“So, she’s your mother’s horse?”

“Yes.”

“And she wouldn’t mind me riding her?”

“No. She’d be happy that Butterscotch was getting exercise.”

“When do your parents get back from Greece?” I throw out there.

He gives me a surprised look, and I know it’s because he knows he never told me where they were.

“Cooper mentioned they were in Greece,” I tell him.

He looks away from me. “They’ll be there for another couple of months.”

“I bet you miss them when they’re away.”

He lifts a shoulder in answer. “I’m used to them being away.”

“Whereabouts are your parents from in Greece?”

His eyes slice back to mine. For a moment, I think that he’s going to turn into Kas-hole and tell me to stop asking questions, but he surprises me by answering, “My mother’s English. She was born in London. It’s my father who is from Greece—Thessaloníki,” he says the name of the city with an accent to his voice.

The sound ripples down my spine in the most delicious way.

“I’ve never heard of Thessa—I’m sorry.” I laugh. “I have no clue how to pronounce it.”

Kas chuckles. “Thes-sa-lo-ní-ki,” he elongates the word for me.

“Thess-a-loníki,” I echo badly.

“Close.” He smiles kindly.

“Well, I’ve never heard of it before. I’m afraid my geographic knowledge of Greece is limited to Athens and Rhodes.”

He laughs softly. “Most people’s is. Thessaloníki is actually the second largest city in Greece, believe it or not. It’s a beautiful place.”

“Then, it’s a shame more people don’t know about it.”

He nods, agreeing.

“Have you spent much time there?”

“A lot when I was a kid. Not so much as I got older.”

“Why not?”

His response is a slight shrug.

“Well, if I were you, I’d be there all the time and away from rainy England.”

“The weather’s nice today,” he comments.

I glance up at the cloud-free sky. “True. Are you fluent in Greek?” I ask, looking back to him.

His eyes meet mine. “Yes.”

I’m tempted to ask him to say something in Greek to me. But I somehow think that Kas isn’t really the type to perform, so I hold my tongue.

We’ve reached the other side of the paddock now, close to the stables.

Danger picks up pace, heading for the stables, with Butterscotch trailing behind.

I hide the disappointment I feel from our ride being over. I was enjoying it. And I was actually enjoying talking with Kas. More than I ever thought I would.

We didn’t get around to trotting either, but I don’t comment on it.

Kas brings Danger to a stop in front of the stables and hops down from him.

I sit on Butterscotch, unsure of how to get down.

I watch as Kas takes off Danger’s saddle, opens the stable door, and then removes his bridle. Danger wanders into the stable. Kas shuts the lower door behind him and slides the bolt across.

He turns and looks up at me. “You staying up there all day?” There’s a definite smile on his mouth.

I bite my lip. “I don’t know how to get down.”

Still smiling, he walks over to me. “Take your feet out of the stirrups.”

My right foot slides out fine, but my left foot is a little stuck. I give it a wiggle, but it doesn’t come free.

“Here.” Kas takes ahold of my leg and pulls the stirrup from my foot.

There’s a layer of rubber and cloth between his hand and my leg, but I still feel his touch, like it’s on my bare skin.

I start to flush hot.

“Hold on to the saddle, and slide your right leg over.”

His hand leaves my foot. I look at him, unsure.

“I’ll catch you,” he tells me softly.

Hands gripping the top of the saddle, I slightly lean forward and bring my right leg back over Butterscotch, taking care not to kick her in the rear.

I feel Kas’s hands come around my waist, guiding my feet down to the ground.

“Thank you,” I whisper. A whisper is all I can manage at the feel of his hands on me.

He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t move his hands away either.

I feel him move closer. His chest brushes my back.

My heart takes off in a race against my pulse.

I can feel his soft breath blowing on my neck.

Involuntarily, I lean back into his touch, pressing my back to his chest. His grip tightens on my waist. And I shiver.

I want to kiss him.

I might not like him so much, but God, my body does right now, and my body is seemingly in charge.

I know that, if I turn around right now, I will kiss him.

Or he’ll kiss me.

I won’t be able to take back what happens.

But I’m not sure that I really care at this moment in time.

His hands on me, the feel of him against my back, just feels too good.

He feels like nothing I’ve ever had before and everything I didn’t even know I wanted.

“Daisy,” he softly says my name, sounding like a plea on his lips.

It’s a plea I can’t ignore.

I turn slowly. His hands stay on me—one moving over my back, the other grazing over my stomach, both coming to rest on my waist.