Free Outbid by the Boss by Stephanie Browning Page A

helmets?” He handed the reins to her. She nodded and he headed to the tack room.
    “So what do you think, Max?” Sam murmured.
    But the chestnut had nothing to say. They stood together companionably until Chas returned a few moments later wearing a helmet and holding one out for her.
    “Try this one for size,” he said.
    Sam surrendered the reins and took the hard hat from Chas. It was surprisingly lightweight. She tucked her hair up and after a few minor adjustments, snapped the chin strap and snugged it into place.
    Chas placed his hands on either side of her helmet and gave it a wiggle. “How does that feel?”
    Sam swallowed. “Perfect.”
    “You missed a piece,” he said reaching for a strand of her hair. He slipped it under her helmet, then stepped back to assess his handiwork. “Nervous?”
    All Sam could do was shake her head. “I’m fine.”
    He nodded, satisfied. Chas might be over their shared passion, but the memory of that kiss still thrummed in her blood. How on earth she was going to retain her composure around him, when those broad shoulders and his intoxicating scent demanded that she fold into his arms and feel the protective strength of his muscles? She had no idea now how to deal with him. It had been so much easier when he was simply her boss. Just that brief brush of his fingers, was enough to rebuild the fire banked in her belly. A moment of pure silence engulfed them, broken a moment later by Max’s snort and tossed head. He was ready to gallop through this glorious morning, even if these two puzzling humans were not.
    “Okay, Max, we hear you,” said Chas. He looked down at Sam.
    “Ready?” he asked.
    “Ready,” she croaked. Last night was nothing but a brief encounter with a feudal lord. A modern man, the head of Burton-Porter, faced her this morning.
    “Good. Let’s get you in the saddle. I’ll need to adjust the stirrups.”
    “I can do it,” she told him. “I’m fine.”
    “No.” Chas drew the reins over Max’s head. “We do it my way,” he declared in a tone that brooked no argument.
    Sam had no choice. She all but snatched the reins from Chas, gripping them tightly with her left hand as she reached for the saddle.
    “Left leg,” ordered Chas moving in behind her. Sam felt his strong shoulder press into the middle of her back as he bent down and cupped his hands.
    It took all her concentration not to picture him behind her as she lowered herself into his care. But the image was overwhelming and fraught with overtones. Heaven forbid Max should sense the rush of her heartbeat as she felt Chas’ hands support her. It was almost comical.
    “Easy, boy,” murmured Chas as Sam concentrated her weight onto her right leg. If she’d been a drama queen, she could feign distress and slide down into his arms, weeping with fear. Sadly, that was not her style. Besides, she was excited at the prospect of riding again, no matter what the circumstances.
    “Up you go.”
    On Chas’ command, she sprang up and into the saddle.
    Max shifted uneasily. Damn, thought Sam. She was shaking. She willed herself to sit calmly while Chas positioned her foot in the stirrup.
    “How are the boots?” he asked.
    “A little tight.” Her toes were pinched together. But then the boots had probably belonged to one of Chas’ old girlfriends, who would have been, Sam thought bitterly, slim, willowy, and a perfect rider. With lots of money, judging by the buttery softness of the gloves. Or perhaps more than one of Chas’ women had worn them. “Left behind, were they?”
    Chas tugged on the strap and glanced up at her. His eyes narrowed. “If you must know, those boots you are wearing belonged to a woman named Daphne. She was blonde and spectacularly beautiful. Unfortunately, she had the brain of a gnat and even lower morals than my father…how’s that feel?” he asked.
    “Fine.” squeaked Sam.
    “…so low, she thought it might be fun,” Chas added as he went around to adjust the other