Paying The Playboy's Price. Emilie Rose
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and sidestepped. Rex lunged forward again, expecting Juliana to fall off, but she grabbed the saddle horn and managed to stay on.
“Is this another test?” More sarcasm. Okay, he’d definitely read her wrong.
She shifted in the saddle, and then stood in the stirrups and sank back down. She repeated the motion a couple of times. “This saddle feels odd, but comfortable.”
Tugging at the suddenly tight collar of his T-shirt, he looked away, cleared his throat and shifted his stance to ease the pinch of his jeans. The last time he’d seen a woman move like that, she’d been riding him. How long ago had that been? Too long. And hell, he couldn’t remember her name or what she’d looked like.
There had been a lot of nameless encounters in his past—not something he was proud of now, but at the time he’d been floating on a wave of fame, taking the women who fell at his feet for granted and using them to make himself believe he was finally somebody. He’d been somebody all right. Somebody stupid.
His bandmates had used booze or drugs to come down from a post-performance high. Rex had used women—a practice that now disgusted him. He was damned lucky his carousing hadn’t landed him in the morgue or given him an STD the way his father had predicted. Most of Rex’s father’s lectures had gone in one ear and out the other, but thank God the safe-sex one had stuck.
Rex had had a lucky escape, and he planned to put his sordid past behind him in a new city with a new career. He’d be the kind of brother he should have been to Kelly and an uncle Kelly’s girls would be proud to claim. With their father deployed overseas, they needed someone they could depend on when their mom needed help.
Back to business. “The seat of a western saddle is deeper than an English one. It conforms to your shape.” And a damned fine shape it is. “Take the reins in your hand with only one finger between them.”
She did as he instructed, but looked unsure.
“Western horses move away from pressure and they prefer slack reins,” he explained.
She stared down at him with a doubtful expression. “If my reins are slack how am I going to control the horse?”
“Use a soft touch. Your fingers and wrist work the bit, and rely on leg cues more than the bridle.” Which drew his attention back to the length of her legs and the curve of her butt. If he didn’t get his brain out of his briefs, she could get hurt. That kind of publicity wouldn’t help the bar. “You know how to use leg cues?”
“Yes.”
“Then signal her to walk.”
Jelly Bean started forward. Rex kept pace beside them. A light evening breeze carried Juliana’s perfume downwind, filling his lungs with her scent every time he inhaled.
He cursed his uncharacteristic distraction. Usually, he had tunnel vision. He saw what needed doing and didn’t waver from his set course. His career and the destruction of it were perfect examples. He’d wanted to make it to the top and he had, and then, after his parents had died, he’d wanted out, but contracts had held him prisoner. Before leaving Nashville, he’d made sure he’d burned all his bridges. He shook his head to clear it. Focus.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Your motion. You’re perching on top of the saddle instead of sinking into it, and every one of your muscles is strung as tight as a bow. Relax your upper body and your legs. Slump into the saddle.”
“All my life I’ve been taught to sit up straight, and you’re telling me to slouch?” Her haughty tone was exactly what he needed to remind himself of the differences between them.
“Not exactly, but you have to relax here.” He quickly tapped the base of her spine with a fingertip. “Here.” He nudged her thigh with his knuckle. “And here.” His palm brushed her lower abdomen. He quickly withdrew it. Her body heat scalded his skin. He stepped away from the horse and crossed to the center of the riding ring. Ten yards wasn’t enough distance to douse the fire smoldering in his gut.
“Cue her to jog when you’re ready.” Juliana nudged Jelly Bean into a slightly faster gait. Juliana tried to post, rising and lowering in the saddle from her knees as she would if riding English. “No posting. Sit.”
She did and probably rattled a brain cell or two as she—and her perfectly shaped breasts—bounced along.
Rex ground his molars. He’d been attracted to a lot of women, but not this way. Had to be because he knew this relationship—like the ones in his past—would go nowhere. Falling back into old, bad habits was not part of his plan. “Scoot.”
“Wh-at do you m-ean sc-oot?” The jarring broke her words into fragments. The mare snorted her displeasure.
“Rock your hips from the waist down.” She looked at him as if he’d asked her to fly. In frustration he said, “Match your moves to the horse’s. Like you’re with your lover.”
Her lips parted and her cheeks turned the color of a ripe peach. She jerked her face forward to stare straight between Jelly Bean’s ears, but within seconds she had the correct motion. “Sorry. It’s been a while, but I think I have it now.”
Been a while? Riding a horse or with a lover? None of your business, bud. But the image of Juliana as his lover, straddling his thighs and arching to take his deep thrusts flashed in his mind. Heat oozed from his pores and his lungs stalled.
“Yeah. You got it,” he croaked.
Keeping his distance from the bean counter was critical. She knew who he was, knew about his past. Worse, he feared she had the power to bring the self-centered SOB he used to be out of hiding. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
When the man turned off the charm, he really turned it off. Juliana sighed. Rex hadn’t given her a single sign of encouragement. And darn it, she didn’t know how to flirt without looking like a bimbo with something in her eyes.
She reluctantly climbed from the mare’s back. Was she so unattractive, so lacking in basic feminine charms that even a man who’d reportedly had women in every town his tour bus had rolled through wasn’t interested? Ouch.
She had to find a way to get her plan back on track. In accounting, that meant understanding the parameters of the investigation, and the only way to achieve understanding was by asking questions, beginning with the nonthreatening ones and easing into the intrusive ones. She likened the practice to putting a jigsaw puzzle together, borders first.
“I don’t suppose you’d consider selling Jelly Bean?” Not that she had much time to ride anymore, but this evening with a light breeze stirring her hair and the setting sun on her skin reminded her how much she missed having a horse in her life.
“She’s not mine to sell. I bought the mare for Becky and Liza.”
“And Becky and Liza are…?”
“My nieces.”
“You bought them a horse? Did you also buy this property so they’d have somewhere to ride?”
He shook his head and his rope of shiny hair swished between his shoulder blades. The urge to tug the leather tie loose and see if the strands felt as thick and luxurious as they looked was totally out of character for her, but her neatly clipped-above-the-collar world hadn’t allowed her to experience a man with longer hair without the width of a desk and the professional wall of her position at the bank between them. The men she’d dated in the past had all been the preppy, Ivy League type. Like Wally. Clean-cut. No rough edges.
Rex had rough edges aplenty.
“Farm’s not mine. I rent the barn and a few acres from the owner. Her husband died last year. She leases the stable and the surrounding land to pay the mortgage.”
“What made you choose to locate your business in Wilmington? We’re not exactly horse country.”
He flashed an irritated glance