Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (74 page)

Hell,
he
was proud of her, and he wasn’t even her grandfather; he was only… He didn’t know what he was. Displaced lover? Soon-to-be ex employer? But maybe she’d drop by the track occasionally. Better yet, dump the jockey and drop by his house.

Boone now tapped messages on his fancy phone, so Mark signaled for the bill. He had no desire to prolong this agony with dessert and coffee. It was already clear Jessica had finished eating; she and Boone could take their meeting elsewhere.

“Jessica, you’ll ride back to the hotel with me,” Boone said. “Mark, I’ll call you next week. Ian, get the car.”

Ian scurried away. Jessica rose, the expression on her face mirroring his own relief.

He dipped his head and murmured close to her ear, “Dino called with a funny story about Buddy. Come by my room when you’re finished with your grandfather, and I’ll fill you in.”

Her eyes widened with alarm. “Is Buddy okay?”

“He’s fine. I’ll tell you later.” Perfect. That would bring her to his room yet still give him time to meet his new owners, the lively ESPN group, and he’d also be able to see Dutch and catch up on news from home. Finally the evening was looking up.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“We had a deal, Gramps, and I expect you to keep it.” Jessica crossed the room and splashed more scotch in her glass. “I appreciate the ski venture, but I’m just not interested. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking though and instead of the dog business, I want to set up a Thoroughbred retirement farm.”

She lifted her head and held his stare. The retirement idea had been brewing for weeks, but this was the first time she’d acknowledged it, even to herself. Yet it made perfect sense. She loved caring for horses, and if she could place them in good homes, it would be the most rewarding work she could imagine. She could help nice horses like Buddy. Maybe if she had her own farm, she could even keep him.

Her grandfather snorted, clinking the ice in his glass. “And who would pay you to do this
charitable
thing?”

The dismissive way he spoke made her stiffen. “Well, start-up money will come from you.” He raised an eyebrow, but she forged on. “Of course, only the equivalent of what a dog place would be. And I’ll repay every cent. The rest I’ll raise from horse lovers, and anyone who admires the animals. Most of the owners I’ve met are very conscientious.”

His mouth thinned at her veiled barb, but she was running on passion now and the vision bloomed. “I have a friend who raises money simply by knowing who to call, and I’m sure Dick will be happy to share his fundraising list.” Especially true if Dick were in the hospital and she could check his files, she thought wryly.

Gramps poured himself another drink, but she waved off his offer of ice, too excited to sit. “So, what do you think?” she asked.

“I think,” he spoke through thin lips, “that next month you’ll have a different plan and what you really need is firm direction.”

“What?” Heat flamed her cheeks. “You think so little of me? Even though I lasted at the track?”

“You still have two weeks to go. And if you do manage not to be fired, I’ll finance the dog care, as agreed, but definitely not the horses. However, the most responsible decision is for you to drop this foolishness now. Join the company. Don’t be like your mother. Let me show you how to make some real money.”

He paused, studying her face, his eyebrows leveled in caterpillar lines of disapproval. “You look like a grubby street brawler with that black eye.” His phone chirped, and he checked the display. “I have to join this conference call. But trust me. In a year, you’ll be grateful for my guidance. Glad I showed a firm hand.” He picked up his briefcase and strode toward the desk.

“Good night,” she said. Anger muddled her thinking, but she still had the presence of mind to grab his bottle of Glenfiddich before stalking from the room.

***

“No more for me, Dutch.” Mark drained the last of his beer and edged away from the bar. “I’ll let Dino know his old ranch might be for sale. And I’ll have a stall ready. Let me know when you’re shipping.”

“Appreciate it,” Dutch said. “They’re not giving my little guy much of a chance, but he’s a true sprinter, and he’s won some tough races. I haven’t slept a wink since qualifying for the Breeders’ Cup. Seems like it’s changed my life, you know.”

“I know.” Mark shook his friend’s hand. “See you in a week.”

He headed back to his hotel room with thoughts of Breeders’ Cup ping-ponging in his head. Eight championship races were crammed into the main day, with purses ranging from a million to four million. Dutch’s horse was running in the Sprint, which was two races after the Juvenile. So Assets would be finished and cooled out, and Dutch would still be chewing his knuckles.

