Who's Cheatin' Who?

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?”