Who's Cheatin' Who?. Maggie Price
Читать онлайн книгу.
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