He opened his door, walked to the mini fridge and grabbed a beer. Kicked off his boots and sat back, staring at the dark television. It was incredible to think Assets was the favorite entering the race. Talk about an overachieving horse. But Dino, Carlos and his hard-working staff had done an excellent job. In fact, his entire stable clipped along at an impressive win percentage.

Even Buddy had stepped up for a win, mostly due to Jessica’s dedication. Yet when Mark had told Boone about her success with the horse, the man hadn’t seemed very interested. He was like a pit bull, so focused on dragging her onboard with Boone Investments that he dismissed her achievements—and anything else standing in the way.

Mark checked his watch, trying to control his growing disappointment. He’d hoped she would stop by after visiting with her grandfather, but it didn’t seem as though she wanted his company.

He took a thoughtful sip of beer. It had to be that new jockey from Canada; the guy was single, good looking, cocky as hell, and he’d ridden a few of Mark’s horses. She would have had plenty of time to meet him—and of course, the jock would have honed in on her like radar.

Rap, rap
.

He leaped from the chair and yanked open the door. Jessica stood there with teary eyes and a great bottle of Scotch.

“Oh, honey.” He pulled her into his arms and pushed the door shut with his foot.

“He’s just so stubborn.” Her voice muffled against his chest. “How do you stand to work for him?”

“We get along best over the phone,” he admitted, stroking her hair. He eyed the precariously tipped bottle with concern; it would be a shame to spill the scotch but holding her was far too enjoyable. She was in his arms now and after thinking she wasn’t coming, he didn’t intend to let go.

Much too soon, she swung away and waved her arm. “Well? Would you like a drink of Gramps’ finest?”

“Absolutely. Water, or just ice?” he asked as he set out two glasses.

“I don’t need a glass.” She swigged from the bottle.

“That bad, was it?” he asked wryly.

“He doesn’t hold me in very high regard.” Pain twisted her face. “Thinks the breeding on my dam’s side is rather weak.” She tried to force her usual flippant smile, but her mouth wobbled. She looked so forlorn, so uncertain, he crossed the room and pulled her back into his arms.

“Well.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I think you’re wonderful.”

“Really?” She tilted her head, her nose wrinkling. “Then why has your boyfriend-forgetting service been so spotty lately?”

“I thought I was replaced.”

She looked confused. Probably the Scotch.

“The guy you’re showering with,” he added.

“But I had to get that poor kid clean. And that’s ridiculous, Mark. He’s only about nine.” She looked so disgusted, he knew he’d been wrong. And then he understood. The boy. The fucking security guard had screwed up.

He dipped his head in her hair, hiding his relief as he sucked in her familiar smell. “How did you get the boy past the guard?” he asked, his voice husky.

“Back door and some loud singing. Maybe I did pretend he was a jockey. I can’t remember. But how did you know? Was it Terry who squealed? That weasel.”

“I pay the guards. They’d better tell me everything.” He tried to scowl but couldn’t stop his grin. “So you’re still having that same trouble? Forgetting the old boyfriend?”

“Oh,…yes. He’s constantly on my mind.”

“Poor baby. That must be so hard.” His hand shifted an inch, and he thumbed the bottom of her breast.

“It’s terrible. He was so nice.” She gave a dramatic sniff.

“Did he touch you like this?” He traced her nipple beneath the thin fabric of her dress. It pebbled beneath his finger, and the sharp intake of her breath sent blood rushing to his groin. “Or maybe more like this?” He slipped her dress down and cradled her breast, watching her eyes as they darkened. Her bra was black and frilly; the lace contrasted with her light skin, and he couldn’t look away. He hooked his finger around the top, inching it down until her breasts spilled out.

The bottle was still clutched in her hand. He pried it from her fingers and trickled the liquid over the swell of her breasts. Then dipped his head, running his tongue over her warm skin spiced with Scotch. He wanted to linger, take his time, taste every inch of her, but just the sight of those enticing curves created a pulsing need.

He slipped a hand under her dress, stroked the smooth skin on her thigh, then moved between her legs. She gasped and arched against him, and he sought her mouth, tasting her, sharing her passion. A few flicks, and the dress clumped around her ankles.

