Dear Reader,

Thoroughbred horses are a specific breed, and throughout their history they’ve existed for one reason only: to win races. And even though their most desirable qualities are those of any premier athlete—speed, agility and a perfectly proportioned body that can run like the wind without shattering—there are no guarantees. Thoroughbred horse racing is a sport in which all is serendipity and chance. Anything can happen, and what does is impossible to predict.

Much like love.

Champion jockey Melanie Preston hates secrets, so the last man she’d trust is Marcus Vasquez, the world-renowned Thoroughbred trainer who refuses to reveal anything about his personal life. But when the brewing scandal surrounding her family’s livelihood forces Melanie to go to work for Marcus, she learns that love, like racing, is all about taking a gamble.

Happy reading!

Maggie Price

Who’s Cheatin’ Who?

Maggie Price

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MAGGIE PRICE

Before embarking on a writing career, Maggie Price took a walk on the wild side and started associating with people who carry guns. Fortunately they were cops, and Maggie’s career as a crime analyst with the Oklahoma City Police Department has given her the background needed to write true-to-life police procedural romances that have won numerous accolades, including a nomination for a coveted RITA® Award.

Maggie is a recipient of a Golden Heart Award, a Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times BOOKreviews, a National Readers’ Choice Award and a Booksellers’ Best Award, all for series romantic suspense. Readers are invited to contact Maggie at 416 N.W. 8th St., Oklahoma City, OK 73102-2604, or on the Web at www.MaggiePrice.com.

Special thanks to:

My husband, Bill Price,

who brought home a kazillion dinners so I didn’t have

to cook while writing this book. (Then whisked me

off to the Orient for a much-needed respite!)

Linda Eubanks, for invaluable

and generous information. All liberties taken

in the name of fiction are my own.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

Her shimmery gold gown glittering beneath the conservatory’s bright lights, bridesmaid Melanie Preston excused her way through a crush of wedding guests. When she reached the towering French doors that led to the back veranda of the house, she flung one open and rushed out into the cool December night.

“Dammit,” she muttered when she saw the man she’d followed there had already reached the far end of the long veranda, her grandfather’s Irish wolfhound trotting along beside him.

With moonlight pouring down from the cloudless sky, she watched him descend the flagstone steps two at a time. Veering off, he strode toward the cobblestone walkway leading to the building that housed his office.

His former office, she amended. As of five o’clock that afternoon, Marcus Vasquez was no longer head trainer at her family’s Quest Stables, Kentucky’s largest Thoroughbred racing facility.

With the world that had once seemed so perfect now in danger of collapsing like the legs of a newborn foal, Melanie couldn’t blame him for terminating his employment after only a few months.

Because her gold Jimmy Choo ice-pick heels quashed all hope of catching up with Marcus on the cobblestone walkway, she paused in the center of the veranda. Rubbing her bare arms to ward off the December chill, she studied his retreating form.

He was tall, an inch or two over six feet with that fluid grace certain men were born with. He had coal-black hair, olive skin and deep-set dark eyes guarded by heavy brows. She was used to seeing him in work clothes, not a tuxedo, so when he’d shown up for her cousin’s wedding, heat had spread through her in breath-stealing waves. It wasn’t every man whose tux fit as though it had been tailored to a god’s torso.

The man who hailed from a small town on Spain’s Costa del Sol was handsome, distant and maddeningly aloof about all things personal.

Which he had every right to be. But Melanie had learned a devastating lesson about trusting any man so elusively reticent about himself and his past. So when Marcus hired on at Quest Stables and she felt the same damnable dark awareness stirring deep inside her that had once toppled her into emotional quicksand, it had scared her to death.

Five months later, that awareness still vibrated in her nerves whenever she got near him.

Hell, whenever she thought about him. Which was often. So she’d gone to great lengths to avoid him whenever possible.

Problem was, she was Quest’s principal jockey and detouring around the head trainer hadn’t exactly made for ideal working conditions. Instinct told her Marcus had let her get away with that solely because of the racing ban the Jockey Association had leveled against her parents’ stables and every horse majority owned by the Prestons.

A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the crisp night air and everything to do with impending doom. Earlier that year, she’d ridden Leopold’s Legacy to victory in the Kentucky Derby and Preakness. But hopes for a Triple Crown sweep had been dashed when a computer snafu at the Jockey Association required a resubmittal of the Thoroughbred’s DNA. The resulting discovery that Leopold’s Legacy had not been sired by the stallion of record, Apollo’s Ice, sent shock waves through the racing world.

After that, things had gone from bad to worse. A cloud of suspicion now hung over the entire Preston family. Owners who’d boarded their horses at Quest for years had pulled them out and lodged them at other stables. And what had first been thought to be a data processing glitch took on a sinister edge when a horse also wrongly believed to have been sired by Apollo’s Ice was poisoned to death in Dubai and a computer tech who had worked on the registry records at the Jockey Association disappeared shortly afterward. The chance for any Preston-owned stallions earning stud fees was gone, at least for the time being. And Leopold’s Legacy’s millions in winnings might have to be surrendered if it was proven he hadn’t been sired by a Thoroughbred. A few longtime employees had been laid off due to the financial hit Quest had taken. Now, handsome, irritatingly aloof Marcus Vasquez, their head trainer, was leaving, too.

The first notes of a low, bluesy song drifted on the night air, prompting Melanie to glance over her shoulder. Despite the family’s worsening problems, her mother was determined that life at Quest continue as normally as possible. So this December, as all others, the massive, two-story redbrick house shimmered with Christmas lights inside and out. Tonight, the lights were a fitting backdrop for Melanie’s Australian cousin’s wedding to Quest’s female farrier.

Through the conservatory’s big bay window, Melanie watched wedding guests chat while sipping champagne. Some headed for the area where furniture and potted plants had been removed to make a temporary dance floor. Others gathered before the huge Christmas tree decorated with silver ornaments that dominated one corner of the room.

The person who interested her most, however, wasn’t inside the house.

The thought of going after Marcus had Melanie squaring her shoulders. She had planned to approach him right after her grandfather toasted the bride and groom. But the instant crystal flutes had clinked together, Marcus set his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter, and headed out the French doors. Now, his long gait had taken him so far away she could barely make out his tall, moonlit form silhouetted against the security lights rimming the stables, the barn and various outbuildings.

By morning he would be gone.

She was surprised to find herself torn between a sense of relief and a tingle of regret.

In keeping with Marcus’s maddening refusal to reveal anything about himself, no one at Quest seemed to know his plans for the future. But he was one of the country’s top Thoroughbred trainers, so there were bound to be dozens of job opportunities available for someone with his formidable skills. Not just here in Kentucky, but nationwide. Worldwide.

Melanie flexed her fingers, then curled them into her palms. If she didn’t talk to him, her conscience would niggle at her forever. She had no intention of offering an explanation for why she’d spent the majority of her time avoiding him. Or concede that she should have at least consulted him about her decision to work away from the main stables with the colt her younger brother felt sure would be the family’s saving grace.

Tonight she simply intended to tell Marcus goodbye. Wish him luck. It was a matter of self-respect. She took her work as a jockey seriously. For reasons she couldn’t explain, making sure that Marcus Vasquez understood that had become a priority.

And maybe, just maybe, knowing she’d gone to such lengths to detour around him scraped at her pride. It was too close to cowardice.

She wasn’t a coward. Just a woman trying her best to stave off temptation in the form of a gorgeous Spanish hunk.

So, she would speak to Marcus as one professional to another. Keep the conversation businesslike, to the point and short. She just hoped she managed to hide the fact that he made her nervous. Edgy. Stirred up.

Melanie puffed out a breath that turned into a white cloud on the night air. With her pulse pounding and her nerves jittering, she wasn’t sure how she was going to pull this off.

“Just get it over with,” she muttered.

Hiking the skirt of her gown above her ankles, she headed down the veranda’s stairs and went after him.

HIS GAZE FOCUSED out the window of what was now his former office, Marcus Vasquez watched Melanie Preston move along the cobblestone walk, the Irish wolfhound, Seamus, loping beside her as he’d done earlier at Marcus’s side. The silver moonlight mixed with a pale glow from the small landscape lights dotting the gardens, making the woman and her massive escort seem almost ghostlike.

Since the path veered off in several directions, he wondered where the hell she was headed.

