“Because you’re wearing nothing but scraps of fucking lace.”
He isn’t wrong. I’d found a new website to order lingerie from. I wanted to see how it fit. The lingerie fit perfectly, and I love to do my own little photoshoots when I feel sexy. The pictures weren’t taken for anyone but myself. I love the body I have. Strong in some places and soft in others. I liked that this lingerie accentuated my favorite parts of my body. It lay high on the hips, bringing attention to the narrow of my waist. It cut low on my breasts, giving them a needed lift without pushing them up to my chin in a way that is completely unnatural and incredibly uncomfortable. The bra makes my average-sized breasts seem bigger than they actually are, something I really liked about it.
I get so lost in my mind that I don’t realize he’s closed the distance between us. He’s cornered me, the edge of the saddle stand digging into my back. I hardly notice the sting of it because I’m too lost in the way his eyes have darkened.
“One last chance, shortcake. Tell me who you’re sending them to.”
“Why? So you can laugh with them?”
“No, so I can tell them to lose your fucking number.”
My mouth snaps shut. What the hell is happening?
He takes a step forward, fully pressing the fronts of our bodies together. He’s warmer than I was expecting, so different from his typical cold personality. He stands over a head taller than me, but the way he crouches down puts us almost nose to nose.
“Camden.” My voice betrays me. Gone is the snarky tone I reserve for him and only him. In its place is a breathy tone…and maybe a little lust after feeling his hard body pressed against mine.
He holds the phone in front of me, angling it so both of us can see the screen. He focuses on the dirty picture of me for a few seconds before closing out of it and going to my home screen. The moment he clicks on my text messages, the lust-filled bubble pops, and I’m left with anger.
“You’re crossing so many boundaries,” I lash out.
His eyes scan over all the text threads I have. “I don’t see you trying to stop me.”
I frown. Maybe he has a point. “You aren’t going to find who I sent the picture to.”
His breath tickles my cheeks when he looks back to me. “And why’s that? You deleted the conversation?”
“No.” I look at where our bodies touch. I should push him away, but even though fury courses through my veins at the way he’s unapologetically crossed so many lines, I can’t do it. I don’t want to. I’m too lost in the angry fog in his eyes. The way he clenches his jaw so hard that I’m worried he’ll chip the teeth his parents clearly spent thousands to perfect. “I took the picture for me.”
His head cocks to the side. It seems childish, but I want to reach out and tousle his gelled hair. To make him a little less perfect as revenge for violating my privacy. “Explain,” he growls.
Sighing, I finally get in my right mind and push at his chest. It’s only haphazardly. He lets me do it, though, only backing up as far as I pushed him—which wasn’t far to begin with.
“Yes. For me. Why can’t a woman take sexy pictures of herself and keep them just for herself? On days when I’m tired or I’m covered in flour and in a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt, I like to look back at pictures like this and remember the times I felt beautiful and sexy.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple slowly moving along his throat. “No one else has this?”
I shake my head. Not that he deserves to know the information in the slightest.
“You’re always…” His words drift off. He decides against saying whatever he was going to say as he backs away a few steps, keeping my phone in his grip.
Awkward silence fills the room. He sets the phone down on a shelf before barreling out of the tack room. “Lead me to the beast you’re insisting I ride,” he clips before disappearing.
Now that I’m alone, I finally take my first deep breath in a while. I grab my phone, noticing that the screen is still illuminated. My entire body flushes when I see a brand-new text thread created, with only one text in it.
The picture we were just looking at. I don’t have to ask to know he just sent that picture to himself—and now I’ll spend the entire day wondering why.
18
CAMDEN
“You know horses can sense fear, right?”
I aim a cutting glare her way, one she doesn’t see from slightly in front of me. My fingers grip the reins for dear life as Pippa leads us up the mountain on horseback. I squeeze the horse’s haunches with my thighs, trying not to fly off as we climb the mountain.