Her hiccupping breaths abated enough for her to look up at him, but he didn’t let her go. His arms were around her back. Strong, supportive, doing the job her knees just couldn’t. He smelled like sweat and sunshine and the woods, and she loved it.

She pressed her face against his shoulder. “I was worried you hated me.”

“Then we have that in common.”

Confused, she lifted her head. His eyes were close, blue sparked with sunlight.

“I was worried you hated me,” he said. “After what your father said—”

“That was my fault.”

“No.” His voice hardened. “That was his fault.” He paused to brush a strand of hair from her forehead.

“I don’t hate you,” she whispered.

“You sure?” There was no relief in his eyes, just wary exhaustion. “You wouldn’t be alone.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. I’m being stupid. It’s been a long weekend.” His hands were stroking along her back.

She gave a choked laugh; it sounded strangled. “Tell me about it.”

Gabriel paused, and now he seemed hesitant. “I was worried you wouldn’t want to see me.”

“Are you kidding?” She looked up at him. “You’re the only person I want to see right now.”

He leaned in, his expression softer now, more sure. “So crying when you see me is a good thing. Got it.”

She punched him in the shoulder. “I can’t believe you ran all the way here.”

“I told Hunter I’d run a marathon with him next month.” He paused. “So I’ll need to do lots of running in the morning.”

She picked up on the wry note in his voice. “Funny how I do lots of riding in the morning.”

“That’s what I figured.” He looked up, past her. “Is it always this deserted?”

“Just me and the horses. Plenty of privacy.” She flushed, realizing how that sounded. “I mean—”

His hands found her waist, hard through the thin material of her jacket. “I know exactly what you mean.”

She sucked in a breath, but then he was kissing her.

When his lips touched hers, it was like lighting a match: a quick flare of heat, a burst of light, and then a slow burn. Her body melted into his, letting him support her again. His hands slid under the edge of her jacket, and even though there was a turtleneck there, she froze anyway.

His hands stopped—but his kisses didn’t. They slowed, his mouth drawing at hers carefully, his tongue brushing hers until he’d coaxed small noises from her throat and the heat in her body was everywhere, not just near his hands or his mouth. This time, when his hands slid under her jacket, she let him, even when she knew he had to be feeling the scars beneath the fabric.