None of his business, he reminded himself. He’d had little say during his tenure at Quest over what the ace jockey did. As of this afternoon Marcus no longer worked for Thomas and Jenna Preston, so whatever had prompted their only daughter to leave her cousin’s wedding reception and traipse around in the moonlight was none of his concern.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the view. Leaning a thigh against the desk, Marcus tracked her progress along the walk.

Despite her ankle-wrecking heels and the walkway’s uneven surface, Melanie’s gait was fluid, like a dancer’s. The only other time he’d seen her in a dress was at a gala last summer when he’d first arrived at Quest. Which was a good thing, because the way the gold material slithered against her slim hips was enough to revive a dead man.

He was very much alive.

Watching her, Marcus felt the hunger that he’d kept hidden since the moment they’d met stir inside him.

She was barely five feet tall, lean and agile. For the rest of his life, he would carry a mental picture of her from the video he’d watched uncountable times: Melanie Preston on Derby Day wearing Quest’s bright racing silks, urging Leopold’s Legacy to leap from the starting gate and hurtle onto the track. Barely fastened to the saddle, her entire body had lifted into the air like a butterfly preparing to take flight. Only her hands on the reins and the tips of both boots wedged in the stirrups still tied her to earth.

Marcus had worked his way up in the racing business on four continents. Without a doubt, she was the best jockey he’d encountered. If the scandal hadn’t broken after the Preakness win, she most likely would have raced the stallion in the Belmont to a Triple Crown sweep.

She was also the most annoying jockey he had ever run across.

It wasn’t simply that she’d made herself scarce around the main stables since his first day on the job, choosing to work instead with her younger brother Robbie, who’d taken a colt named Something To Talk About to train on his own. The few times Melanie had shown up here in his office, her talk of implementing unproven approaches to stable management techniques had tried Marcus’s patience.

It hadn’t helped that during every exchange he’d been as aware of her striking blue eyes, sun-streaked blond hair and compact curves as he’d been of her words. He’d damn well had his share of X-rated fantasies about his boss’s daughter.

Fantasies he hadn’t allowed himself to act on. Not only because he had a policy never to mix business with pleasure. There was the small complication of his blood ties to the man who, Marcus had only recently learned, owned Apollo’s Ice. Although there was no proof Nolan Hunter was involved in the scandal that had tarnished the Preston family’s standing in the racing world and caused a fiscal disaster for their stables, Marcus doubted the Prestons would have hired him away from the Australian side of their family if anyone had known he was Hunter’s half brother. And because of a promise made long ago, Marcus didn’t intend to tell anyone.

Withholding that information from the Prestons weighed heavy on his shoulders, and Marcus had felt a measure of relief when he saw proof that their youngest son, Robbie, had developed the capabilities to step into the head trainer position. Confident that the horses and stables would be in good hands—and knowing it would ease the strain on the Prestons not to have to pay his hefty salary—had made it easy for Marcus to give notice that he would be moving on.

Even if he still had no idea where he would be moving on to.

He’d worked on farms and around tracks since he was ten. Stable boy, exercise boy, groom. Working his way up, hustling his way through. For the first time, he felt the dull ache of regret about leaving a certain place behind.

A certain woman. He almost felt cheated.

Grinding out an oath between his teeth, he pulled his gaze from the window. Turning away, he forced himself to dismiss thoughts of Melanie Preston. Tried to, anyway.

He worked in silence for a few minutes, loading a box with the personal items he carried to each job.

The instant she stepped through the office’s open door, he scented her. The fragrance of warm skin mixed with the soft aroma of Chanel stirred the hunger he’d fought to keep leashed every damn time she got near him.

Repressing the storm of need brewing inside him, Marcus looked up from the box. “Shouldn’t the sole bridesmaid be helping the bride and groom celebrate?”

“I imagine Shane and Audrey can do without me for a little while.”

Melanie forced her mouth to curve while the deep timbre of Marcus’s voice registered up and down her spine. Holy hell, why was it all she had to do was look at him and her knees went weak and her heart tumbled in her chest?

“What about you?” she asked. “Instead of packing, shouldn’t you be at the reception, catching up with all the Australian Prestons?”

“I spent most of the day wrapping up last-minute details. Packing the remainder of my things was at the bottom of my list, and I wanted to get it done tonight.” He shrugged. “I plan on heading back to the reception when I’m finished here.”

Great, Melanie thought. She could have just stayed at the house instead of chasing after him. “Well, I didn’t want to let you get away without saying goodbye.”

His killer dark eyes narrowed speculatively on her face. “For the most part, you’ve avoided me the entire time I’ve worked here. Now that I’m leaving, you feel the need to converse. Why?”

Oh, boy. “I didn’t avoid you,” she said. “Not exactly,” she added when one of his dark brows crept up. “Robbie’s convinced Something To Talk About will be our next champion. When Robbie took the colt off on his own to train, he asked me to work with him, too. My brother had a lot to prove to himself and the entire family. I wanted to help.”

Because she could feel her nerves jumping, Melanie wandered along one wall of the office, pretending interest in the series of framed newspaper clippings of the stable’s numerous Thoroughbred winners. Then there were the studio photographs of Quest’s winningest jockeys. Hers included.

She slid Marcus a sideways look. “I hope there are no hard feelings.”

“Wouldn’t be much point in them. You and Robbie proved two months ago that you know what you’re doing when you took Something To Talk About to Dubai. Winning the Sandstone Derby is impressive.”

“I’m just glad the Sandstone took place before Quest got hit with the international racing ban.” Melanie paused before the credenza on which several trophies sat. Some were from races in which she had ridden the winners herself, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever again get to race wearing her family’s silks.

“Robbie will make a good head trainer for Quest,” Marcus said.

With a huge ball of emotion wedged in her throat, Melanie turned from the credenza while Marcus placed a coffee mug inside the open box on the desk. “He will,” she agreed. “You did a good job, too.”

“I’d have done better if the ban hadn’t stopped me from racing Quest’s horses.”

“So, where do you go from here?”

“To another job.”

She waited expectantly for him to elaborate, but he continued scooping items out of a desk drawer, offering nothing more.

His silence reminded her of the reason the attraction she felt toward him made her want to run for the hills. Being duped by a lover who’d failed to mention he had a pregnant wife at home had taught Melanie the danger of trusting a man who didn’t know what it meant to be forthcoming.

A man like Marcus Vasquez.

Which circled her back to the reason she’d sought him out tonight. To say goodbye.

“I should get back to the reception.” She took the few steps toward the desk and offered her hand. “I wish you the best, Marcus.”

His gaze met hers. For a long moment, he said nothing. Did nothing.

Her lips parted slightly when she saw the change in his eyes, the deepening, the darkening as an emotion she was at a loss to identify grew. All she knew was that in the space of a heartbeat, something between them had changed.

He took her hand, his fingers sliding to link with hers. “Since you made a special trip down here in those ankle-wrecking heels to tell me goodbye, maybe we should make the most of it.”

Her fingers clenched his reflexively. “Make the most of it?” His firm, calloused touch lodged a sudden pressure in her chest that made her breathing go shallow. The muscles in her stomach began to twist, tighten. Ache.

He smelled of soap, a fragrance that was clean and sharp. She fought the sudden urge to lean in, fill her lungs with his compelling scent.

“In Spain, it’s believed that when two people part for what may be a very long time, they must share a kiss to seal their friendship.”

“And if they don’t?” she managed.

“It’s their fate to become the deadliest of enemies.”

A dangerous excitement heated her blood, sending a delicious sizzle of anticipation through her veins. Lifting her chin, she shook back her hair. “Well, we don’t want that. Odds are good we’ll cross paths again at various racetracks. It would be more comfortable for both of us if we were friends.”

“Agreed.”

She held her breath, waiting, watching, as his mouth drew closer, closer…. He was the last man she should allow to cross the barrier and touch her. Even as she told herself that, she voiced no protest, made no move to evade the kiss. She didn’t want to evade it. Marcus Vasquez had played havoc with her libido for months, and she wanted to know how he kissed, how he tasted.

He’d be gone by morning. What harm could one kiss do?

She shivered at the first brush of his lips, blinking as if the contact had given her a shock. He held her gaze, his eyes dark and intense, mesmerizing. Then he settled his mouth over hers, and thought ceased. Her eyes drifted shut. Her hands slid beneath the jacket of his tux, her palms settling against his rock-hard chest.

He slanted his head, his lips parted, and he deepened the kiss until his tongue was in her mouth. The bottom dropped out of her stomach, her legs wobbled and her entire body tensed.

