“Perhaps I bounced.”
“Perhaps,” he said, and with a will of its own, his hand continued to stroke her face, down over her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw and the point of her chin. Her acceptance of that simple touch, the warmth of her skin, the subtle rhythm of her pulse in her throat—they all combined to stir a deep response, something beyond the usual lust.
He should stop, get his hands the hell back where they belonged, but he couldn’t make himself respond. He didn’t want to respond. Not yet.
“Lucky I was wearing a helmet,” Jillian managed to say in a husky whisper of breath, a perfect match for Seth’s caress, as tender and tantalizing as the stroke of velvet.
Then her words must have registered, because he gripped her chin firmly between thumb and fingers. His eyes locked on hers. “You’re not, you know.”
Not…what? Not covered in dirt? Not being stroked by velvet? Not about to be kissed—
“You’re not wearing a helmet,” he pointed out with indisputable logic. Even more annoyingly, he let her go and it felt as if her whole body sighed with disappointment.
“I was.”
“Did you lose it when you fell off?”
So, okay, she had fallen off, but did he have to remind her? Did he have to douse the lovely ripple of pleasure his touch had stirred in her veins? And did he have to stand there, looking as if no explanation but the complete truth would suffice?
“No, the helmet did its job when I became unseated.” Which, Jillian decided, was a more dignified description than ‘fell off.’ “I lost it afterwards.”
“While you were walking back here?”
“Does it matter? I’ll find it tomorrow. I know exactly where I tossed it.”
Hands on hips, he stared down at her until she caved.
Until she threw her hands in the air and admitted, “Yes, okay, I had this minor temper attack. I don’t like being dumped at the farthest point of my ride, especially when it’s my own fault.”
She should not have mentioned the temper fit. In retrospect, her honest admission sounded childish and apparently it had rendered Seth speechless. So much for her efforts to earn his respect!
Feeling a peculiar sense of letdown, she gestured toward his truck. “I wasn’t looking forward to the long walk. I’ll grab a lift back to the stables, if that’s all right.”
As soon as she climbed into the passenger seat and Seth closed the door on the enclosed intimacy of the cab, she knew it wasn’t all right. Her emotions teetered all over the place, her skin tingled everywhere he’d touched, and now she was drawing his earthy, masculine scent into her body with every breath.
And they weren’t moving, weren’t going anywhere.
Frowning, she turned his way and found him watching her, intently yes, but with a strange expression on his face.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
He shook his head and murmured something that sounded like graciano but couldn’t have been, since that made no sense. Unless she’d landed face first in wine-colored earth.
Self-consciously she lifted a hand and scrubbed at her cheek. “Is my face coated in dirt? Is that what you’re staring at?”
“I was trying to picture you throwing a tantrum.” He shook his head again, put the truck into gear and swung onto the road. “And not succeeding.”
Chastened because—let’s face it—a temper tantrum is not a pretty image, Jillian wriggled in her seat. “If it’s any consolation, this is a rare occurrence.”
He cut her a look. “I hope riding in the dark is also a rare occurrence.”
“I intended being out and back a lot earlier, but…” She shrugged, and in that absent little gesture felt the tension of the afternoon return tenfold and then some.
“But…?”
“But I wasn’t.” She waved a hand dismissively, then sat up straight because he wasn’t slowing. “The turn’s coming up. To the stables. You’d better slow down.”
“I’m taking you home.”
“There’s no need to do that.”
“You’ve just fallen off your horse.”
“I didn’t hurt myself, Seth.” She reached across and put her hand on his arm, forcing him to look at her, since he’d developed that rigid steel-jawed, I’m-in-charge look she recognized. Her brothers had turned it into an art form. “I have a horse to attend to, and then I will take myself home.”
He didn’t answer, although he did pull over to the side of the road. Carefully she took her hand away and folded her fingers into her palm, enclosing the delicious warm charge from that contact. Sad, but she couldn’t stop herself anymore than she could stop herself continuing on her theme.
“I don’t need you or anyone to make decisions for me, Seth. I know I admitted to a minor tantrum before, but I’m not a child.”
“I know that, Jillian.” He turned to face her, a movement so deliberate and measured it could have been slow-mo. “Believe me, I know.”
Suddenly the space in his cab seemed to shrink, or perhaps the air just thickened with a meaning that sucked up all the spare oxygen. He was talking about seeing her as a woman. He was looking at her as a woman, and her body responded with an embarrassing lack of restraint.
Her heartbeat ran amok, heat rioted through her blood, her hormones went completely ape.
It had been a long, long time since she’d experienced anything so involving and exciting and terrifying all at once. The terrifying part came from the notion that he wanted her, and that changed everything. Her own one-sided crush she could handle, but Seth Bennedict? An unrestrained shiver raced through her blood.
She did not know if she could handle a man like Seth, or even if she had the courage to try.
Nervous and panicky, she straightened her backbone and pushed her chin up, in full defensive mode. “Will you take me to the stables or will I get out and walk?”
“Sure I’ll take you to the stables,” he said without moving a muscle.
Jillian’s pulse thudded in her ears. She knew there was a proviso coming; knew he wouldn’t give in so easily.
“After you tell me why you were out riding so late.”
That was it? No tricky questions about the simmering tension between them? About whether she still saw him as Jason’s scary big brother or as a man?
“I’ll tell you why I was out riding,” she said, mimicking his even tone. “After you tell me why you were at the stables tonight.”
He huffed out a breath. “Search and rescue mission.”
“What?”
“Rachel left that pony toy of hers at the stables last night.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, his frown turning introspective. “She refused to go to bed tonight without the damn thing.”
“Pinky Pony?”
“Yeah. I don’t suppose you know where I can put my hands on it?”
“No, but I will help you look after I put Marsanne away. I’m sorry to have held you up with this second search and rescue mission.”
“Find that pony and you’re forgiven,” he said with an unexpected quirk of humor.
Attractive, so deadly attractive, especially on top of all this tenderhearted