of earthy, woodsy smells. The creak of the leather saddle and the steady tread of hooves soothed her ears. After a few minutes, she realized Bam Bam wasn't about to go charging anywhere and settled in.

Tristan slowed his pace and spoke over his shoulder. "Morgan called. Asked if Becca wanted to sleep over tonight at the new house. Is that okay with you?"

Bam Bam stopped to tear at some tasty leaves, munching with slow precision. She tugged, but he didn't move. "Sure. Morgan spoils her rotten, and that will give me an opportunity to work later."

The wrangler called out, "Kick with your right foot and pull your reins up! We don't want them eating on the trail."

"Great, I'm already in trouble," she muttered, tugging harder. "Bam Bam, let's go."

He shot her a bored look and tore another leaf off the branch.

Tristan grinned, easing his horse closer. "Kick him harder, Syd. At the same time, tug up sharply."

She did, and the horse practically rolled his eyes before allowing himself to be guided back in line. "How come your horse is named Dancer, Becca's is Champion, and mine is from The Flintstones?"

"He senses your unease," he told her with a laugh. "Keep your legs tight to his belly and a shorter grip on the reins. He needs to know you're in charge."