I’m the new racehorse trainer at Gold Rush Ranch and I’ve got three months to turn a problem stallion into a winner. Working with horses is easy, but contending with Vaughn Harding, my moody new boss, is a whole other story. He can’t decide if he hates me or wants me—not that it matters, I swore off men like him years ago. Readers who enjoy Melanie Harlow and Kelly Elliott will love this slow burn, enemies to lovers, contemporary romance.
He can’t decide if he hates me or wants me.
Vaughn Harding is my new boss. Getting close to him would be career suicide for a female racehorse trainer, and plain old gossip fuel in this small town. I get a kick out of our verbal sparring, but I swore off his type years ago.
And I’ve got plans.
I’m the new trainer at Gold Rush Ranch and I’ve just been handed a problem horse that I promised to make a winner. I want to put down roots, and I’m not about to let a man distract me. No matter how electric it feels when we lock eyes, or how my body ignites when we touch.
Vaughn’s a vivid reminder of every guy I grew up around. Handsome, rich, entitled--a total media darling. But there’s a sadness in him that I can’t seem to turn my back on. A sensitive side hidden beneath brooding good looks.
The last thing I need is a broken man to put back together, and the last thing he needs is more scandal.
Teasing him for kicks is one thing, but handing over my heart?
I should have known better.
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Copyright @ Elsie Silver
“No, Billie,” his voice is dangerously low as he angles his head so close to my ear that I can feel his breath fan across my throat, “women usually go out of their way to endear themselves to me. Not piss me off.”
Time to teach this prick a lesson.
His words set me off and without thinking I reach out towards him and hook my index finger into his crisp white dress shirt, right between the buttons. I can feel the muscles in his abdomen clench under my touch as I gently trace the tip of my finger across his hot skin, feeling the firm ridges I knew would be there.
To anyone loitering at the stables, our silhouettes would almost look like he was a vampire going in for a quick taste with the way he towers over me. I send up a silent prayer that no one can see us and close my finger around the fabric that’s brushing against my hand, pulling his torso closer to mine so that I straddle his thigh.
I hear his sharp intake of air and feel a familiar ache just below my hip bones. This is such a bad idea.
I look up, taking in the dark shadows falling across his brow and his almost pained facial expression. We hold each other in this limbo, facing off for a few seconds before I move so close I can feel the scruff on his jaw lightly scratch my cheek. His hands squeeze my ribs, trying to hold me in place.
At the increase in pressure, my nipples harden and goosebumps bloom across my arms unbidden. This is fine. A totally typical reaction to absolutely anyone touching me like this.
Disturbed by the way my body responds to his, I opt to up the stakes, fingering the collar of his shirt with my opposite hand and gently running my teeth along the lobe of his ear. I’m pressed so close to him I can feel more than hear the grunt that breaks loose from his chest.
For a moment I let myself imagine us together under different circumstances, all the delicious noises he would make as he moved above me, pressing into me so hard that our bodies would sink right into the mattress beneath us. Coming completely undone just for me.
It’s with that image in my mind that I slide my fingers up his neck and through his hair before grabbing a handful firmly. He stands stock still. Frozen.“Well then, let me be the one to deflower you on this one, Boss Man,” I whisper against his ear. “You are absolutely insufferable.” I bite down onto his earlobe again, a little harder this time, which causes the air to leave his lungs in a loud hiss. “Now get your hands off of me, I’m not one of your playthings,” I finish, essentially dousing us both with a bucket of cold water and firmly pushing him away.
About Elsie Silver
Canadian author who loves book boyfriends and the sassy heroines who bring them to their knees. Connoisseur of charged looks and lingering touches. Fan of witty banter. Horse girl through and through. Fully convinced that it’s always wine o’clock somewhere.