“This is Brenna,” Kellan says. “She’s the quietest, most patient quarter horse I’ve ever had.”
“She’s beautiful.” I stroke her muzzle, almost expecting Brenna to bite or otherwise express her displeasure. To my surprise, she seems to like it.
“You should ride.”
“I can’t,” I say.
“Can’t or won’t?” Kellan asks.
“I can’t ride,” I say dryly. “You, being the expert, have already figured that out.”
“You’ll pick it up in no time.” He looks up at the sky and frowns. Dark clouds are gathering in the distance, but it doesn’t look like it’ll rain soon. “Wait here while I get a saddle.”
I wait until he’s out of hearing distance before I turn to Brenna. “You seem to know him well. You won’t tell me too that I should sleep with him, will you?” She gives a snorting sound, and I laugh. “Exactly my opinion. He’s hot, but just because someone’s hot, that’s not enough of a reason to bed him.” I reach over the fence to stroke her neck when I notice something moving.
The barking carries over too late.
I turn around the moment Kellan yells from a distance, “Sniper, no!”
But it’s too late. All I see is the blur of a rich black and tan mutt before paws settle on my shoulders and I tumble backward, landing on my backside. The impact is softened by the blanket of mud reaching up to my calves and now covering half of me. But I don’t have time to digest the fact that I’ve just landed on my backside in front of the hottest guy in history – oh, the mortification.
“Sniper, no,” Kellan commands. “Get off her now.”
I stare into the softest brown eyes. Sharp, exposed teeth are barely inches away from my face, but there’s also a pink tongue that hangs out.
“Ava, don’t move,” Kellan whispers, the undercurrents of his voice filled with worry and—
Fear.
From the corner of my eyes, I watch him inch closer very slowly, palms slightly raised, his voice whispering soothing words to the German Shepherd.
Oh, he can’t be serious.
I roll my eyes and struggle to sit up as I push the large dog aside. “Good boy,” I praise and pat his oversized head.
“No, don’t touch him,” Kellan says.
Seriously, he really sounds panicky.
“Why not? He’s such a sweetie.”
And he is.
The dog licks my wrist and leans into me, almost throwing me back into the mud. His enthusiasm and excitement are contagious, and I find myself laughing.
It takes me a while to rise to my feet and look up all the way into Kellan’s eyes. His gaze is strange, filled with a heat so scorching hot it burns my skin.
No one’s ever looked at me like that.
“He likes you,” Kellan says, taken aback. His voice carries a mix of admiration and respect, but his face shows something else. “Do you have a dog?”
“No, my parents never let me have one.” I look at Sniper, who’s jumping up and down, begging me to rub him in his dog language. “Why?”
He shrugs. “I was just wondering. This dog doesn’t like anyone but me.”
“And me.” I run my hands through Sniper’s coat, then begin to rub his ears.
“It took me half a year to get him to let me touch him,” Kellan remarks, watching me with a strange expression. “He’s a military dog with PTSD. I adopted him. So no, it’s not normal.”
“Everyone likes me,” I mumble.
His brow shoots up, his usual arrogance returning. “Not everyone.”
His statement hits me like a slap in the face. My head snaps to him. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs and moves closer. His fingers curl around my upper arm, and before I know it, I’m back up on my feet again, Sniper instantly forgotten.
Kellan’s standing close, looking down at me, his hot breath warming my lips.
“I don’t like you,” he whispers, his expression dark, his eyes hooded.
What. The. Fuck?
As I stare at him, I realize he’s probably jealous.
Jealous that his dog likes me.
“Are you always this blunt?” I shake my head and yank my arm out of his grip. “Wait, don’t answer that. I think I know the answer.”
“Trust me, you don’t.”
The air around us seems to have cooled down a few degrees.
What’s with this guy, blowing all hot and cold? Why can’t he just be like a normal human being and at least pretend to be charming until he’s deceived his way into my panties?
“I don’t like you either,” I say and turn around to leave. His grip on my arm holds me back.
“Ava?”
“What?” I snap at him for no reason. It’s such an immature reaction, but I can’t help feeling hurt. Hurt that he doesn’t like me. Hurt that he’s jealous when it’s not even my fault. Hurt that he can’t be happy that his dog likes me.
“I don’t like you,” he says again.
“You made that part perfectly clear.”
“No, you don’t understand.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “You’re not unlikeable. I don’t like you because I want you. You should take that as a compliment. The women I didn’t like were always the best lays.”