Free The Black Sheep and the Hidden Beauty by Donna Kauffman Page A

how, when she reached up to stroke Petunia’s neck, it pulled the backs of her overalls just tight enough across her hips to showcase that very same ass in what was a surprisingly flattering way.
    But he didn’t need her looking at him as if she was thinking any of those same things in return. Temptation, in this case, was not a good thing. He had enough to handle just trying not to get stomped on by a thousand pounds of horseflesh. Not to mention that he was, in fact, here to do a job. He couldn’t afford to be noticing things, or noticing her noticing things, either.
    â€œKeep doing what you were before,” she instructed, motioning to the horse. “Rub your hand down her neck, along her flank.”
    And all he could think, looking at the amused spark in Elena’s eyes, was what it would be like to run his hands along her long, lean flanks.
    Trying like hell to rid his mind of that little visual, he stepped closer and reached out once again to stroke Petunia’s neck. She swung her head around, and though he instinctively shifted his shoulder back out of reach of her mouth, he left his hand on her neck. “Easy now,” he said quietly. “It’s true, I have no idea what I’m doing, which you have undoubtedly figured out, but my intentions are honorable.”
    Petunia made a snorting noise, and he could have sworn he heard Elena swallow a similar noise. He didn’t dare look at her, though. This entire experience was proving humbling enough as it was.
    â€œSo, how about I promise to try not to hurt you. And you don’t take a chunk out of my shoulder when I’m not looking. Deal?”
    Petunia’s ears flickered, but, all in all, she didn’t seem all that interested in his proposition.
    â€œJust keep at it,” Elena coached. “She’ll get used to the sound of your voice, to your touch, your scent.”
    Jesus, she was trying to kill him. Shifting to accommodate the sudden lack of room in his khakis, he kept his focus on the horse. “Scent?” he asked, damning the slight roughness of his voice. Did she have any idea the effect she was having on him? Probably not. He didn’t even fully understand it. But tell that to the rest of him, which was having no problem at all responding to her. Think about the horse, he schooled himself. And only the horse . Not about touching Elena, stroking those long legs, and finding out what her scent was like. Would she be sweet? Musky?
    â€œEveryone has a distinct smell, their own natural scent,” she said.
    He might have groaned a little. If she said one word about taste, he wouldn’t be held accountable for his actions.
    â€œAnd that scent is layered with shampoo scents, soap scents, laundry scents. And then there are other things, like smoke, alcohol—”
    â€œI don’t smoke. And I don’t plan on drinking and riding, so—”
    â€œI wasn’t saying those things were necessarily bad, just that she’ll come to know your scent and identify it with you. She may sense you coming before she even sees you, just by the cologne you wear.”
    â€œI don’t wear cologne,” he said.
    She glanced at him, looking briefly surprised. “You don’t?”
    Which meant, he gathered, that she’d smelled him. Wonderful. This was turning into one big pheromone fest. And they hadn’t even gotten the horse out of the damn stall yet. “Just the regular laundry and shower stuff.” And how in the hell had they gotten into this, anyway? He was supposed to be finding out more about her, not the other way around.
    â€œHmm,” she said, looking mildly embarrassed, but smiling all the same. “Remind me to ask what detergent or shampoo you use, then. Smells nice.”
    His body leapt in response to her softly spoken compliment, urging him to do something—anything—about it. Hard to keep telling himself she wasn’t his type when the