Rancher's Wild Secret. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Three

      Let’s go for a ride was not sexual.

      Not in the context of the ranch. Not to a woman who was so used to being exposed to horses. As she was.

      Except, she kept replaying that line over and over in her head. Kept imagining herself saying it to him.

       Let’s go for a ride.

      And then she would imagine herself saying it to him in bed.

      She had never, ever felt like this in her entire life.

      Her first time had been fine. Painless, which was nice, she supposed, but not exactly exciting.

      It had been with her boyfriend at the time, who she’d known very well, and who had been extraordinarily careful and considerate.

      Though, he’d cared more about keeping her comfortable than keeping her impassioned. But they had been young. So that seemed fair enough.

      Her boyfriend after that had been smooth, urbane and fascinating to her. A world traveler before she had done any traveling of her own. She had enjoyed conversations with him, but she hadn’t been consumed by passion or lust or anything like that.

      She had just sort of thought she was that way. And she was fine with it. She had a lot of excitement in her life. She wasn’t hurting for lack of passion.

      But Holden made her feel like she might actually be missing something.

      Like there was a part of herself that had been dormant for a very long time.

       Right. You’ve been in the man’s presence for…a combined total of forty minutes.

      Well, that made an even stronger case for the idea of exploring the thing between them. Because in that combined forty minutes, she had imagined him naked at least six times.

      Had thought about closing the distance between them and kissing him on the mouth no less than seven times.

      And that was insane.

      He was working on the ranch, working for her father. Working for her, in essence, as she was part of the winery and had a stake in the business.

      And somehow, that aroused her even more.

      A man like her fiancé, Donovan, knew a whole lot about the world.

      He knew advertising, and there was a heck of a lot of human psychology involved in that. And it was interesting.

      But she had a feeling that a man like Holden could teach her about her own body, and that was more than interesting. It was a strange and intoxicating thought.

       Also, totally unrealistic and nothing you’re going to act on.

      No, she thought as she mounted her horse, and the two of them began riding along a trail that she wanted to investigate as a route for the new venture. She would never give in to this just for the sake of exploring her sensuality. For a whole list of reasons.

       So you’re just going to marry Donovan and wonder what this could have been like?

       Sink into the mediocre sex life that the lack of attraction between you promises. Never know what you’re missing.

      Well, the thing about fantasies was they were only fantasies.

      And the thing about sex with a stranger—per a great many of her friends who’d had sex with strangers—was that the men involved rarely lived up to the fantasy. Because they had no reason to make anything good for a woman they didn’t really know.

      They were too focused on making it good for themselves. And men always won in those games. Emerson knew her way around her own body, knew how to find release when she needed it. But she’d yet to find a man who could please her in the same way, and when she was intimate with someone, she couldn’t ever quite let go… There were just too many things to think about, and her brain was always consumed.

      It wouldn’t be different with Holden. No matter how hot he was.

      And blowing up all her inhibitions over an experience that was bound to be a letdown was something Emerson simply wasn’t going to risk.

       So there.

      She turned her thoughts away from the illicit and forced them onto the beauty around her.

      Her family’s estate had been her favorite place in the world since she was a child. But of course, when she was younger, that preference had been a hollow kind of favoritism, because she didn’t have a wide array of experiences or places to compare it to.

      She did now. She’d been all over the world, had stayed in some of the most amazing hotels, had enjoyed food in the most glamorous locales. And while she loved to travel, she couldn’t imagine a time when she wouldn’t call Maxfield Vineyards home.

      From the elegant spirals of the vines around the wooden trellises, all in neat rows spreading over vast acres, to the manicured green lawns, to the farther reaches where it grew wild, the majestic beauty of the wilderness so big and awe-inspiring, making her feel appropriately small and insignificant when the occasion required.

      “Can I ask you a question?” His voice was deep and thick, like honey, and it made Emerson feel like she was on the verge of a sugar high.

      She’d never felt anything like this before.

      This, she supposed, was chemistry. And she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why it would suddenly be this man who inspired it. She had met so many men who weren’t so far outside the sphere of what she should find attractive. She’d met them at parties all around the world. None of those men—including the one her father wanted her to be engaged to—had managed to elicit this kind of response in her.

      And yet… Holden did it effortlessly.

      “Ask away,” she said, resolutely fixing her focus on the scene around them. Anything to keep from fixating on him.

      “Why the hell did you wear that knowing we were going out riding?”

      She blinked. Then she turned and looked at him. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

      “I have never seen anyone get on a horse in something so impractical.”

      “Oh, come now. Surely you’ve seen period pieces where the woman is in a giant dress riding sidesaddle.”

      “Yes,” he said. “But you have other options.”

      “It has to be photographable,” she said.

      “And you couldn’t do some sexy cowgirl thing?”

      Considering he was playing the part of sexy cowboy—in his tight black T-shirt and black cowboy hat—she suddenly wished she were playing the part of sexy cowgirl. Maybe with a plaid top knotted just beneath her breasts, some short shorts and cowgirl boots. Maybe, if she were in an outfit like that, she would feel suitably bold enough to ask him for a literal roll in the hay.

       You’ve lost your mind.

      “That isn’t exactly my aesthetic.”

      “Your aesthetic is… I Dream of Jeannie in Mourning?”

      She laughed. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. But sure. I Dream of Jeannie in Mourning sounds about right. In fact, I think I might go ahead and label the outfit that when I post pics.”

      “Whatever