Who's Cheatin' Who?. Maggie Price

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