Page 21 of Savage Reins
"Don't apologize for wanting me the same way I want you."
Her cheeks flush deeper, and she looks away. "This can't happen again."
I don't answer. I can't promise her that when every instinct I have is screaming at me to reach for her again. She takes my silence as agreement and hurries toward the door.
"Mira."
She pauses but doesn't turn around.
"I'm not sorry," I say.
She leaves without another word, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she's fighting not to look back. I lie down on the damp mattress and stay there for a long time after she's gone, listening to the storm rage overhead and trying to figure out what the hell I'm doing.
I came here to destroy her world. Instead, I'm letting her destroy mine.
8
MIRA
Iwake to the sound of hammering and the scent of sawdust carried on the morning breeze. Through my bedroom window, I can see Renat already working in the yard, hauling lumber from a pile near the ruined feed shed. Heat rushes to my cheeks as I remember what we did, and I wonder why this man who was sent here to control my life suddenly cares so much about something as simple as a feed shed. I watch him for a while before forcing myself to turn away.
The memory of last night crashes over me as I dress and pull on my boots. The taste of rain and lust still lingers on my lips. The rough way his demanding hands felt on my skin. The sound he made when I kissed him back. Heat crawls up my neck, and I curse under my breath.
One mistake. That's all it was.
I slip out the back door beforeBatyawakes, needing the cold air to clear my head. Rusalka waits in the paddock, ears pricked forward as I approach with her halter. She's eager this morning, stepping into the leather without fuss. It might be a day early for working her too hard, but I think both of us need the exercise.
"Good girl," I murmur, running my hand down her neck. "Let's work."
I push us both harder than usual. We run the length of the property twice, her hooves pounding rhythm into the soft earth. She's not hitching at all, not even a limp. When we reach the back pasture, I let her stretch into a full gallop, wind whipping my braid loose from its tie. The speed clears my mind, forces everything else into the background except the horse beneath me and the ground rushing past.
By the time we return to the barn, sweat darkens her coat and my thighs ache from gripping the saddle. I cool her down slowly, walking circles in the yard while she catches her breath. Renat has moved closer to the house now, measuring boards against the damaged shed frame. He's stripped off his shirt, skin gleaming with perspiration despite the cool morning air.
I try not to look, try to focus on the mare's breathing, the way she tosses her head when a fly buzzes too close to her ears. But my eyes keep drifting back to the way muscle moves beneath his skin, the dark ink that covers his arms and shoulders. When he bends to pick up another board, the tattoos across his back shift and flow.
He straightens and turns, catching me watching. Our eyes meet across the yard, and neither of us looks away. He doesn't smile or smirk or give any indication that he's thinking about last night. He just watches me back, green eyes steadily focused on me in an expression that makes my pulse quicken.
Heat floods my cheeks, and I turn Rusalka toward the barn.
"Batya," I call as I lead her inside. "I need you to check the paddock rail. Third post from the gate is loose." I noticed it while riding and held onto it in my mind as a useful way of keeping my thoughts from straying to the ghost sensations of Renat's mouth on my core and how it felt.
My father emerges from the tack room, wiping grease from his hands with an old rag. "I'll get to it after I finish the bridle repair."
"Maybe you should do it now. Before someone gets hurt."
He gives me a questioning look but nods. "You all right? You seem…"
"I'm fine. Just worried about the rail," I snip, but I feel guilty. Renat's gotten under my skin and into my head. This isn't me. It's not like me to be foul tempered or short with my father. I sigh and walk away, leading Rusalka to her stall for some water, but I carry shame over my reaction with me.
I spend the next hour finding tasks to keep myself busy. Mucking stalls that were cleaned yesterday. Organizing feed buckets that didn't need organizing. Checking hooves that were fine this morning and are still fine now. Every few minutes, the sound of hammering drifts through the barn, reminding me that Renat is still out there. Still shirtless.
By noon, the sun has climbed high enough to turn the barn stuffy.Batyahas moved on to patching holes in the fence line, muttering about the cost of wire and whether we can make it through another winter.
I need liniment for the mare's legs. The bottle sits on a shelf near the wash station at the far end of the barn. I've been putting off the trip for an hour, but her tendons need attention after the hard workout this morning.
I walk quickly, head down, focused on reaching the shelf and getting back to safer territory. But as I round the corner, I nearly collide with a wall of muscle and warm skin.
Renat stands at the wash station, water streaming down his face and chest from the ladle he's just poured over his head. His shirt hangs from a nail on the support beam, and droplets cling to the dark ink that covers his chest. Water traces the lines of histattoos, following the curve of muscle down to the waistband of his jeans.
