Page 44 of Stitched Up in You
Dusting myself off, I take a few steps toward the gate but turn when I hear scuffling behind me. A loud grunt from Frank as Brom gets frantic trying to plow over Frank to get to me again.
“Does he need a ride or something?” I ask, alarm rolling through me at how anger literally sparks in Frank’s gaze at my words as Brom starts prancing and neighing.
“Can you not keep your mouth shut for five fucking minutes woman,” he bellows. “No, we arenotgoing for a ride.”
Chapter 17
FRANK N. STEIN
“It’s huge, Frank. What are they putting in there?” she asks, gesturing for probably the fifth time on our ride across the countryside, at the large circus tent in the distance that’s being put up in the village.
Her red hair is like a flaming halo around her head, brushing and licking up my shirt front with every twitch she makes, driving me to madness.
“Stop moving,” I bite out. More annoyed than I can ever remember being at finding her outdoors. I expected her to rummage about, searching every nook and cranny in the house for any technology device to help her crack her way out of here, but she has done none of those things.
I was even about to make a trip to the city to see how operations are running when I spotted her location pin outside of the mansion on my tracking app.
I fully expected to watch her from my mobile as she ran around like a hamster in a cage flitting about the big house and instead, I find her outdoors playing about with this mongrel.
I hold the reins steady, my arms locked wide as I refuse to touch the woman more than necessary when being close isdifficult. So far, the ride has been pure torture, although I would never admit it to her when she’s barely paused for breath since I bridled Brom in the stable.
“Have it your way, if you’re not going to answer me, I’ll just have to talk to Brom. Who’s a good boy?” she says in the most obnoxious tone imaginable, and leans down to rub at the horse’s shoulder as we ride, thoroughly shoving the swell of her ass into the air.
“Don’t,” I warn, pulling the reins taut when Brom bristles, wanting to be let free, and move to tug her back into my lap so she doesn’t break her fool neck.
As much as Brom obviously likes the human and wants her to ride him, he could very easily kill her, and the foolish woman just simply accepts the horse was on fire and isn’t deterred.
The human even said herself that she trusts him, all because Brom extinguished his flames, behaving like a well-trained pony the moment she neared him again.
Damn them both.
As far as my knowledge, Brom has never allowed another supernatural being to get close except his owner and myself, lighting on fire anytime anyone thinks to get near him or his paddock.
My jaw clenches at the reminder of what’s at stake. I refuse to be a puppet to Odette’s games, having grown bored of them long ago, and this one is no different to the rest. Luckily, whatever magic she has wrought can’t affect me this time. Probably the one and only perk to having a mate that’s long buried and dead.
I withhold a grunt, freezing in place when she sighs petulantly and falls back across my lap dramatically. My muscles seize at how her sweater rides up her midriff, teasing with her ample flesh.
“Then tell me what the heck that is,” she says, raising to point one small finger at the red and white tent.
“A renaissance fair,” I mutter to appease her, adjusting myself before she catches the action.
“Oh my gosh!” she squeals, and the sound reverberates in my eardrum. “Can we go?”
“No.”
The wind blows her scent my way, and my jaw ticks at how her hair tickles the underside of my chin.
Torturous female.
My palm tingles where I touched her moments ago to right her in the saddle, and my eye twitches. The sensation is still almost pleasurable, her erratic pulse somehow non-abrasive where other human’s closeness sends shudders of revulsion through me. My cock begins to lengthen, hardening in my slacks at just the hint of warmth from her when I barely gripped her arm.Why am I having this reaction to her?
I tug the reins, intent on getting us back to the stable yard. Brom requires riding once a week to keep his temper in check, but it’s never been an enjoyable task for either of us.
“Do I get to meet the headless horseman?”
“No.” The answer is immediate.
The horseman, cursed as he is, needs a specific witch to show up on Halloween to set him free. He only speaks of finding his lost head or his mate every time I’ve seen him on All Hallow’s eve, and Bernadette, no matter if she wishes or not, is no witch.