With one arm locked around her waist, Marcus slid his fingers into her hair. She tasted sweet, and she felt like heaven against him. He groaned deep in his chest and pressed closer. The scent of warm skin mixed with Chanel filled his head. He knew what it was like to be cheated out of something he wanted badly. Tonight, he’d be damned if he held himself back from taking what he’d wanted for so long.

While his mouth fed on hers, he spread his legs and inched closer, heat diffusing through him as his thighs brushed the outside of hers and his groin nudged her belly.

She was tiny and soft and feminine, and he wanted her. When their kiss turned frenzied, arousal pounded through him. He wanted to tear his slacks open, rip apart the soft, thin material of her gown and take her right here on the desk. He wanted to watch her face when he filled her.

This need, this want of her was instantaneous and stronger than anything he’d known.

And all-around crazy, considering who he was currently ravishing.

That thought had desire dying like a flame suddenly doused.

What the hell was he doing? He no longer worked for Thomas and Jenna Preston, but he respected them. Marcus knew full well neither would thank him for doing his best to seduce their daughter before he left Quest.

Even if she had somehow unlocked emotions inside him that went far past attraction and challenge to verge on pain.

Melanie opened her eyes as Marcus stepped away. She felt dizzy, weak, as shaken as she had the first time she’d been bucked off a horse. Like a woman in a daze, she lifted a hand and touched her fingers to her lips, lips that felt hot and swollen and thoroughly kissed.

“I guess after that, we’ll be friends for life,” she managed.

He smiled, just the faintest curve of his lips. “At least.”

“I should get back,” she added, her body not receiving any of her brain’s commands to move.

Marcus didn’t move, either. He stood facing her, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I’ll walk you there,” he said after a long moment.

Her heart hammered in her head, echoing in her ears like a train picking up speed in a tunnel. How was it possible to be stunned so thoroughly by the heat? To be swept away so quickly, to want so desperately what you knew you shouldn’t have?

Where once the pull she felt toward him had scared her, the intensity of it now terrified her.

“You don’t need to walk me.” She swept an unsteady hand toward the box on the desk. “You’re not done packing.”

“I just finished.” He added a file folder to the box, closed its flaps, then hefted it up with one arm. “I’ll stow this in my car on the way back to the reception.” Marcus glanced at the clock on the wall. “By now your cousin Tyler should be through performing his duties as his brother’s best man. I want to catch up with him. Find out what’s gone on at Lochlain Racing after I left Australia to work here.”

“Fine.” Hoping to heck her trembling legs continued to support her, Melanie turned and headed for the door. As she moved, she ran her tongue over her lips. Marcus’s taste churned through her blood all over again.

What if she never managed to fully rid her system of his taste?

Thank goodness, she thought as he switched off the light and closed the door to the office. Thank goodness he’d be gone by morning.

Chapter Two

“I have a good feeling about the Outback Classic, Marcus.” Pride, along with a deep Australian accent, shimmered in Tyler Preston’s voice. “You should see Lightning Chaser now. These days, he eats up the ground.”

With his mind only partly on the conversation, Marcus skimmed his gaze for what seemed the hundredth time around the conservatory brimming with music, flowers and elegantly gowned and tuxedoed guests.

Audrey Griffin Preston looked stunning in snowy white lace glimmering with pearls, her face luminous as she danced with her tall, sandy-haired husband, Shane. The newlyweds shared the dance floor with numerous family members and guests, including the groom’s parents and grandparents, who’d flown in from Australia for the wedding festivities.

A knot of people had gathered near the towering Christmas tree brimming with silver ornaments and white lights that looked like tiny stars trapped in its limbs. Other guests mingled around the room.

Since he had walked Melanie back to the reception, Marcus knew she was somewhere in the crowd. At the moment, though, he couldn’t locate her.

Which shouldn’t matter at all.

But it did.

Dammit, he might have been responsible for initiating that kiss, but he didn’t thank her for unlocking needs he had no intention of satisfying. He’d grown up watching the devastating toll love had taken on his mother, and that was enough for him to never want to go anywhere near that same path. Ever.

More and more, leaving Quest looked like a smart move. He just wished he’d get over the dragging regret that had plagued him since he gave Andrew Preston his notice. Regret that now seemed to have settled like a stone in his gut with the knowledge he’d likely never again have another taste of the woman he’d held in his arms less than an hour ago.

Dammit, why did that seem to matter so much?

“Earth to Vasquez.”

The comment had Marcus shifting his attention back to Tyler. The general manager of Lochlain Racing was tall and lanky, with dark hair and a tanned face made ruddy by hours spent under the Australian sun. At the moment, his green eyes were narrowed speculatively on Marcus.

“The way you’re taking the crowd apart makes me think you’re on the lookout for someone.” Sliding one flap of his tuxedo jacket back, Tyler slipped a hand into the pocket of his slacks while studying the crowd. “A woman, maybe?”

“I’m just checking out who came to witness your brother tie the knot,” Marcus said, avoiding a direct answer.

He sipped the scotch he’d opted for over the champagne that flowed freely. To ensure the subject veered away from the reason he’d taken up residence in a spot with a prime view of all the celebrants, he turned the conversation back to a subject close to Tyler’s heart. “As for Lightning Chaser, does he still like to make the other horses try to catch him?”

“Every time he gets on a racetrack,” Tyler answered with a wide smile. “I have high hopes for him in the upcoming Classic.”

Marcus thought about a black cloud that could mar the race. “What about Sam Whittleson?” he asked, referring to the man whose horse had beat Lightning Chaser in an Australian race several months back. After it was discovered Whittleson’s horse had been pumped full of steroids, Lightning Chaser was declared the winner. Bad blood ensued when Whittleson claimed his horse had been sabotaged. There were those who speculated Tyler could be responsible. “He might be interested in payback.”

“If Whittleson tries anything, he’ll be sorry.” The hard snap in Tyler’s voice left no doubt that his threat was anything but idle.

The music swept up into a crescendo then ended, followed by a round of applause for the bride and groom. Tyler set his drink aside. “It’s time for me to claim a dance with my new sister-in-law.”

Moments after Tyler smiled goodbye and headed for the dance floor, Marcus spotted Melanie. She was on the far side of the conservatory, leaning down to say something to her nieces, the twin daughters of her brother Brent, Quest’s head breeder. Both girls had their brown hair in braids and wore knee-length dresses made out of the same gold material as Melanie’s. Smiling, she whispered something to them, and the twins giggled.

All so innocent, Marcus thought. Far from innocent was the hunger emanating from him as he studied their aunt’s soft, angular profile. The attraction had been there from the moment he met Melanie on his first day at Quest, sitting in the stables with her boots off. But now he’d had a taste of her. No mere attraction had ever made him ache the way she was making him ache. And no sexual desire had ever made him feel as if he were inexorably sinking into hot lava.

When he caught himself imagining what it would be like to have another taste of her, he knew he was in trouble. Draining his scotch, he decided to say goodbye to the Prestons and head to his quarters for one last night at Quest. He had no idea where he would be twenty-four hours from now.

“Marcus, have you got a minute?”

He turned to find Demetri Lucas standing inches away. Earlier, Marcus had overheard someone mention that the recently retired race car driver, who was engaged to Elizabeth Innis, a Preston cousin, had missed the wedding due to business concerns. Since Demetri was dressed in a casual sweater and slacks, Marcus theorized he had just arrived.

“I have more than a minute,” Marcus said, shaking the hand Demetri offered. A native of Greece, he had a dusky Mediterranean complexion, black hair and dark eyes. It was well-known Demetri was a close friend of Hugh Preston, the family patriarch who’d built Quest from the ground up. Taking advantage of Hugh’s legendary ability to sense when a horse had the makings of a champion, Demetri had followed his mentor’s recommendations when buying a dozen Thoroughbreds over the years. Currently those horses were stabled at Quest, but unaffected by the North American and international racing ban on horses majority owned by the stables.

“Is Elizabeth here?” Marcus asked.

“Unfortunately, no. Her concert tour’s in London right now. She called earlier with news that the rest of her European tour is sold out.”

“Impressive,” Marcus said. And because he and Demetri had spent time working with the horses Demetri kept stabled at Quest, he asked, “Do you have questions about your horses?”

“Always, but they can wait. Right now, I want to talk about you.”

“Me?”

“I know today was your last working day at Quest. Do you have another job lined up?”

