[Leif's POV – On the Black Horse of Doom]
Okay. Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Pretend this isn't happening. Pretend this ice-sculpture-turned-human isn't sitting behind me with one arm clamped around my waist like I'm his personal seatbelt.
. . .
. . .
…Yeah, that's not working.
Because every time the horse jolted forward, his chest brushed against my back. Firm. Unyielding. Freaking distracting.
Me, panicking internally: Do not think about the kiss. Do not think about the kiss. Do NOT—
And then he leaned slightly closer, his breath grazing my ear. "Relax."
RELAX??? Sir, how exactly do you expect me to relax when you're basically the Hero in every tragic romance novel I've ever read, except hotter and ten times more likely to cause me emotional trauma?!
I gulped. Out loud. Like an idiot.
He probably heard it too, because his arm tightened—subtle, but noticeable. And then, like the most normal thing in the world, he said, "The greenhouses are ahead."
