Summer Nights (Fool's Gold #8)(58)

It was as if the back of the world fell away. One second gravity was her friend, the next she was in danger of tumbling out of the saddle, most likely to her death. She did her best not to scream, while holding on with hands and thighs.

Khatar hung suspended for what felt like six or eight years before landing lightly on all four feet, then taking a slight bow. When he was still, she released the breath she’d been holding and leaned forward to hug him.

“You’re very talented,” she told the horse. “Let’s never do that again.”

Shane walked over and patted Khatar’s shoulder, then reached for her.

“See,” he said triumphantly. “Nothing to it. You did good.”

“Yes, not getting dead is always a victory.” She swung her leg over the side of the horse and slid to the ground.

When her feet hit, her knees buckled. Shane caught her easily and drew her against him. She hung on, both because touching him was always nice and also because she was still shaking.

“You okay?” he asked, frowning at her.

“What part of ‘I was scared’ is confusing to you?”

He touched her cheek. “I meant it, Annabelle. I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“Sure. You say that now.”

She stopped talking, mostly because she couldn’t remember the rest of what she wanted to say.

His dark gaze locked with hers. She knew he was going to kiss her about two heartbeats before his mouth touched hers. His lips claimed hers with a gentle insistence. Immediately heat surged through her, making her toes curl in her boots and her insides start to melt. His arms came around her, drawing her close, and she went willingly into his embrace.

She loved the feel of all his muscles, she thought hazily, tilting her head and letting her eyes drift closed. He was a man who worked hard for a living and it showed. His strength protected those he cared about.

A really interesting intellectual subject for later, she thought as his tongue touched her bottom lip and she parted for him. But right now, the kissing was far more important.

She gave herself over to the erotic dance of their kisses. She met him stroke for stroke, enjoying the fire that followed. She leaned in more, wanting to feel her br**sts against his chest. Between her thighs she was both hot and swollen. Ready.

Something hard bumped her from the side. She broke the kiss as she staggered to her left. When she turned, she saw Khatar glaring at both of them.

“Oops,” she said, patting the horse’s shoulder. “Was that uncomfortable to watch? Sorry. We should be more sensitive.”

“Horses don’t kiss,” Shane told her.

“All the more reason for us not to do that in front of him.” She leaned toward Khatar. “We’ll be more careful next time,” she promised in a whisper. “Don’t tell you-know-who.”

“I can hear you,” Shane told her, sounding more amused than exasperated.

She smiled at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re crazy. You know that, right?”

“I’ve heard rumors.”

He shook his head, then put his arm around her. “Come on. I’ll take off his saddle and you can brush him. That will make him feel better.”

“You’re a very good horse parent.”

“Owner. I own him.”

“Don’t say that. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

“He already knows.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ANNABELLE’S GOOD MOOD lasted through the rest of the morning. Khatar enjoyed his grooming and she enjoyed talking to Shane. Now she headed home, prepared to shower and change, then go to the library for a few hours of paperwork. She wasn’t technically on the schedule, but sometimes she preferred to simply get work done on her own time.

She pulled into her driveway about two seconds before she saw the Mercedes parked on the street. Lewis, she thought, the lingering effects of Shane’s kiss deflating like a popped balloon.

She climbed out of her car and waited while Lewis got out of his.

She remembered when she’d first met him. How impressed she’d been by his intelligence and his worldliness. He’d traveled, met interesting people, knew obscure facts about countries she’d barely heard about. She’d loved how he’d been a writer—someone who could take an idea, thoughts, and turn them into a story that could make her laugh and cry and check under her bed to make sure no one was lurking there, waiting to kill her. She’d mistaken admiration for love. Probably because she hadn’t known what love should feel like.

They’d both been at fault, she thought sadly. Lewis had wanted to be adored and she’d wanted to be rescued. Neither of them had actually wanted the work of being married.

Now she watched Lewis approach. He was a handsome man, in a controlled, urban kind of way. He didn’t have Shane’s rough edges or muscles. He was the kind of man you went to an art museum with, whereas Shane…wasn’t.

“You should be hearing from your lawyer shortly,” he said when he was a few feet away.

“The divorce is final?”

He nodded.

“That’s good news.”

“Is it?”

She saw the sadness in his eyes. And the questions. Aware that her neighbors were attentive at best and nosy at worst, she led the way to her front door.