“Not yet. I plan to start looking in earnest after the holidays.”

“This may be my lucky day.” Demetri beamed the smile that had shown up on the covers of international racing magazines, as well as People and GQ. “Yours, too.”

“How so?”

“Have you ever wanted to own part of a Kentucky horse-racing stable?”

Marcus raised a brow. “The thought has crossed my mind.” Then had been quickly rejected, and not just because of the heart-stopping amount of money that would be involved. Owning a stable meant putting down roots, something he had never had a desire to do. Keeping loose, free and unfettered had always been more to his liking.

He thought again about the heavy regret that had hounded him over the past month. The idea of moving to another job simply didn’t carry the same feeling of rightness it always had in the past.

He made a quick survey of the wedding guests, sought out Melanie. She was dancing with the groom now. Shane was her cousin, yet seeing her in the arms of another man made Marcus’s jaw go tight. Lord, he had it bad.

“Hugh knows about this deal and he’s given me the use of his study upstairs,” Demetri said, pulling Marcus’s attention back. “If you’re interested, you and I can talk business there in private.”

“I won’t know if I’m interested until I hear what you have to say. But I’m curious.”

Minutes later, Marcus and Demetri stepped into the study, a warm, vibrant room with thick rugs and polished brasses. Dark walnut paneled one wall; floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the other three. The windows were tall and narrow, diamonds of leaded glass that looked out on the dark December night.

“As of today, Elizabeth and I own Rimmer Stables,” Demetri said, handing Marcus a crystal tumbler of scotch. He settled into the red leather chair beside Marcus’s, both grouped in front of the enormous gray stone fireplace. “Rimmer’s one hour from here. Are you familiar with it?”

“Not with the stables, but their horses. They’ve had some champions in the past.” Pulling details from his memory, Marcus stared into the flames dancing in the fireplace. “The distant past,” he clarified. “I understand the original owner, Jack Rimmer, died a couple of years ago. Apparently his son doesn’t have the experience or know-how to keep the stables a success.”

“Which is why Rimmer’s widow put the place on the market. I’ve got the same problem she does. Elizabeth and I own the stables now, but neither of us have the expertise or the time to operate them. That’s where you come in. We need a partner, Marcus. One who knows horses inside and out, and has what it takes to run a successful business. I’m not talking just about horses but the facility itself. Rimmer junior has kept up with the maintenance on the stables and other structures, but not on the main house. Seeing to that is high on my list.”

“And not cheap.”

Demetri grinned. “Luckily, winning Formula Gold races has made my financial standing very comfortable. Not to mention the purses my Thoroughbreds have brought in. And Elizabeth’s latest album debuted at number one on the charts. Money isn’t an issue.”

“That will definitely ease the way.” Marcus angled his chin. “Speaking of your Thoroughbreds, I take it you’ll be moving them from Quest to Rimmer?”

“Which I plan to rename Lucas Racing,” Demetri said. “And, yes, I’ll have my horses transported there.” Demetri sipped his scotch. “You’re probably thinking that pulling my Thoroughbreds from Quest when it’s in financial trouble is a slap in the face to Hugh and all the other Prestons. And not a particularly wise move, considering that I’m engaged to a Preston cousin.”

“I don’t have a clue how family politics work, so I’ll leave that up to you,” Marcus said.

Thanks to a father who’d rejected his pregnant mistress and their son, Marcus had no idea whether Demetri was stubbing his toe when it came to dealing with future relatives. But Marcus did know the Thoroughbred racing business.

“You’ve held back moving your horses longer than other owners. Some took their stock out the day after the U.S. ban went into effect. I imagine the Prestons appreciate the loyalty you’ve shown. And starting up your own stable more than justifies the move.”

“After I get my horses relocated to Lucas Racing, I plan to purchase more. The Prestons own a number of Thoroughbreds. If selling some to me will help their cash flow problems, everybody gains.” Demetri sipped his scotch. “You know every horse stabled here. I’d like you to think about which ones would be a good addition to my new venture.”

“All right,” Marcus said. It wouldn’t take any thought on his part, though, to choose the number one horse on the list. Robbie Preston had first clued Marcus in on the fact that Something To Talk About was special. Robbie had been right. The colt Melanie had raced to a magnificent win in Dubai’s Sandstone Derby before the international ban took effect was in the star-making class. He wouldn’t just break records, he would smash them to bits. But only if he could race.

Marcus frowned when he thought about the special affinity Melanie had for the colt. He was aware that she visited its stall every evening. Several times, he’d stood unobserved in a shadowy corner, listening to her coo to the gray horse with white stockings while treating him to a slice of pear.

It was clear she loved the colt. Marcus didn’t have to wonder what her reaction would be if her family agreed to sell the horse.

“I’ve got some terms in mind for our proposed partnership,” Demetri said. “Most are negotiable.”

“I’m listening.” Sipping his scotch, Marcus settled back in his leather chair.

“What do you say?” Demetri asked, after outlining the terms. “Are you interested?”

“So far,” Marcus said. The offer sounded almost too good to be true, and he wanted time to think about it. Look at it from all angles. “One thing, if I sign on, I want total authority over the stable staff. If I decide to hire someone, or an employee needs firing, I don’t want to have to come to you for permission before I can act.”

“Agreed.”

“I’ll go tomorrow and take a look at your new stables.” Marcus rose, offered Demetri his hand. “I’ll get back to you soon with an answer.”

SHE MISSED MARCUS.

Melanie frowned at the knowledge while she groomed Something To Talk About. They’d had a good exercise this sunny December morning, flying out across the fields, streaking over the rises through the cold whip of wind while the air roared with the thunder of hooves.

During the whole of it, Marcus Vasquez had clung to her thoughts like a troublesome burr.

It had been nearly a week since she’d last seen him at Shane and Audrey’s wedding reception. Almost that long since she’d heard Marcus had gone into partnership with Demetri Lucas and her cousin.

“Demetri is engaged to my cousin, Elizabeth,” Melanie informed the colt as she ran her hands up his legs to feel for heat in strained tendons. “You met her—the country-and-western singer I introduced you to a month or so ago? She thought you were the most handsome thing on four legs she’d ever seen.”

As though he understood, Something To Talk About nickered.

Melanie glanced up. “You’re right, Elizabeth’s gorgeous. And, man, can she sing—she’s got a boatload of Grammy awards to prove it, too. Anyway, she’s in Europe right now on a concert tour. Which means she’s not around to give me the inside scoop about what’s going on at the new stables.”

Specifically, what was going on with Marcus Vasquez, Melanie added mentally.

Frustrated over her seeming inability to get her mind off the man for more than five minutes, she lifted the colt’s foreleg to check the hoof.

It was maddening to find herself thinking about Marcus so often. He was gone from Quest—she had wanted him gone because he was nothing but total, sexy-as-hell temptation. Even so, she missed him.

It was that damn kiss. She couldn’t stop her mind from doing slo-mo replays of it. And with each replay her nipples popped to attention and the spot deep between her thighs went all tight and achy.

Which was the last thing she needed. Wanted.

She’d learned her lesson about trusting a man who had a lot in common with an iceberg: far more lurking underneath than showed on the surface. With every intuitive fiber of her being, she knew that Marcus was the iceberg king.

She should have never let him kiss her. Never let herself kiss him back.

“Why am I even thinking about that man when I have a big guy like you right here?” she asked, nuzzling the colt’s neck.

Something To Talk About blew out a soft breath. Pure pleasure.

Smiling, Melanie met his big brown eyes. “I love you, too,” she murmured while retrieving one of the brushes from her grooming kit. “When the ban’s lifted and we can race again, you and I are going to kick some serious butt. Show everyone you’ve got what it takes to be a champ. You’ll have cute mares falling all over you after that.”

The horse snorted and flicked his ears.

Melanie heard the dull thud of boots coming along the concrete floor. She looked across her shoulder in time to see Joe Newcomb, one of Quest’s longtime grooms, step up to the stall door. He was a burly man, running to fat, growing bald.

Looks were deceiving. Melanie’s grandfather had told her that, in his day, Joe had been the toughest man ever to put his foot in a racing stirrup. “Morning, Joe.”

“Morning. Your brothers asked me to tell you they need to talk to you.”

“Which brothers?”

“Andrew and Robbie. They’re waiting in the office off the tack room.” Joe dipped his head toward the colt. “You want me to, I’ll finish up grooming him.”

