Page 49 of My Queendom for a Horse

When Aleks opens the door, it hits me. Maybe because I’ve been thinking about it. Maybe because I’m trying to see him from her perspective. Mine is a little skewed. I mean, sure, I know he’s good looking. I thought he was the day he shifted into a man.

But he was such a mess. Muddy. With a bridle on his face. I’ve never really looked at him, like I might if I just saw him on the street.

He’s knock-you-to-your-knees, slap-your-mama, weep-and-cry-all-day gorgeous. He’s tall. Muscular. And he has a face that would make an angel sob with envy.

And he doesn’t so much as spare Miss Low Self-Esteem a single glance. He stares right at me, and then he spins in a slow circle.

That reminds me that instead of staring at his face, I’m supposed to be evaluating the clothing. His shirt isn’t buttoned all the way up, and I’m struggling not to stare at the top of his beautiful chest. You’d think by now I’d be used to it, but no dice. It’s just inhumanly perfect.

Golden skin.

Smooth and silky.

Defined muscles everywhere I look.

Even the places I shouldn’t be looking.

“What do you think?”

“It’s fine,” I say, proud of how normal my voice sounds. “Just like everything else has been.”

“You said I have how much to spend?” He narrows his eyes.

“I have an employee discount,” the sales clerk chirps. “Fifty percent off. I’ll let you use it.”

I want to groan. I mean, have some self-respect.

Although, when we’re checking out, I’m kind of grateful she’s so infatuated with him. I mean, I’m the one paying, after all. That fifty percent makes a huge difference. And with the way we seem to be going through clothes. . . So what if she writes her name with a heart over the i? I’ll keep Adriana’s number handy for the next time we need more clothes.

We walk outside and turn toward the parking lot. “Time to get back,” I say. “Because—”

Aleks takes my hand in his, and to say the movement shocks me would be a huge understatement. I glance down at our hands as if I’m staring at an alien.

If aliens made my heart skip a beat. If aliens made me want to slow down and turn toward them. If aliens were warm, and strong, and unbelievably beautiful.

But this isn’t okay. I’m supposed to be dating Sean, not fangirling over a crazy old Russian man.

“What are you doing?” I ask, stopping on the sidewalk.

“What do you mean?” He glances around. “I thought you said we had to head back. I was walking to your car.”

It’s hard, but I stiffen my hand and pull it away. “Why were you holding my hand?” I wiggle my newly freed fingers.

He gestures. “They’re all doing it.”

I notice two couples, one ahead of us and one who just passed us, both holding hands. “Oh. Well, they’re ‘together.’”

“We’re together.” He looks genuinely confused.

“It’s something people do when they’re dating,” I say. “I could hold hands with Sean, but not with you.”

He blinks. And then he frowns. “But I like it.”

Maybe I should get checked out, because my heart is now racing like we’re in Liverpool at Aintree, preparing for the Grand National. “That’s not the point.”

“It’s not?”

I sigh. “Just, don’t, okay?”

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