“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.
A moment later, Mark slipped in behind her. “What’s this all about?” He spoke so gently she was ashamed she’d tried to take advantage. “Isn’t your grandfather helping you with that dog business?”
“He doesn’t want to,” she said, “and I know now I’d rather work with horses.”
“Then do it.”
She turned beneath the pulsing water and hugged him. “So you’ll keep me on?”
He stiffened, and her heart dropped as she felt his arm muscles tighten. “Please, Mark,” she said. “I’ll do all the things everyone else hates. Paperwork, buckets, rake, clean leather, anything.”
He seemed to pull away even though he didn’t move. “You need to do what you want, Jessica. Not what your grandfather or I want.” He spoke in that infuriatingly reasonable trainer’s voice, and her shoulders slumped.
She choked back the agonizing lump in her throat and forced a flippant laugh. “Just checking to see what I was worth. Wondered if my performance last night was inspired enough.”
His expression turned stony and she grabbed the shampoo, hating her words even as she spoke them. “Turn around, big guy, and I’ll wash your back. I love muscles in my men, and you have a few more than the last ones.” He stood completely still, arms at his side, so she reached up and soaped his chest, ignoring the taut cords visible in his neck. “I sure don’t want any of my lovers to ever say Jessica Boone left a job unfinished,” she added gaily.
“Enough.” He pushed her hand away, so forcefully the shampoo container tumbled to their feet, careening for a moment around the side of the slippery tub. Somehow she managed to paste a brittle smile on her face while suds sluiced down his ridged stomach and dripped on their bare toes.
“Time to get to the airport anyway.” He slid the door open and grabbed a towel, leaving her alone in the shower.
Where there was no longer any need to hide her pain.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“The game’s up, girl. Mark knows everything.”
Jessica froze, her grip on the molasses slipping as she stared at Maria. She didn’t think Mark knew about her feelings. How could he? “What do you mean?” she squeaked.
“While you were away, Buddy wouldn’t eat his grain, so I had to tell Dino he needed triple the brown sugar and molasses. I’m sure Mark knows by now.”
“Oh,” Jessica managed. “Yes, he does know.” She remembered how Mark had chuckled when he told her. Not mad at all. But that had been last night in the hotel room, when everything had been perfect. Things weren’t so perfect today. They’d been back for seven hours, and she hadn’t seen him since he’d dropped her off at the barn.
“How were those owners Mark wanted you to entertain?” Maria shuddered with revulsion. “What an awful job.”
Jessica stared at the brown container of molasses, silent for a moment. Maria had an aversion to all owners except for her recent acceptance of the New Jersey ladies, and Jessica didn’t want to admit that the uncaring owner was really her grandfather.
Maria didn’t know Jessica’s last name was Boone. On the backside, names didn’t matter. Worth was measured by how you performed—and clearly both Mark and her grandfather found her wanting.
“They were all pricks.” She spoke with such feeling even Maria gaped.
“Jessica.” Mark’s crisp voice sounded from the doorway. “See me in my office.”
Maria blanched as he turned away. “Maybe he didn’t hear you,” she whispered. “Maybe it’s about the molasses. Just tell him I told you the wrong amount.”
“Oh, Maria.” Jessica’s lower lip quivered. “You’re the best friend I ever had, but I don’t think this is about molasses.”
She fed Buddy his regular grain and defiantly added the extra molasses and three carrots before trudging to Mark’s office. He hadn’t spoken much on the flight home, and she knew she’d hurt him, but all she had left was her pride. Which she intended to keep.
Setting her shoulders, she opened the door and walked in.
He leaned over his desk, studying the screen on his laptop. “Mary e-mailed three pictures.” He motioned her over. “Recognize any of them?”
She glanced at the screen, and a chill attached to the back of her neck. “That’s him.” She pointed. “The man with the mean eyes.”
“All right. I’ll e-mail it to a friend at the police station. Find out if he has a name.” He reached in his top drawer and slapped a thick envelope in her hand. “Here’s the two grand for Buddy. He’ll race in nine days.”
She stared at the kiss-off money, even considered tossing it back, but Buddy shouldn’t be a pawn. Somehow she’d pay Mark back. She raised her head and forced a cool smile, ignoring the fact that her insides were shriveling. It wasn’t even necessary to pretend. He was still engrossed in his computer. She left with her head held unnaturally high, and Buddy’s precious purchase money clutched in her hand.