“Thanks, Joe.” Melanie handed him the brush and headed out of the stall.

She hoped whatever it was her brothers wanted to talk to her about would get her mind off Marcus.

“YOU’VE DONE WHAT?” Melanie asked minutes later. She stood at the edge of the desk in the small, cluttered general-use office, her heart in her throat.

“I’ve sold an interest in Something To Talk About,” Andrew Preston said again from the chair behind the desk. With one hand, he stroked Seamus’s head while the Irish wolfhound gazed up at him adoringly, tongue lolling out of one side of his mouth, tail wagging hard enough to achieve liftoff.

Melanie had always thought her oldest brother was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. She still did. But he was Quest’s business manager, and over the past months, stress from the scandal had etched deep lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

She knew Quest’s financial status was bleak. Understood the logic behind the sale. That didn’t stop her heart from breaking at the thought of losing the colt she loved so fiercely.

“Something To Talk About can’t race, not as long as we own a majority interest in him.” The comment came from her younger brother, Robbie. Tall and lean, he stood with one shoulder propped against a wall, his arms folded over his chest. His dark blue eyes held the same grimness as Andrew’s.

“If he isn’t allowed to start proving himself in upcoming races, it’ll waste his entire two-year-old year,” Robbie continued. “You know that as well as I do, Mel. You and I spent the past months training him to get him on a racetrack, not keep him off.”

“I know.” She understood that Robbie, as the new head trainer, had to shift his focus to the overall needs of Quest rather than the single colt he’d trained. Still, it seemed her chest would explode from the sheer force of the emotion churning there. “Who bought the majority interest in Something To Talk About?”

“Lucas Racing,” Andrew replied. “That’s the name of the company Demetri, Elizabeth and Marcus have formed. And the name they’ve given the facility they bought recently. The place used to be Rimmer Stables.”

“Marcus is an excellent trainer, Mel,” Robbie added. “He’ll do right by the colt.”

She nodded slowly. Of course, Marcus would have recognized the colt’s potential. Buying an interest in Something To Talk About was a wise move to get the new company off the ground.

“When do they plan to pick him up?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“This afternoon.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO DO just fine at your new home,” Melanie told the colt. She’d waited to come back to Something To Talk About’s stall until her emotions had settled. Horses were smart, they could sense when someone was upset. She didn’t want to disturb the colt’s emotional balance.

You shouldn’t be upset, Melanie lectured herself. Over her lifetime, she’d felt a fondness for dozens of horses that had been stabled at Quest, then moved on for one reason or another. That was the nature of the horse-racing business, and she accepted it.

Just as she should be able to accept losing Something To Talk About to another stable.

With trembling hands, she used a knife to slice a pear in half. “You already know Marcus.” She held out one of the halves, which the colt nipped from her open palm. “Even though he didn’t train you from the beginning like Robbie did, Marcus’ll take good care of you. Make you into a champion. And won’t it be a kick in the pants if someday I wind up riding another horse in the same race with you?”

She laid the knife aside, then pressed her cheek to the colt’s. “God, I’m going to miss you.”

Her shoulders instinctively stiffened at the same instant the horse shifted.

“I expect he’ll miss you, too,” Marcus said.

It didn’t surprise her that she hadn’t heard him approach the stall. Nor did it surprise her that despite not hearing him, she’d sensed he was there. The air around her changed, she thought, whenever Marcus was nearby.

She took a steadying breath and forced herself to turn.

He stood in the stall’s open door, looking all tough and rangy and fit in a sweater as black as his eyes, and faded jeans with bleach stains splattered over one thigh. Just seeing him again had something in her leaping to attention.

What is it about this man? I take one look at his face, inhale a whiff of his scent, and I’m aching to tear off his clothes. And mine, as well.

Not good, she thought. After all, he hadn’t come to Quest to see her. He’d come to conduct business. So, she would accommodate him.

“You know horses, understand them, that’s a given,” she said. “But does Demetri?”

Marcus studied her a long moment. “A lot of owners don’t know horses. What are you getting at?”

“Demetri races cars. Or he did before he retired. I hope he understands that horses aren’t like race cars. You can’t just park them in a new place and expect them not to notice. Not to get upset.”

“I’ll be sure and tell him,” Marcus said, his eyes lingering on her.

She wore her blond hair anchored back with clips. Her jeans were snug and faded to a soft blue-gray that matched her down vest. Under that she wore a sweater the color of pale, creamy caramel. Her boots appeared old, scuffed and serviceable. Despite her work clothes, she wore earrings with bright stones that glittered beneath the stable’s lights.

Seeing the sparkle of the stones had Marcus wondering if she’d also taken time that morning to dab on Chanel. Nearly a week had passed since they’d kissed, and the memory of her scent still kept him awake at night. He wasn’t sure he would ever get it out of his system.

Wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Which told him right there he should stay away from her. He’d grown up watching just how miserable love could make a person, and he wanted no part of it. He could have easily sent one of his grooms with a trailer to transport the colt. Instead, he’d come himself. Solely because he wanted to see her. And find out for himself if she was as upset about losing the horse as he suspected she’d be.

And maybe, just maybe, toss out the offer he’d been considering. The offer he kept telling himself was all sorts of crazy.

“Will you race him soon?” she asked, while holding out her palm to offer the horse a slice of pear.

“If I decide he’s ready.” While Something To Talk About munched on the pear, Marcus gave him an appraising look. The colt was strongly built and had already demonstrated in Dubai that he had the hunger and ability to win. “Florida’s Gulf Classic race is on New Year’s Day.”

“That’s less than a month away.”

“True.”

“You know full well that changing facilities and trainers and jockeys all at the same time could affect Something To Talk About’s desire to win.”

Marcus lifted a brow. “Did he tell you that when you were talking to him?”

“He tells me lots of things,” Melanie countered, her chin inching up. “One being that you need to give him time to get used to his new home and new people before you expect him to race.”

“He’ll settle in just fine at Lucas Racing. I’ve got a nice stall lined with fresh hay waiting for him.”

Marcus watched Melanie’s blue eyes narrow when he stepped through the open door. “As for trainers, Something To Talk About already knows me.”

He moved farther into the stall. When he paused beside Melanie, he caught the faintest echo of her scent. Instantly, heat coiled in his gut.

Marcus set his jaw. He could feel himself falling into something with her that he couldn’t handle, didn’t want. But hell if he could stop thinking about her. Or stay away from her.

The offer he’d been considering might be crazy, but he didn’t care. Not when he still had her taste in his system. And wanted more.

He ran his palms over the colt’s head and throat, skimming, stroking, checking. “He won’t have to get used to a new jockey if you come to work for me.”

He had the satisfaction of seeing sheer astonishment in Melanie’s face. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

She shook her head. “That’s impossible. I can’t leave Quest.”

“If times were normal, I wouldn’t expect you to. But the instant questions arose about the lineage of Leopold’s Legacy, things started going downhill. I worked here, Melanie. I know how bad things are.”

The instant before she tore her gaze from his, he caught the gleam of tears in her eyes. He had to hold himself back from reaching for her.

“You’re a damn fine jockey. But right now with the ban in place, you can’t race any horses majority owned by Quest. Come to work for me, and I’ll have you back on a racetrack as soon as possible.”

“I can’t walk out on my family.” When she looked back at him, he saw she had fought back the tears. But he could hear the emotion in her voice.

“Walking out isn’t what you’ll be doing,” Marcus countered. He moved around the horse, running his hands down its flank. “Think about it this way. Your family still owns forty-nine percent of this guy. Any races you ride him in and win money, they get a portion of the purse. Seems to me that’s an important way for you to help your family.”

Marcus met her gaze over the horse’s broad back. He could see she was wavering, but still wasn’t convinced. “You said it yourself, Something To Talk About will do better if he’s around people he knows. You sign on at Lucas, he’ll have me and you. Otherwise, you’ll still be here, and he’ll be there. That happens, there’ll be some other jockey riding him. I doubt that’s going to sit well with you.”

Watching Melanie, Marcus saw clearly how loyalty to her family tugged at her. Family loyalty was something he knew little about. Instead, he knew how it felt to be cheated out of something because of blood kin. He was illegitimate, and his own father had refused to acknowledge he even existed. The almost-obsessive love his mother felt for her married lover had stolen any hope she might create a happy, fulfilling life with another man.

“Don’t talk yourself out of this opportunity, Melanie. Your grandfather, your parents, your brothers—none of them would thank you for turning it down on their account.”

