Change Rein - Anne Jolin Page 0,19

prepared enough space for all your horses plus your ego,” I sass, fighting the urge to smile at my own hilarity.

He laughs, the deep, rich sound nearly swallowing what’s left of my consciousness. This is only my second time around him, and both times left me feeling dizzy from overwhelming emotion. That coupled with the teetering remainder of my hangover and subsequent lack of food causes my body to sway and my legs to give out.

His strong arms wrap around my midsection and gently pull me against the front of his body. “Easy.” His voice is so smooth, but not quite like honey—something stronger. My fluttering mind does its best to keep up.

“Single-barrel bourbon.” I’m not even sure I said that out loud until his chuckle ripples through me again, causing my skin to break out in a shiver.

His breath ghosts against my neck when he says, “Pardon?”

“That’s what you are,” I hum incoherently. “Single-barrel bourbon. On ice.”

The black dots in my vision multiply and my stomach turns. I think I’m going to be sick.

“Have you eaten today?” he growls.

Unable to speak, I shake my head in response, grabbing at his hands, which are still around my stomach.

“Are you going to be sick?” There’s no disgust in his voice, just a hint of anger in the calmness of his tone, but it’s worry that is most apparent.

I nod furiously.

When he scoops me up into his arms, I let my head rest against his shoulder, and he briskly carries me towards the barn.

“Bathroom,” he barks at someone.

It feels a little like I’m underwater, every movement seeming so exaggerated and the smell of him intoxicating.

After kicking the bathroom door open, he kneels down to the floor and gently places me on the cool tile in front of the toilet seat.

I grab at the porcelain like it’s a lifeline as opposed to the barn toilet and whimper as my stomach tries to purge itself. However, much to its dismay—and mine—I have nothing left to give. The dry heaving takes a toll on my small, overtired frame.

“Angel,” he says, rubbing my back. Then he starts to hum the bars to some familiar country song I’m certain I could place if I were more coherent.

After almost an eternity of suffering, my body settles and I lean up, flushing the contents. Then I sink all the way onto the floor and press my warm cheek against the chilled tile.

“Sorry,” I apologize before adding a necessary, “Thank you.”

The whole scene was incredibly embarrassing, especially considering that, even as I was emptying the contents of my stomach, I still found myself affected by his presence and, sadly, not in a PG manner.

“You need to eat,” he huffs, ignoring my gratitude. He leans his back against the bathroom wall, crossing his muscular arms over his chest.

Closing my eyes, I welcome the coolness against my face. “I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.”

I’m still coming back to life when the process is sped up by his hauling my body off the floor. “What are you doing?” I shriek.

“You need to eat,” he repeats as he storms from the bathroom with me draped in his arms. My face must show a lack of understanding, and in response, he winks at me. “So I’m taking you to eat.”

This man is downright certifiable.

“I’M FULLY CAPABLE OF WALKING,” she protests weakly.

I look down at her flustered face and rumpled clothing and swear on God’s green Earth that I’ve never laid eyes on a woman so beautiful in my entire life. I hitch her a little higher up my torso, grinning when she has to wrap her arms around my neck.

“I beg to differ.”

“While I appreciate your kindness,” she huffs in annoyance, “I’d appreciate it more if you put me down.”

Clenching my jaw, I withhold the urge to scoff at her. Not a chance in holy hell. Our first meeting had already gone ass-over-teakettle down a very large hill, and I intend to fix that.

“Uhm.”

I halt my steps and swing around at the sound of a female voice, feeling a little like a child caught with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar when I see her sister staring at us. There’s an uncomfortable pause before the woman in my arms bursts back into living color.

“He’s kidnapping me,” London proclaims.

This time, I do laugh at her. For a woman so averse to the damsel-in-distress act, she seems to have it quite down pat in this particular moment.

Aurora—I think that’s the sister’s name—watches closely, humor tugging at the