Revan was not used to being ordered around on his own land.
Especially by a woman who didn’t even reach his chin, whose scent a mix of wild lavender, cheap bar soap, and morning dust still lingered on his black t-shirt from yesterday.
All night long, the imprint of Alesya’s palm on his chest had felt like a fresh burn.
His skin still throbbed.
And Revan hated the fact that every time he closed his eyes, he didn’t remember the 1.60-meter obstacle he failed to conquer in Aachen.
Instead, he remembered a pair of honey-brown eyes staring at him without fear.
And thin lips moving just inches from his mouth.
“Focus, Caldwell,” he muttered to himself, tightening the black deerskin riding glove on his right hand.
The indoor arena was still dim.
Morning sunlight only just penetrated the high roof vents, creating golden lines across the freshly raked sand.
Phantom stood in the center, unsaddled, wearing only a leather cavesson with no bit in his mouth.
The arena’s sliding door opened.
Alesya’s footsteps were heard before her figure appeared.
Revan didn’t turn, but every nerve in his back suddenly tensed in alert.
His body recognized the woman’s presence faster than his brain did.
“Morning, Revan.”
That voice.
Calm.
Cold.
As if she hadn’t just pressed her body against Revan’s chest and challenged him in front of his ranch staff yesterday.
Alesya stepped onto the sand, wearing a thin cream-colored knit sweater that hung loosely off one shoulder, revealing her delicate collarbone, paired with dark jodhpurs that outlined the silhouette of her slim, strong legs.
Her hair was tied in a low ponytail.
Simple.
No makeup.
But somehow, amidst the sand and the scent of hay, she looked more captivating than any woman who had ever stood beside Revan on the Wellington red carpet.
“Are you ready?” Alesya asked, stopping two steps in front of him.
Revan’s gray eyes swept over her face.
“Depends on what you want to prove today, Dr.
Vargas.”
Alesya didn’t respond to the sarcasm.
Her gaze dropped to Revan’s hands.
“Take off your gloves.”
Revan frowned.
“What?”
“Remove your gloves.
Both of them.”
“These are custom Italian gloves with grip…”
“I don’t care who made them,” Alesya cut in sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument.
“Horse skin is the most sensitive sensory membrane in the world.
Phantom can feel your heartbeat through your fingertips.
Those thick leather gloves are just a barrier you use to hide your tension.”
Alesya stepped closer.
One step.
“Take them off.”
Revan stared at her, his jaw hardened.
For an elite rider, removing gloves in the arena was like a soldier removing his chest armor on the battlefield.
It made him feel naked.
Vulnerable.
But the woman’s eyes didn’t blink, waiting for him with a silent challenge.
Revan drew a sharp breath through clenched teeth.
His fingers moved to his left wrist.
The sound of Velcro tearing was loud in the silent arena.
He slowly pulled off his left glove, revealing his tanned skin, his defined knuckles, and the prominent veins that signaled his gripping strength.
Then the right glove.
He threw both onto the wooden fence.
“Satisfied?” Revan’s voice was cold.
“Not yet.”
Alesya took a long, soft cotton lead rope from her shoulder and handed it to Revan’s bare left hand.
Their fingers brushed as the rope transferred.
Only half a second of skin-on-skin contact.
But Revan felt a hot sting shoot lightning-fast up to the base of his arm, making his injured shoulder muscle throb with a dull ache.
Alesya didn’t pull her hand away.
Instead, she stepped forward, entering Revan’s personal space directly.
So close that the tips of their boots nearly touched.
So close that Revan could see gold flecks in Alesya’s brown pupils and feel the woman’s warm breath on his chin.
“Hold the reins like you’re holding a small bird,” Alesya whispered.
Alesya raised both her hands.
The woman’s slender, warm fingers, slightly rough from hard work, landed on the back of Revan’s hand.
Revan froze.
His breath caught in his throat.
Alesya’s hands guided Revan’s fingers, loosening his iron-like grip that was habitually stiff on the reins.
The touch was gentle, but it held absolute authority.
“Relax your fingers, Revan,” Alesya’s voice sounded so close to his chest.
“If you grip too tightly, he’ll think you’re preparing to fall.”
“I’m not used to holding things weakly,” Revan replied hoarsely, his eyes fixed straight on Alesya’s moving lips.
“This isn’t weakness.
It’s sensitivity.”
Alesya shifted slightly to Revan’s side, pressing her body against his left arm to correct the angle of his elbow.
The woman’s body heat penetrated his shirt fabric.
The scent of lavender and her warm skin was so intense that Revan felt the oxygen around him suddenly burn away.
Alesya’s right hand rose, touching his left bicep, tracing the path of the surgical scar hidden beneath his sleeve.
Her fingers pressed on the knot of tense muscle near his shoulder.
“Ugh…” Revan hissed softly, his jaw clamped tight to withstand the combination of pain and a strange tingling sensation in his spine.
“Your deltoid muscle is still locked,” Alesya whispered, her face only inches from Revan’s neck.
Her fine hair brushed against the man’s jawline as she spoke.
“Every time you suppress this pain, you pull these reins five centimeters shorter.
And Phantom reads that as a danger alarm.”
Revan’s heart pounded wildly against his ribs.
Not because of the pain in his shoulder.
But because of Alesya’s fingers massaging the tension point in his muscle with a slow, calculated rhythm.
A clinical touch.
Alesya was doing it purely as a doctor.
But for Revan, every pressure from the woman’s fingers felt like the most dangerous sensual provocation.
“Alesya,” Revan’s voice dropped to a low growl, heavy with warning.
Alesya looked up.
Their eyes collided at a forbidden distance.