She remained silent while skimming her hand along the colt’s jaw. After a moment she said, “I need time to think this over.”

“Understandable. Just to let you know, housing is a part of the package.”

“Housing?”

“It’s an hour’s drive from here to Lucas. I doubt you’d want to commute every day.” He lifted a shoulder. “For now, you’ll have a staff apartment. There’s a lot of remodeling going on in the main house, but once it’s done you may have the option to move in there if you want. Demetri is engaged to your cousin, after all.”

“I can’t even begin to make a decision until I take a look at your facility.”

“You can drive over with me now. I’ll bring you back tonight.”

She shook her head. “No, I’ll come on my own in the morning.”

“All right. This offer is a win-win situation for everyone.” And, because he couldn’t help himself, he placed his hand over hers. In an instant, electricity coursed from her fingers straight to his gut. Her hand twitched, as if she felt it, but she didn’t jerk away.

She simply kept her eyes locked with his. “I need to think about a lot of things.” She slid her hand from beneath his. “I’ll go get Joe Newcomb. He’ll load Something To Talk About in your trailer.”

“All right.”

Marcus blew out a breath as she strode off—slim legs in tight jeans and scuffed boots. He knew full well he was playing with fire. Probably destined to get singed in the process. But he didn’t care.

All he cared about was having her near.

Chapter Three

After dinner, Melanie sought out her brother Brent. As was his habit most nights, he had settled at the massive desk in the second-floor study. There, he spent hours compiling information and reviewing the spreadsheets he’d created while a fire blazed in the gray stone fireplace.

As Quest’s head breeder, it had been Brent who’d first learned that the routine recheck of Leopold’s Legacy’s DNA revealed that the Derby and Preakness winner had not been sired by Apollo’s Ice, the stallion of record. Since then, Brent had spent uncountable hours trying to find out how such a disastrous mistake could have been made. And at the same time attempting to unearth the name of the horse that had actually impregnated Leopold’s Legacy’s dam, Courtin’ Cristy.

Making Brent’s job tougher was the need to balance work with raising twin eight-year-old daughters. Cancer had killed their mother three years ago, and Melanie still questioned whether her brother would recover from the loss of the wife he considered his soul mate.

“Do you think we’ll ever find out the truth about Apollo’s Ice?” Nudging a stack of file folders aside, she slid a hip onto one edge of the paper-strewn desk.

Brent leaned back in his chair. A good-looking man, he was more rugged than refined and wore his dark hair a little longer than Robbie and Andrew. But he had the same blue eyes. And identical grim expression.

“Up until two months ago, I would have said yes,” Brent replied. “This wouldn’t have been the first time a mistake had been made at a stud farm. Most of the stallions and mares are trucked there, so the stable workers aren’t familiar enough with the horses to recognize them by sight. There are usually so many mares in heat at the same time that it’s always possible one could wind up being bred to the wrong stallion. Or a mare could get covered by the right stallion, but the paperwork on that covering shows a different stallion’s or mare’s name altogether.”

Melanie nodded. She knew that at a stud farm, all horses were required to wear head collars with their names on them. Even so, it was up to the workers to check those names against breeding lists. As in any workplace, not all employees were as conscientious as others.

Brent curled his hands into fists. “My thinking changed two months ago when Dubai happened.”

His tone had gone as hard as tempered steel. Harrison Rochester, an English baron, had also owned a horse believed to have been sired by Apollo’s Ice. Rochester’s horse had died suddenly at his stable facility in Dubai. Tests conducted on the horse’s blood revealed that it had been poisoned. Equally shocking was the revelation that its sire was not Apollo’s Ice, but the same mystery stallion that had fathered Leopold’s Legacy.

“Anything new on the Thoroughbred Registry’s computer tech who suddenly quit?” she asked, then furrowed her brow. “I don’t remember his name.”

“Ross Ingliss, and I still haven’t been able to track him down. All I know for sure is he entered the corrupted data about Leopold’s Legacy’s DNA into the registry’s computer system. And that his financials show he’s got a lot more money than his salary brought in.”

Too antsy to sit still, Melanie pushed off the edge of the desk and wandered to one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

The scent of the fire mixed with the aged sweet aroma of leather-bound books sent her back in time. As a little girl, she had loved dashing into this room to sit on her grandfather’s lap at the big desk. He would spend hours regaling her with stories about horses and the daring men who rode them. Listening to him, Melanie had fallen in love with the sport of racing and set her heart on becoming a jockey. She had never been prouder than the day she first wore Quest’s colors.

Now, it seemed that everything around her was slipping away. Only to herself would she admit that her heart ached with the possibility that she might never again ride for Quest Stables.

She took in Brent’s bent head and the tight line of his shoulders while a sick dread rose inside her. If he couldn’t find Leopold’s Legacy’s true sire, or if he did and that sire was not a registered Thoroughbred, the winner of two Triple Crown races would no longer be considered a Thoroughbred. Her parents would then be forced to forfeit the millions the stallion had won racing. And they would have no way to recoup that loss because his stud value would be zero.

Marcus was right, she thought. Her staying at Quest would be the equivalent of doing nothing to try to plug a ship that had sprung a huge leak. If she went to work at Lucas Racing, she could put everything she had into riding Something To Talk About to wins. Wins that would put money into Quest’s anemic bank accounts.

Doing so would be a comforting solution, if she hadn’t spent so much time engaging in wanton fantasies about the man poised to become her new boss.

Maybe if she hadn’t purposely stayed celibate for the past two years, Marcus’s kiss wouldn’t have hit her like a kick from a ticked off half-ton horse. As it was, the instant he’d touched her, desires, too long untapped, had risen to the surface, drawing her into a world of steamy, potent passion. Melanie knew she could easily get lost in that world. Too fast. Too easily.

She couldn’t let that happen. Refused to get involved again with a man about whom she knew so little, and who didn’t seem to be willing to open up to her.

“You want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

She turned, discovered Brent watching her with unwavering curiosity. “A few things.”

Moving back to the desk, she leaned a hip against it. “Christmas being one. Katie and Rhea came down to the stables yesterday after school. The entire time the twins filled feed bins they chattered about the gift lists they gave you two weeks ago. Apparently they’re expecting Santa—meaning you—to bring them everything on those lists.”

When Brent puffed out a breath, Melanie sent him her best withering look. “You haven’t even thought about shopping yet, have you?”

“I’ve been busy.” He waved a hand toward the computer’s monitor. “Things on my mind. I’ll get to the shopping.”

“Yeah, right.” It was well-known around Quest that all three Preston brothers would rather have teeth pulled without the benefit of anesthetic than venture into a mall.

Melanie held out her hand. “Give me their lists. I’ve got Christmas shopping of my own to finish. I’ll do yours while I’m at it.”

Looking like a man who’d just received a reprieve from death row, Brent dug into one of the desk’s drawers, pulled out the lists and handed them to her. “You’re a lifesaver, sis. I owe you.”

“Big-time. And I already know how you can repay me.”

Brent’s eyes turned wary. “How?”

“E-mail me all the information you’ve compiled since Legacy’s DNA discrepancy first came up.”

“Why? You think I’ve missed something?”

“No. It’s just that up to now, all we’ve done is talk about things as they’ve come up. I’d like to read the reports you’ve made on all the interviews you conducted. Get a better idea of the big picture.”

Brent lifted a shoulder. “Couldn’t hurt to have another set of eyes look over everything.”

“That’s the idea.” When she started to turn away, her brother snagged her arm.

“You doing okay with Something To Talk About being gone? I know he’s special to you.”

“I miss him.” Just saying the words put a lump in Melanie’s throat. She put her hand over Brent’s and squeezed. “Right before I came up here, I found myself in the kitchen choosing a pear for him, like I’ve done every night for months. I had to remind myself that Something To Talk About wasn’t out in his box, waiting for me.”

“I’m sorry, Melanie. The silver lining to all this is that you know he’s in good hands with Marcus.”

“True.” Just the mention of Marcus’s name had her feeling a prick of disloyalty. “He’s offered me a job.”

Brent’s eyes widened. “Marcus?”

“Yes. I don’t want to leave Quest, but…”

“You’re a jockey, who right now can’t race.”

Melanie nodded. “I can’t believe I’m even considering going to work at Lucas Racing.”

“When will you make a decision?”

