But almost immediately, Sun calmed down—or at least stopped making that God-awful noise and started running.
“You got that part right today,” Jo said in that low voice of hers.
“It’s good?” He looked her over—her legs spread shoulder-width apart, fingers hooked into her belt loops. Everything about her was relaxed but strong. He could imagine those legs and that backside riding high in the saddle.
And then, because he was Phillip Beaumont, he imagined those legs and that backside riding high in his bed.
Oh, yeah—it could be good. Might even be great.
“It’s morning.” She glanced over her shoulder at him and he saw the corner of her mouth curve up into a smile. “Yesterday when you said that, it was technically afternoon.”
He couldn’t help but grin at her. Boy, she was tough. When was the last time someone had tried to make him toe the line? Hell, when was the last time there’d even been a line?
And there was that smile. Okay, half a smile but still. Jo didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who smiled at a man if she didn’t actually want to. That smile told Phillip that she was interested in him. Or, at the very least, attracted to him. Wasn’t that the same thing?
“Back at it again?”
Sun looped around the whole paddock, blowing past Phillip with a snort. His instinct was to step back from the fence, but he didn’t want to project anything resembling fear—especially when she was actually inside the fence and he wasn’t.
She pivoted, her eyes following the horse as he made another lap. Then, when he went back to running along the far side of the paddock again, she made that slow walk over to where Phillip stood.
Watching her walk was almost a holy experience. Instead of a practiced wiggle, Jo moved with a coiled grace that projected the same strength he’d felt in her handshake yesterday.
Did she give as good as she got? Obviously, in conversation the answer was yes. But did that apply to other areas?
She opened the gate and, Betty on her heels, walked out. When the gate closed behind her, she didn’t come to him. She didn’t even turn her head in his direction.
What would it take to get her to look at him? He could say something witty and crude. That would definitely get her attention. But instead of being scandalous and funny—which was how such comments went over when everyone was happily sloshed at a bar—he had a feeling that Jo might hit him for being an asshole.
Still, he was interested in that image of her riding him. He was the kind of man who was used to having female company every night. And he hadn’t had any since he’d woken up at the farm.
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