There was a flash of shock in Alesya’s eyes as she realized how intimate their position was… her body pressed against Revan, her hand on the man’s shoulder muscle, and Revan’s gray eyes staring at her with almost feral intensity.
Silence.
Only the sound of Phantom’s breathing beside them and their hearts chasing each other in the humid air.
Alesya swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
But she didn’t back down.
She refused to show weakness in front of a man used to dominating everyone around him.
“Now,” Alesya said, her voice slightly raspier than usual as she lowered her hand from Revan’s shoulder.
“Take him over that ground pole.”
Alesya pointed to a white wooden pole lying on the sand, about ten meters in front of them.
The most basic obstacle.
Just a piece of wood on the ground.
Not even a jump.
For a Grand Prix rider like Revan Caldwell, stepping over a ground pole was a trivial, almost embarrassing task.
But as Revan stared at the white pole, something twisted in his stomach.
Memories of Aachen.
The horse refusing.
The sound of a cracking clavicle.
Blood in the sand.
Phantom snorted, instantly sensing the change in Revan’s energy.
The stallion’s ears pinned back, his steps halting.
“Revan,” Alesya’s voice called to him.
Not with a commanding tone this time.
There was a piercing softness in it.
Alesya stepped to Phantom’s right side, walking parallel to Revan.
“Don’t look at the obstacle,” Alesya whispered, her eyes meeting Revan’s from across the horse’s back.
“Look at the empty space behind it.
Trust your feet on the sand, and let him feel that you aren’t preparing to die.”
Revan clenched his jaw.
Those words sounded too poetic, too emotional for the cold, number-driven world of elite equestrianism.
But as he stared at Alesya’s steady eyes across Phantom’s back, Revan found himself wanting to trust her.
Just for one second.
He took a long breath.
Filling his lungs with the arena air, letting the woman’s lavender scent calm his burning nerves.
He loosened the fingers of his left hand on the cotton reins, exactly as Alesya had taught him.
No iron grip.
Only gentle contact without gloves.
“Come on, boy,” Revan whispered, his voice hoarse and deep.
He stepped forward.
One step.
Two steps.
Phantom hesitated on the third step, his head raised high, his eyes staring at the white wooden pole on the ground with wild suspicion.
Revan’s old instinct screamed at him to pull the reins and force the horse forward.
But from the corner of his eye, he saw Alesya shake her head slowly.
Let go of the control.
Revan exhaled.
He lowered his shoulders, relaxing his painful left deltoid muscle, and let the reins hang loose in his open palm.
He surrendered control.
Not to Alesya.
But to Phantom.
The black stallion felt the change instantly.
The tense muscles in his neck slowly softened.
Phantom lowered his head, sniffing the scent of the wooden pole in front of him, then lifted his muscular front leg.
Tap.
His iron-shod hoof stepped over the wooden pole without touching it.
Then his hind legs followed.
Tap.
Perfect.
Calm.
Without refusal.
Without panic.
The frozen silence in the arena suddenly melted.
Phantom snorted long and satisfied, swishing his tail gently, then turned his head toward Revan, touching his soft nose to Revan’s bare palm.
The warm horse skin touched Revan’s cold palm.
Revan froze in place.
His throat choked with a foreign emotion that burned his eyes.
Eight months.
Eight months full of frustration, failed surgeries, disdainful looks from his father, and despair he swallowed alone in the darkness.
And today, just because of a piece of wood on the ground and a gloveless touch, his horse trusted him again.
Revan slowly raised his hand, stroking Phantom’s muzzle with his slightly trembling fingers.
“Good boy,” he whispered, his voice nearly breaking.
“Good boy.”
Across the horse’s back, Alesya stood silently watching the scene.
A small, sincere smile bloomed on the woman’s lips—the first smile Revan had seen since she set foot on Blackstone Estate.
A smile so pure, so warm, that Revan felt the entire room was suddenly illuminated by dazzling light.
Alesya stepped closer, stopping right in front of Revan.
Separated only by Phantom’s neck resting between them.
“See?” Alesya’s voice was soft, flowing like water in the dry season.
“He was never broken, Revan.
He just needed you to stop pretending you weren’t hurt.”
Revan stared at her.
His cold gray eyes now trembled with something far more dangerous than anger.
Attraction.
Unbearable longing.
And a primal hunger.
Revan stepped one inch closer, ignoring the space between them.
“And you?” Revan’s voice was low, vibrating with an intensity that heated the air around them instantly.
“Are you not broken either, Dr.
Vargas?”
The smile on Alesya’s lips slowly faded, replaced by caution that once again covered her eyes.
Her past wounds… Sebastián’s betrayal, the destruction of her name in Bogotá… flashed briefly in her brown pupils.
“I am here to heal your horse, Caldwell.
Not to be analyzed.”
“Good,” Revan replied, his voice sounding like a dark threatening whisper.
His free hand moved, touching the wooden post on the fence right next to Alesya’s hip, caging the woman without actually touching her.
“Because tomorrow we start with higher poles.
And I want you to listen to me, not your ego.”
Alesya lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated by Revan’s towering body.
“Tomorrow at five a.m.,” Alesya said sharply, her eyes challenging the man’s soul directly.
“And don’t be late by even a second.”
Alesya turned and walked away, leaving the arena with firm, confident steps.
Revan stood frozen in the middle of the sand.
He watched the woman’s retreating back, the hypnotic rhythm of her hips moving, and the sound of her footsteps echoing in the silence.
He should have felt insulted at be
ing dictated to on his own land.
He should have been angry that the woman saw his wounds too clearly.
But as Alesya’s lavender scent slowly disappeared from the air, all Revan felt was a burning emptiness in his chest.
And the terrifying reality that hit him hard:
It wasn’t just Phantom who was starting to depend on that woman’s voice.
It was him too.