“Tomorrow. I’m going there to take a look at the place.” She dipped her head. “For now, this is between you and me. If I decide to take the job, I’ll get the entire family together and tell everyone at the same time.”

“Damn.” Brent leaned back in his chair. The strain he felt from months of digging to get at the truth showed clearly in the dark circles under his eyes. “If you decide working there is the best thing for you to do right now, then that’s what you should do.”

“Problem is, I don’t know if it will be the best thing for our family.”

Brent shook his head. “Us Prestons are a tough lot, just ask Grandpa. We’ll get through this, no matter what. And, in my opinion, you can’t go wrong working for a trainer like Marcus. He’s a natural-born horseman. The animals respond to him in that indefinable way they do to someone they feel comfortable with. Marcus’ll produce champions, and you’ll be there to ride them.”

“Sounds like we’ll make a great team,” Melanie murmured. It was beyond ironic that the sum total she knew about the man who’d kissed her senseless was how he handled and treated horses. And here she was, seriously considering uprooting herself from her family’s stables and going to work for him.

How, she wondered, could a job offer seem both tempting and threatening at the same time?

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Melanie steered her vintage turquoise Thunderbird convertible over rolling hills caught in the gray haze of winter. In the distance, horses grazed, manes ruffling in the cool December breeze.

Her hands tightened on the wheel when she spotted the two stone posts Marcus had noted in the directions he e-mailed her. Squaring her shoulders, she turned and drove up the gravel lane.

When she saw the house, she braked the car to give herself time to study the structure.

In the summer the house would be shielded by the tall, massive maples that now sported only winter-bare branches. Through gnarly limbs she could see the white columns rising up from a wide covered porch and the fluid curves of the two-story redbrick house. She remembered Marcus saying that the former owners had neglected to maintain the main house. The new owners’ intent to bring it back to pristine condition was evidenced by the half-dozen vans and pickups sporting names of contractors and other service companies parked along the length of the porch. Still, from where Melanie sat in her idling T-Bird, the house looked almost regal.

Knowing her cousin Elizabeth’s penchant for flowers, she found it easy to picture how the landscape would look in the late spring, exploding with color.

But it was months until spring. Right now, the grounds of Lucas Racing looked as bleak as Melanie felt. Never in her life would she have imagined herself leaving her family’s home and business to work for a competing stable. The fact that she was well on the way to doing exactly that had her stomach rolling while she drove the rest of the way up the drive.

She parked the T-Bird away from the clutter of trucks and vans. Sliding out, she pulled on her pale green lambskin jacket to ward off the brisk morning wind. Though her intention had been to call Marcus’s cell when she arrived, she found herself setting off on her own, taking the crushed stone path that led around the side of the house.

Several outbuildings came into view. Then sheds and a barn. Farther out, where the earth curved up, she could see horses grazing and the faint glimmer of sun striking water. A few more steps and she reached the back of the house where a brick patio spilled out of tall French doors.

Off to one side sat a two-story building of the same redbrick as the house. The first story consisted of a long garage with four parking bays, their white doors closed. Glistening second-floor windows overlooked a balcony spanning the building’s entire length, with metal stairs at each end.

Melanie continued along the path until she spotted two large white buildings with ventilation turrets along the roofs. Stables, she knew. Nearby was an oval track where horses and their handlers had gathered for morning exercises. Split-rail fences and paddocks checkerboarded the area and the scent of hay and horses drifted through the cool air.

Closer now to the oval track, Melanie spotted Something To Talk About, easily distinguishable by his gray coat and white stockings. Even though she’d only been away from the colt for a short time, she allowed herself a tiny spark of pure envy at seeing one of the exercise boys riding him.

Next, she turned her attention to the men standing along the fence that ringed the track. As if she were a heat-seeking missile and he her target, her gaze zeroed in on Marcus. Clad in jeans, a blue work shirt and thick denim jacket, he stood with one booted foot propped on the fence’s bottom rung, his black hair glinting beneath the strengthening sun. She took in his clear-cut profile, the hard geometry of his jaw, the no-nonsense curve of his mouth.

That mouth, she thought. She knew the feel of it. The taste.

An ache settled deep inside her.

She curled her fingers into her palms. If she was going to work here, work for him, she had to get a grip. Lusting after the boss was not allowed.

As she made her way to the fence, five horses were loaded into a portable gate that had been positioned on the racetrack. When the last of the back gates was shut, Marcus pulled out a stopwatch. His finger flicked a switch the instant the gates sprang open.

The horses flew out.

Gripping the fence, Melanie stood transfixed, tracking the horses while they took the first turn. Nothing on earth gave her heart more of a knock than watching that first rush of speed as the blur of powerful bodies surged forward in unison.

Her throat closed, burned with a desperate need to be a part of that again. To sit astride Something To Talk About while he raced like the wind against other horses.

It was then she knew for sure she would leave Quest and work here.

Her gaze slid back to Marcus. He didn’t need to know yet that she’d made her decision. She had got little sleep last night, thanks to him. But she hadn’t let those hours go to waste. Instead, she’d booted up her laptop and created a strategy.

Now, she was ready to negotiate terms. And determined not to agree to work at Lucas Racing until Marcus agreed to them.

ALTHOUGH HE KEPT his attention on the track, Marcus knew the instant Melanie approached. It was as if he could scent the woman from a mile away. Deliberately, he kept his eyes focused on the horses streaking around the oval while he slammed the door on thoughts of her.

Even so, he knew it was more than just the thundering hoofbeats that had his blood drumming.

He watched the horses speed along the track, felt the earth vibrate beneath his feet as they headed down the backstretch. When they neared the finish line, Something To Talk About held the lead by three lengths.

And kept it.

“Damn good time,” Marcus said after checking his stopwatch. He studied the riders rising high in their stirrups while slowing their mounts. “You get that time down, Billy?” he asked after a moment.

“Yes, sir.” The head groom, a stooped, white-haired man, rechecked his own stopwatch while making notes on the clipboard he held propped on the top rail of the fence. “That colt has the thirst to race, all right. He’s a fine addition to your stables, Mr. Vasquez.”

Your stables, Marcus thought. For a man who’d left home as soon as he’d been able, moving from stable to stable, track to track, it was going to take time to get used to hearing those words. And to accept that, by putting down stakes, he had lost a measure of the freedom he once thought he would never willingly surrender.

But he had given it up, and he intended to make a success of the venture he and Demetri had embarked on. Starting with the help of Something To Talk About.

“You’re right, Billy,” Marcus agreed. “That colt will be Lucas Racing’s first star.”

If Melanie hadn’t been there, Marcus would have vaulted the fence and gone to the horses to stroke them while giving the riders a comment or two on their performance. But she was there, and he’d spent a sleepless night wondering if she would take him up on his job offer. He wasn’t going to keep her waiting.

While the exercise boys led the horses away to cool down, Marcus turned to her. “Something To Talk About doesn’t appear to have suffered from his move here.”

“He’s a champion,” she said, a mix of pride and pleasure in her voice. “He knows it.” She paused for a moment, and Marcus caught the quick shadow that flicked in her blue eyes. “He’ll win, no matter who’s riding him.”

“The champion part I agree with,” Marcus said, studying her.

She’d clipped back her short blond hair in a way that should look messy but instead made him suspect he was getting a glimpse of how intriguingly rumpled it would be after a bout of hot sex. Beneath her pale green lambskin jacket she wore jeans and an ivory turtleneck sweater that looked incredibly soft.

Just like her skin. That was something he had personal knowledge of. A woman with skin like that could tempt a man until she drew him in, heart and soul.

He fisted a hand against the top rail of the fence. He would do well to remember he’d grown up watching the misery that resulted when one person was drawn to another with a strength of emotion that bordered on obsession. It was a type of fixation that stripped one’s soul over time, taking away instead of giving until there was nothing left but an empty shell.

Instinct told him if he ever let loose the part of him that was never allowed out of control, he could fall that deeply, that dangerously for Melanie Preston.

So, even though there was something about her that reached out to him as a man, and begged him to conquer her as a woman, he would not allow himself to act on that desire. He would adhere to his rule of keeping his hands off coworkers.

And the sooner he convinced her to take the job at Lucas Racing, the better. “Your statement that Something To Talk About will win no matter who’s riding him is debatable,” he commented.

“He came in ahead of the other four horses a few minutes ago,” she pointed out.

