What?
And then I see his bewildered stare drop, and I follow his gaze, seeing the purposeful tears and shreds of my designer skinny jeans that my family’s personal shopper put in my closet a few weeks ago.
Slices of thigh peer out between shreds of dark-washed material, and Jake laughs under his breath as I look back up to see a lopsided smile on Noah’s cocky face.
I lock my jaw and look away.
He’s teasing. I’m just not in the mood.
Of course, I haven’t been in the mood for years, so I guess this is who I am now.
I tuck my hair behind my ear, and he eventually passes, his lips tight with the laugh he’s holding in.
“Tiernan,” Jake calls.
I walk over to where my uncle stands on the other side of the horse and follow his lead as he holds the stirrup toward me. Reaching up, I fist the reins in one hand and grab hold of the saddle in the other, slipping my left foot into the stirrup. Hoisting myself up, I swing my leg over and straddle the horse, fitting my other shoe into the right stirrup. It’s a perfect fit. I don’t need him to adjust anything. I haven’t asked what we’re doing or where we’re going, knowing it doesn’t really matter. I won’t argue.
I look around for his horse, but then, all of a sudden, he’s pulling himself up and plopping down right behind me.
What is he doing?
“I said I know how to ride,” I tell him.
But he reaches in front of me and takes the reins, forcing me to let them go. I grip the horn of the saddle with both hands, scooching up as far as I can, because he’s right there, and I’m practically in his lap.
My heart starts beating a little harder as irritation crawls under my skin. “I don’t need help,” I tell him.
He only clicks his tongue and nudges the horse, setting us off around the barn. We round the wooden fence and gallop into the forest as the horse climbs the steep hill, sending us under the shade of the trees, and I squeeze my fists around the horn to try to keep myself from sliding backward.
But as much as I try, I still feel his body there.
The day grows darker as the trees shield us from the sun, and the air cools, but something pleasant stirs at the feel of the animal under me. Her muscles working against my legs to get us up the hill. My pulse starts to race a little, but I don’t hate it. A little refreshing, actually. He’s solid behind me, and I feel secure. For the moment.
“Are you uncomfortable?” he asks.
His voice vibrates against my back.
But I don’t answer.
“Are you comfortable?” he presses instead.
Still, I stay silent. What does it matter anyway? He imposed himself despite my protest. Will it matter if I’m comfortable with him on the horse or not?
He doesn’t care. He just wants a response out of me.
His sigh hits my ear. “Yeah, your father could piss me off without saying much, too.”
But I can’t hear him. His legs rest against every inch of mine as I sit nestled between his thighs.
Snug. Protected.
Are you uncomfortable?
I don’t know, but I’m aware that maybe I should be. This is weird. We shouldn’t be sitting like this.
We continue up the hill, the rock and dirt kicking up under the horse as I look around, seeing the house behind us down below. The terrain evens out, and Jake pushes the horse a little faster as I relax into his hold around me, both of us bouncing up and down in the saddle.
He blows a couple times, like something in his face, and then his fingers brush my neck. I tense, the touch making me shiver.
“Do me a favor, okay?” he says as he swipes my hair over my right shoulder. “Keep your hair tied back as much as possible. We have lots of machines that can snag it.”
I take over, smoothing my hair over my shoulder and out of his face.
We stop at the top of the hill. “Water tower, barn, shop…” he calls out, pointing as we turn and look over the cliff to his property below. “There’s a greenhouse over that hill, too.”
I follow his gaze down to where the house sits through the trees in the distance below us, getting a decent view of the entire ranch. The house is happily situated in the center, the back of it facing us, with the attached garage to the left—or shop, I assume he’s referring to—and then a barn on the other side of that. To the right is a water tower. The rocky hill we sit atop of sits behind the house, and I’d imagine there’s a propane tank and a generator somewhere on the property.
The leaves dance with the morning breeze, and something flaps its wings to my right as a steady, soft noise pounds in the distance. Water, maybe?