He abruptly scooped her up and laid her on the bed. Stared down, drinking in her body, the full breasts and hips, those gorgeous long legs, the sexy black shoes. He kicked off his pants. Rolled on a condom, watching her watch him. Her lips were full and parted, eyes brimming with such emotion, he feared she was thinking of someone else.

He angled her legs wider and guided himself in. Cupped her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes as he drove deeper into her tight, velvety warmth. “Don’t pretend I’m him, Jessica.” He enunciated each word with a possessive thrust. “Not—any—more.”

***

Jessica woke the next morning in a cocoon of muscled male, soothed by the rhythmic beat of Mark’s heart. She loved the feel of his chest, the way his hair tickled her cheek. Loved running her fingers over his hard body. She tilted her head, studying his face. His dark eyelashes spiked and flickered but he didn’t wake, his jaw softer in sleep although the dark stubble gave him a rakish appearance.

She impulsively leaned over and kissed his mouth, tasting scotch and salt and passion. And her happiness turned to fear. She was falling in love with this man. Last night he’d stripped her defenses. She’d shown him with her body how much she cared, yet love was the last thing he wanted. He’d run a hundred miles if he suspected.

However, she could no longer pretend to be hooked on an old boyfriend. Mark had made certain of that. She fought a hysterical squeak of laughter. She couldn’t remember Anton’s face let alone his kiss or touch. He’d been a prop she used so Mark would feel safe.

She stared at his head, resisting the urge to caress his beautiful mouth. Little wonder his old girlfriends drooled. Even the ultra-composed TV chick was still smitten. Jessica could usually sense the signs, the way a woman talked or moved, and it was clear Ms. ESPN had shared Mark’s bed. And would be happy to do so again.

And that was the problem with Mark. Even if he wanted to keep seeing Jessica after her work stint was over—and she guessed he might, at least for a while—she cared too much to be satisfied with a weekly sleepover. It would drive her crazy wondering if he’d been with anyone. At least it wouldn’t be one of his own employees. Thank God for his Three-F rule.

But there were some attractive jockeys, so many other exercise riders, grooms, hot walkers and media—all susceptible to Markomania. Oh God, he would smile and be nice as he always was and even if nothing was going on, she’d suspect and be miserable.

Unless she was close by. Her thoughts churned. She loved being around horses, although she’d always be a little intimidated by the aggressive colts. Buddy would be gone, enjoying his retirement somewhere, but there must be other quiet horses that needed a groom. Surely Mark could hire her to do something, even answer mail, and then she’d be around to monitor him. Make sure he didn’t stray.

She jerked sideways, her thoughts skittering—

“Morning, honey,” Mark mumbled, giving her a drowsy squeeze. “Plane isn’t until ten.” His eyes flicked shut.

She checked the bedside clock. Not much time left but she had him here, beside her right now, and luckily he was groggy with sleep. Trailing her tongue over his chest, she reached down and cupped his heavy balls.

He stiffened immediately, and she played her fingers along his growing length. “I was thinking maybe I should stay and work for you. After the Breeders’ Cup.”

His breath shortened, and she lowered her head and dragged her mouth over his chest. “Let’s make a deal,” she murmured, circling a flat brown nipple with her tongue.

He was stiff as a flagpole now, which was rather surprising considering what they’d done last night, but this was perfect. Once Mark made a promise, it was rock solid.

“What?” he mumbled, moving his hand to her breast.

She twisted away, needing to keep her wits, knew if his hands were on her for over thirty seconds, her mind would turn to mush.

“I’ll apply for an apartment on the backside and stay on as your groom. Okay?” She felt a twinge of guilt, realizing she’d turned into an unscrupulous dealmaker, just like Gramps, but pushed away that unwelcome thought. All was fair in love and war.

“We’ll talk about that later.” He pulled her on top of him. She tried to wiggle away, but his hand edged between her legs. Stroking her. Not even thirty seconds, she thought in dismay as she let him position her over his swollen cock.

She climaxed in a volatile mixture of rapture and regret. Couldn’t do this one little thing right. When he finished, she fled into the bathroom and turned on the shower, hoping the hot water would rinse away her frustration. And fear.