Frenemies to lovers
Slow burn to 17-alarm fire
Pining hero who is absolutely not going to cross that line
Free-spirited artist heroine in secret trouble but pretending everything is fine
Set on Mackinac Island in Michigan
The horse’s name is Cleetus

The snow fell harder now. Fat flakes floating from the sky blotting out the horizon as Cleetus picked his way down the path.

“I swear to Christ, if you ever leave your house without your inhaler again, I’m going to lock you up.”

“If my recollection serves, I didn’t call you. This isn’t your problem.”

Brick hated to admit it, but it rankled that she hadn’t called him this time. That she hadn’t come to him for help.

“You didn’t call, but I came anyway. That’s the way this works. You will always be my problem.”

For some goddamn ridiculous female reason, his pissed off answer had her relaxing against him. He could spend a lifetime studying Remi and knew she still wouldn’t make any damn sense to him. The bigger problem was that with her new relaxed position his thumb wasn’t just brushing her breast, it was pinned under it.

“You couldn’t throw on a bra and put your inhaler in your coat, could you?” he muttered.

He winced when she shifted against him. She had to feel how fucking hard he was for her with his cock wedged up against her ass like that. Every rock of the saddle was a new level of hell for him.

“No one told you to put your damn hand up my shirt,” she reminded him. She sounded better, brighter, perkier.

“I don’t hear you asking me to remove it,” he shot back.

“I didn’t ask you to remove your hard-on from my ass either. I’m too polite.”

“Jesus, Remi.”