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"Have you ever ridden a horse?" he asked lazily.
Excitement raced through me. "Never."
"Do you want to?"
"Yes, please."
He held out a hand to me, and I stared at it. I wasn't comfortable touching people—I came from a childhood spent trying to get away from unwanted advances, even before I knew what any of it meant.
I swallowed, and put my hand in his. He was just being friendly.
He led me to the stables, and I delighted in the simple act of holding hands with him—a sensation that made me feel somewhat silly. Unlike most of my friends and acquaintances my age, who were sexually experienced, a traumatic incident at the orphanage had made me wary of physical intimacy with the opposite sex.
With Rowan, however, I experienced an attraction unlike anything before—potent and undeniable. Observing the way he sometimes looked at me, I couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same.
Of course, it was all going to turn to shite because he thought I was dating his brother.
Which was such a shame. But I'd enjoy his company, I decided. I was on an American adventure, and if that included a crush on a cowboy, it was an absolute delight.
"Will I ride on my own?" I asked.
"Hell no," Rowan said gruffly.
I hadn't known then, but that day Rowan took me horse riding would forever be etched in my memory, not just for the sheer novelty of it, but for the beauty that unfolded around us, a stark contrast to my bustling life back in London.
The stables, with their sturdy, aged wood construction, exuded a scent of hay and horse that I found irresistibly appealing. I loved the rustic charm!
Rowan's horse, a majestic chestnut named Apollo, seemed as if he'd stepped out of an old western, with muscles rippling under a glossy coat that caught the Montana sun in every stride.
Rowan helped me onto Apollo with an ease that spoke of his familiarity and respect for these creatures, placing me in the saddle before him. The warmth of his body against my back was unsettling and exciting. I didn't know how to feel. As we set off, the rhythm of Apollo's movements beneath us was exhilarating.
Rowan's breath fanned my cheek, and when he spoke in my ear, I felt a shiver run through me. He had one hand on the reins, but the other wrapped around my waist. My camisole shifted as we moved, and I bit off a moan when his calloused hand rubbed against the skin of my stomach.
"It's beautiful," I murmured, despite how tight my chest felt.
And it was.
Montana unfolded around us like a living painting. The vast, open skies were an incredible shade of blue, stretching endlessly above rolling hills and fields that seemed to glow with a golden hue. The air was fresh, carrying the scent of pine and earth that you'd never find in the city. It was raw and real, untouched by the rush of technology, a reminder of a world that thrived on simplicity and beauty.
Rowan leaned over and rested his cheek against mine. "That there is Beartooth range." He lifted his hand from my waist, and pointed to the jagged peaks that dominated the horizon. "And over there is the Gallatin River, great for fly-fishing."
"I've never gone fishing," I blurted, feeling alarmed at his closeness. It was too much. I was feeling too many things, and my young, inexperienced body was in chaos.
"I'll take you."
"Where does the ranch end?" I asked, shifting in the saddle, trying to somehow find a way to not have his thighs cradle mine. But it was impossible to do. My nipples were hard, rasping against my brasserie, and there was a fire between my legs, one I'd never felt before.
"Darlin', it's all mine, as far as the eye can see." His tone was laced with a mix of pride and reverence for this land, its rugged beauty and vastness.
I swallowed. "Amazing," I whispered.
His hand came back to my waist. He stopped the horse at a vista point and let go of the reins. He cradled me close to him, and I could feel his erection against my bottom. Oh my God!
He stroked the bare skin of my stomach, and goosebumps erupted across my body.
"You okay, darlin'?"
"Rowan, can we get off the horse?"
