Page 24 of Riding the Storm
Sure, he’s an attractive man. But he’s also a client.
A high-profile, high-maintenance, pain-in-the-ass one. And the second I let any attraction bleed into my work, I’m done.
“Quit ogling him, Charli,” I mutter under my breath, forcing my arms to cross over my chest. “He’s your student, nothing more.”
Of course, Bryce picks that exact moment to glance my way.
That smirk—that damn infuriating smirk—curls one corner of his mouth. “You over there cheering me on, Chuck?”
My spine straightens. “Nope. Just talking to myself and making note of some things you can improve on. And stop calling me that.”
He chuckles. “You won’t give an inch, will you, woman? Pretty sure I’ve got this figured out.”
“Good. Then you’re ready for the next step.”
His brows lift beneath the shadow of his hat. “Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”
I walk toward the back gate of the riding arena, leading to the pasture, and swing it open. “Let him run.”
Midnight flicks his ears back like he’s been waiting to hear that. Bryce’s face says he has too. He adjusts the reins and gives a squeeze with his legs. The horse launches into motion, and his hooves eat up the ground. Bryce is focused and sure. They move in sync, like they’ve both been dying to be set free.
I bite down on a smile, pretending to study his seat and form, but I’m really trying not to imagine what it would feel like to have that focus directed at me.
Professional, Charli, I remind myself again.Be. Professional.
They disappear over the hill, and I shut the gate. Leaving them to it while I get Sweet Pea saddled up and ready for Pearl.
My late afternoon student is leaving with his father when Bryce and Midnight Storm finally show back up at the barn.
Midnight slows to a stop, and Bryce swings a leg over and lands lightly on the dirt, patting his neck with a hand that is both big but gentle.
“You’ve got good hands,” I admit before I can stop myself.
He glances over his shoulder, and I can feel the heat crawling up my neck as our eyes meet.
I can’t believe I said that out loud.
He grins, then turns back to the stallion. “Good boy. That was a hell of a run,” he says, voice a little rough.
“Yeah,” I agree, stepping closer. “A nice long one too.”
He grins, teeth flashing white against the black of his beard. “Guess we both needed a little freedom.”
“Guess so.”
We stand there for a beat too long. Midnight huffs, tail swishing, and I use the excuse to step past Bryce and loosen the girth. His presence hits me like a wall—sweat, leather, and spice.
“You managed to get out of helping me this afternoon, but don’t think you’re getting out of evening chores.”
“Wouldn’t think of it,” he says as he takes Midnight’s reins and leads him inside to be brushed.
“You did good,” I call after him, hoping it sounds casual. “He’s a handful, but you handled him clean.”
He nods. “See, I can play nice,” he says, watching me instead of the horse. “And you had me pegged as some cocky cowboy who couldn’t listen.”
“You are a cocky cowboy who doesn’t listen.”
His mouth curves again, slower this time, like he enjoys the verbal back-and-forth. “Made up your mind, and there’s no changing it, huh?”