“True. But no matter how hard his rider tried to get him to stay down the middle, the colt veered toward the outside.” Marcus sent her a knowing look. “Which is something I’m sure you noticed, too. By doing that, Something To Talk About had to cover yards of ground the other horses bypassed. And he ignored it when his rider tapped his flank with the crop, trying to get him to move inward.”

Melanie pursed her lips. “Your new horse is an independent thinker, Mr. Vasquez.”

“He’s only partly my horse, Miss Preston. And he doesn’t think independently when you’re on his back. I’ve seen you ride him in person and I’ve studied videos of you on him during workouts and races. He pays attention to your signals and acts on them. When you’re in the saddle, it’s all fluid, flawless teamwork.”

Her focus shifted to the far end of the track where the colt was being led to the stables. “He and I have this communication thing going. He listens to me, I listen to him.”

“Keep it up because whatever you say to each other works.” Marcus slid his stopwatch into the pocket of his denim jacket. “Do you want to tour the stables and other buildings first? Or would you rather see the quarters you’ll have if you take the job?”

“The stables.” She patted her right hand against her jacket pocket. “I brought a pear for Something To Talk About.”

“Then let’s go give it to him.”

BY THE TIME MARCUS had shown her through the stables, the barn and the offices, the sun had warmed the air enough that Melanie had shed her heavy jacket and carried it draped over one arm.

“From what I’ve seen, you have the makings of a first-class facility,” she said while they headed up the crushed stone path toward the big house.

“It will be. After Demetri’s renovations are finished on the main house, the place will be top-notch. Unfortunately, that’s going to take a while.”

“Speaking of Demetri, where is he?”

“Rome. Elizabeth’s doing a couple of concerts in Italy. Apparently he can’t go for more than a few days without seeing your cousin.”

“True love,” Melanie said and smiled. “I got an e-mail from her saying they’re trying to schedule a wedding date for next year between her tours.” While they continued up the path, Melanie swept a hand toward a mass of flower beds. “By then, Elizabeth will have had all these beds planted. It’ll be gorgeous around here when everything blooms.”

Marcus paused at the edge of the brick patio and turned to face her. “Will you be here with me to see all those flowers?”

Melanie felt a flutter in her stomach. She knew exactly how she would like to be with him. Down, girl, she told herself.

“That depends,” she said evenly.

“On?”

“Three things.”

“I’m listening.”

“When we went through the stables, you outlined a few renovations you and Demetri plan to make. I’d like you to agree to three more.”

She saw caution kick into his dark eyes. “What sort of renovations?”

“As you know, I’ve been studying new stable management theories. One being how important it is to pay attention to the flow of energy.”

Marcus’s brow furrowed. “How exactly do you do that?”

“By placing doors and windows in the right orientation.”

“That’s the only theory you’ve been studying?” he asked neutrally.

“No, color,” she said. “Horses don’t see color the way we do, but they can differentiate various hues. Everything in your stable is painted a dingy gray. It’s depressing, to people and horses. Also, there’s no music.”

Marcus stared at her for so long that Melanie felt the urge to squirm. Then he gripped her elbow and nudged her along the path that led to the two-story brick building she’d noticed earlier

“There are two apartments on the upper level,” he explained. “If you take the job, the one on the south will be yours.”

“Who lives in the other one?”

“I do.”

Side by side, they headed up one of the building’s gleaming white staircases. Melanie didn’t ask if he intended to agree to the changes she’d suggested for the stables. Patience, she told herself as they stepped onto the wooden balcony that spanned the building’s front. She would find out soon enough.

Marcus slid a key into the lock of the nearest door, swung it open. “I realize this is much smaller than you’re used to, but it’s nice.”

She stepped past him into a bright, cozy room with pale yellow walls and a shining oak floor. A tan leather sofa and matching chair sat in front of a small brick fireplace. Melanie could see rambling hills through the wide sheer-draped windows.

New, top-of-the-line appliances sparkled in the kitchen. A tub with jets took up one corner of the tidy bathroom. The walls of the bedroom were painted a pale blue; sheer white curtains hung at the two windows. The soft blue and white were repeated in the bedspread, and a round rug spread a pool of color on the wooden floor. A framed mirror hung over the whitewashed pine dresser.

Marcus had remained in the bedroom’s doorway, one shoulder propped against the jamb. She met his gaze in the mirror. “These quarters are more than nice.”

“Glad you think so. You said your taking the job depends on three things. You told me one. What’s another?”

“For the past five years, I’ve sponsored a summer mentor program for students. I’d like to continue it.”

Their gazes were still locked on each other’s mirrored reflection.

“I worked at Quest this past summer,” Marcus said. “I don’t recall your program.”

“I put it on hold this year.” Her chest tightened at the thought of how many things the DNA discrepancy had touched. “I was busy working with Robbie, trying to get Something To Talk About up to speed.”

“Which you did,” Marcus acknowledged. “A lot of stables use working students during the summer. In exchange for all the chores they do, they get riding lessons and room and board. Is that the type of program you’re talking about?”

“No. The kids I work with all want to be jockeys and their riding skills have to already be at a certain level. I give each student a one-on-one inside look at a jockey’s life. We work on their form, I teach them signs to watch for while they’re riding that might indicate a horse has an injury. And what to look for in a horse’s performance so they can tell the trainer what’s going on.” Melanie pursed her lips. “That would benefit you.”

In the mirror, she watched Marcus push away from the door and move toward her. With every step he took, her pulse beat faster.

“What’s the third condition on your taking the job?”

Here we go, Melanie thought. To buy time, she laid her folded jacket on top of the dresser while she tried to remember her carefully constructed reasons against their further personal involvement that she’d come up with during the sleepless night. Sleepless because of him.

She turned, and discovered he now stood only inches from her. Close enough to make her feel threatened. And tempted.

While the incredible scent of musky aftershave and potent male surrounded her, aroused her, she decided in retrospect that a bedroom probably wasn’t the prime place to have this conversation. Especially since her thought processes had suddenly detoured into wondering how it might feel to toss caution aside, shove him onto the bed and have her way with him.

Which she absolutely, positively was not going to do, she lectured herself. A reminder of the battering her heart had taken by another man who’d shared nothing about himself was all it took for Melanie to square her shoulders and dive in.

“What happened between us in your office at Quest can’t happen again.”

“The kiss, you mean?”

Had his voice actually softened, or was she just imagining that? “Yes. If we’re going to work together, we need to agree on that.”

“It won’t happen again,” he said levelly. “I keep my hands off my coworkers and employees. That’s an unbreakable rule as far as I’m concerned. Does that take care of your concerns?”

“Well.” Melanie blew out a breath. Apparently she was the only one having lust control issues. “Yes, that covers everything,” she said, hoping she sounded as casual as he did.

“Then we shouldn’t have any problem if you decide to take the job.” He raised a dark brow. “Are you going to take it, Melanie?”

He was the most compelling man she’d ever met. His black-as-midnight hair and eyes, the olive cast of his skin that made her think of the time she’d spent racing in sunbaked Spain, his chiseled mouth and strong jaw—they were an absolutely riveting combination.

Which made working with him a huge complication. One she would have to deal with in order to help her family’s precarious financial situation.

She angled her chin. “Are you going to agree to my ideas for the stables?”

“After you explain them to me in depth, I’ll consider them.”

“Fair enough. What about my mentor program?”

“You’ve got the go-ahead on it. I want to sit in when you interview each student.”

“Agreed.”

“So, what about the job?”

“I’ll take it.” Automatically she stuck out a hand.

Marcus’s gaze flicked downward, then rose slowly to meet hers. “Remember what happened the last time we shook hands?”

Thoughts of that torrid kiss shot heat straight up Melanie’s spine. Flexing her fingers, she lowered her hand to her side. And pasted on a cool smile.

“According to Spanish custom, we sealed our friendship.”

His answering smile was not much more than a faint curve of his mouth but there was an intimate, knowing quality to it that sent a frisson of excitement along every nerve ending in her body.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “So, tell me, friend, when do you want to start work?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll go home now to tell my parents and grandfather that I’m coming to work for you. Then I’ll pack my things.”

“All right.” He glanced at his watch. “I need to get back to the stables.”

“I’d like to look around here again and make some notes on how much storage space is available. I’ll lock the door behind me.”

She waited until Marcus strode out of the room, then turned to collect her jacket off the dresser.

Working with the man was not going to be a problem, she told herself. Because she wouldn’t allow it to be.

Melanie glanced into the mirror and stared at her reflection. “Liar,” she whispered.

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