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A cold trickle started at the base of Delaney’s skull.

Rebecca’s other hand came up, tucking a strand of hair behind Claire’s ear. The gesture was tender, and Claire didn’t pull away. She said something back, her voice too low to carry, and Rebecca’s face lit up with amusement.

What is happening?

The question was a blank, white space in Delaney’s mind. She couldn’t process what she was looking at.

Rebecca was her manager.

Claire was… Claire. The woman who she’d been sleeping with for the last two weeks. The woman she was very seriously starting to fall for.

Then Delaney remembered how this all started.

Rebecca had called in a favor.

What did that even mean? A favor from her friends with benefits situation? A favor from a former client who Rebecca had the hots for?

What the fuck was happening right now?

Claire lifted her own hand. She didn’t move Rebecca’s away. She just covered it with her own, her fingers closing over Rebecca’s slender ones.

Or was Claire a complete player? Someone who was perfectly fine sleeping with Delaney one night and another woman the next?

Delaney forgot how to breathe.

Nausea rose in her throat. She tasted bile.

She couldn’t make a sound. She couldn’t move forward into the barn and ask the question screaming in her head. She couldn’t stay and watch another second of that quiet, intimate exchange—a language of touch and look that spoke of years, not weeks.

Her body moved before her mind could. She stepped back, her boot scraping on gravel. The noise was too loud in her own ears, but the two women didn’t turn. They were in their own world.

Delaney made herself move.

Her legs felt stiff under her, the ground uneven in ways it hadn’t been an hour ago. Sunlight turned everything too sharp, too bright, like it was laughing at her for believing any of this had been real. She locked her eyes on the path ahead, focusing on the next scene, on anything that wasn’t what she’d just witnessed.

16

Rebecca’s heels tapped against the concrete floor as she crossed the barn. Claire stopped what she was doing. The smell of Rebecca’s perfume arrived first, a sharp floral note that didn’t belong here. It settled over the scents of hay and leather and liniment like a layer of plastic.

She stopped right in front of Claire, too close. The space between them evaporated.

Claire could see the fine weave of her cashmere sweater, the faint lines around her eyes.

Then Rebecca’s hand came up. Her palm was cool and smooth against Claire’s cheek.

“You should be proud of everything you’ve accomplished here,” Rebecca said, turning on her charm.

Claire’s skin prickled under the touch. She allowed a small smile, because she had earned it.

The barn, the horses, the land she’d paid for herself—none of it had anything to do with Rebecca Sloane anymore.

“It’s not what I thought I wanted when I met you,” Claire said. “But I’ve built a good life.”

Rebecca’s thumb stroked the skin just below her eye. “What if you could have both?”

Claire’s smile didn’t change. “Both what?”

“Your life here. And me.”