***
“More coffee?” the guard asked as he reached for his steel thermos.
“Better not,” Jessica said. “I probably shouldn’t have had that first cup. But how about another cookie?” She hadn’t quite forgiven Terry for telling Mark about her visitor in the shower, but he was pleasant company and his chocolate chip cookies were delicious.
“Here.” Terry passed her the container of cookies. “And do whatever you want at night. Nothing will go in my report. Take one for your boyfriend too.”
“Thanks, Terry.” She pulled out two cookies loaded with chocolate chips. “I’ll buy some muffins for us tomorrow night.”
Buddy stuck his head over the stall, ears pricked, seeming to suspect she carried something tasty. She slipped the cookies in her jacket pocket and waggled her empty hands. “Go eat your hay, Buddy. Look, no treats.”
She checked over her shoulder. Already Terry was just a large shadow by the front door, and she guessed she’d be indistinguishable at the far end of the aisle. She eased out the back entrance, grabbed the bucket hanging on a bridle hook and added the precious cookies to her food cache.
The kid had to be getting it; the food was always gone in the morning. But she never saw the boy, no matter how long she lingered. It was apparent she’d destroyed his trust ever since Mark had flushed the boy from his hiding place, the day she’d fallen off Ghost.
She tried to quell her concern, but October nights were chilly and soon, she wouldn’t be here to help rustle food. She leaned against the doorway, staring at the gloomy sky as her thoughts circled back to Mark. Two thousand dollars. Buddy would be hers in just over a week.
She jumped, banging her elbow against the rough wall as something slipped from the darkness—the kid—moving so easily she’d mistaken him for a shadow. His wary eyes stared past her, searching for the guard, nervous as any feral animal. She nodded a welcome, slipped the bucket off the hook, turned and walked to her room. Didn’t let herself look back. Acted as though his presence was unimportant.
She left the door open. A second later the boy edged in and dropped cross-legged by the bucket. He gobbled the cookies first then a chicken sandwich, dribbling crumbs down the front of his dirty shirt.
A horse blanket was stuffed under her cot, and she pulled it out and spread it by the bike. His teeth flashed in a trusting smile. Her gut wrenched because she had to call the guard—had to betray this boy. It was clear he needed much more than she could provide.
He pointed at her old stooping bag, still filled with unsorted betting tickets, then thumbed his chest in a clear offer to help.
“No, it’s okay,” she said, aching inside. So young, and already he knew nothing was free.
But he scrambled to his feet and spread some tickets on the cot, clearly determined to work for his food. She watched him for a moment, hating the thought of turning him over to Terry. Surely Maria could talk to him. Figure out the best way to help.
She pointed at her watch and motioned she’d be back. He nodded, barely looking up as his nimble fingers stack
ed the stubs according to race, obviously remembering her previous instructions.
The barn phone was at the end of the aisle, close to the guard, so close she was afraid he’d hear. But she hurried down and punched Maria’s number, guessing from the huskiness of her voice that she’d been sleeping.
“Can you come?” Jessica whispered. “He’s in my room now.” She hung up and glanced at Terry who shuffled his feet and studied the floor, as though suspecting a ménage et trois. She gave him a mischievous grin. “I wonder if I could have a third cookie?”
***
Maria shook her head. “You’re wrong. This boy doesn’t speak Spanish. I don’t know a word he’s saying, but he sure is cute. Maybe he can draw something.” She picked up a pencil and paper and sketched her apartment. Tapped her chest and held it up.
The boy’s wide eyes locked on Maria, and he nodded, seeming to find her gentle face reassuring. He took the pencil, held it awkwardly in his fist, and began to draw.
Jessica leaned forward, watching as a picture slowly took shape.
“A playground,” Maria said.
“No, look. There are little heads. It’s a plane.” Jessica gave the boy an encouraging pat on the back. “Good drawing.”
Maria frowned. “I still think it looks like a playground.”
Jessica pushed the paper back in front of him. “Draw something else.” But his attention had jumped to Maria, and he reached up and shyly touched her cheek, distracted by something he saw in her face. Jessica sighed and pulled out the third cookie, waved it in the air and pointed at the paper.
“You’re not supposed to use bribes,” Maria scolded but they both leaned forward, craning to see as the boy eyed the cookie and started sketching again.
“It’s just a horse shoe and a bunch of flowers,” Maria said. “With a skinny tree,” she added as he finished with two lines. “He’s definitely not an artist.”
Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) Page 59