It's his taste on her lips, and his breath across her face, and the cold breeze that keeps gusting up from time to time--the way his arm shifts around her middle--that sends a chill ripping through her body.

She pulls back from the kiss, giving herself a minute to savor it, though the insistent prickle of every tiny hair on her body standing on end is screaming at her.

She shifts in his embrace, turning to face him, her arms snaking around his middle as she draws him close to her body.

"We should probably get the horses turned out," she whispers against his chest, breathing in the sweet scent of hay and feed and him. But she doesn't move.

Not until she tips her head back again, and reclaims his lips.