Winner Takes All - Book 1 (An Erotic Romance)

by Gray, Sherilyn

  Winner Takes All

  Book One

  by

  Sherilyn Gray

  Copyright © 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Copyright © 2013

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Warning: This work contains scenes of graphic sexual nature and it is written for adults only(18+). All characters depicted in this story are over 18 years of age.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter One

  Barely two minutes until the starting gun. Sasha’s heart pounded in her chest as her eyes swept over Churchill Grounds. Like the other jockeys behind the starting gates alongside her, she was waiting. Nervous. But her hands were loose and easy on the reigns of the bay colt under her. Heavy Impact snorted, tossing his head as if he too was anticipating the biggest race of his life. The Kentucky Derby. Out in the stands, the voices rose and fell like an ocean’s surf, bringing goose bumps to Sasha’s skin. People from all over the world gathered in Louisville for what was arguably the biggest horserace in the world. And the most important one of her career.

  Sasha felt the other jockeys in the starting gates beside her, but she ignored them. Focusing instead on herself, on Heavy Impact. On the race. She drew in a swift breath, even now hardly believing that she’d come this far, escaping her misery of a childhood to sit perched atop one of the fastest horses she’d ever ridden, and at the most famous race in the world. Sasha Cormick. At Churchill Downs with the smell of the dirt track in the air, a thousand pounds of powerful horseflesh shifting between her legs. Incredible.

  Nearly a year ago, Sasha had been in disbelief when she was first courted by two well-known stables. When Linc Stratton, the head trainer from Taylor Stables, had approached her, shown her the gorgeous Taylor property— the white washed buildings and vast green pastures, the clean and bright facilities with the all the modern amenities, even inexplicably the burned ruins of an old stable showing in stark contrast in the background—she had been very impressed. That day, Linc introduced her to Heavy Impact and Sasha had just about fallen in love. The choice between the two stables had all but made itself.

  Now, after over two dozen wins together, she and Heavy Impact were together, finally at the Run for the Roses. She quivered in excitement. In reaction, Heavy Impact snorted beneath her, tossed his magnificent head. She patted his sleek neck.

  “Steady boy.”

  The announcer’s voice blared over the speakers. Her heart pounded even harder. It was mere seconds until the gate flew open. An arctic calm descended over Sasha. The drumming of her heart faded away as if it had never been.

  It all happened at once. The starting gun exploded. The bells rang out. The starting gates flew open with a wild clang.

  Heavy Impact leapt forward with an effortless movement of his powerful legs, and they were immediately in the middle of the controlled stampede. Hooves pounded against the ground, dirt flying up, thundering sound as the crowd roared, cheering for their favorites. On both sides of her, the other horses bumped close, shoving at Impact as the horse pounded across the dirt, threatening to overturn each other. Impact breathed easily, his heavy body effortlessly in control. Fast. Faster.

  Then they were in the lead, Impact and Sasha both breathing heavily now. Another bay jerked ahead of them. But Impact quickly regained the lead, his legs working like pistons. Sasha tightened her hands on the reigns but allowed him to set the pace. After a space of five drumming heartbeats, she reined him in just enough so he wouldn’t tire himself out. They thundered around the track to the symphony of shouts in the stands. The smell of horse and sweat and the hot day rose up around Sasha. Sasha rode on, bouncing in the flimsy saddle, her butt in the air, chin nearly buried in Impact’s short mane. They kept their lead, breathing controlled, pace steady.

  He wanted more. Hooves flying, sides heaving with his effort. Not yet. Not yet. Then they reached the final stretch. Sasha gave him his head and she could almost feel his joy. Unfettered, he leapt even farther ahead, sides heaving, the sound of his hooves like music. Sasha felt a wild grin on her face, adrenaline singing through her body as they flew toward the Winner’s Circle.

  Yes! The joy surged through her.

  The crowd roared High Impact’s name. The announcer announced their victory. A win by a stride. Sasha laughed out loud, standing up tall in the stirrups to wave at the crowd.

  “Good boy!” She pressed her face against his neck as they slowed to a canter, the crowd’s jubilation echoing in her veins.

  In a blur, she was at the Winner’s Circle. A riot of flashbulbs, the parade in front of the press and jubilant crowd. Then the heavy drape of the red rose blanket across her legs, the intoxicating scent of 554 red roses all over her and Heavy Impact. She normally preferred tulips but in this once instance, she’d make an exception. She threw her head back and laughed.

  Linc, the trainer at Taylor Stables, ambled over them, took the reins. Tall, brown, and with a head full of prematurely gray hair, he always seemed to be smiling. She’d liked him the moment they met.

  “Sasha, you were brilliant!” He said, roughly patting Heavy Impact’s neck, gave her booted leg a squeeze. “A perfect race.”

  “I told you we’d do it, Linc!” She felt the dimples dig even deeper into her cheeks with her smile. She’d known Impact was ready, that he could do it.

  She jumped down from the saddle and into Linc’s arms. His hug was warm, smelling of the stables and of the still bright evening sunshine. Someone took her arm, guiding her away from him and toward another set of cameras. Linc took off her jockey’s hat, grinning. Suddenly conscious of her hat hair, Sasha ran her fingers through her shoulder length black locks, shaking the thick mane away from her face just a camera flashed.

  “Mr. Taylor! Right here, please, sir!” A voice called out just to the right of Sasha.

  A moment later, Damien Taylor, the owner of Taylor Stables appeared at her side. Sasha’s face instantly grew warm, then her body flushed even more. A familiar reaction whenever she was in the presence of her boss, even though they’d never spoken more than a few words to each other the entire year she’d ridden for him. His all-American good looks—blond hair, killer blue eyes, and a face straight from a fashion magazine—had inspired quite a few early morning fantasies when they’d first met. Luckily, she’d gotten over her infatuation. Almost.

  Damien Taylor flashed a bright smile. He warmly grasped her shoulder as the flashbulbs exploded and the cameras rolled. Standing so close to him, his six foot plus height made her 5 foot 2 feel even shorter. He smelled like mint julep and sunscreen. Just then, someone pushed a microphone in his face and asked him a question about the horse, how it felt to win the Derby. His deep voice rumbled pleasantly as he answered the question, nodding his head to Sasha.

  “Sasha and Impact did all the work,” he said, smiling at her again. His arm fell away from her shoulder and she immediately missed its warmth.

  The reporter turned to her. “You are the best looking thing out here,” he said, gearing up for a question. “I’m sure that smile of yo
urs helped to win the race.”

  Because I surely couldn’t just be a good jockey.

  “Why thank you,” Sasha said, raising an acerbic eyebrow in his direction. “And that shade of makeup does wonders for your dreamy brown eyes.”

  He stared at her blankly for a second before chuckling, his veneers flashing in the brilliant sunlight. “You’re such a little jokester,” he said. “What was the best moment of today?” He stuck the microphone back in her face.

  “The win, of course.”

  Another blank look. Then he thanked her, moved back to Damien. Sasha took that moment to step away from the reporter and Mr. Taylor’s mind-scrambling presence.

  Linc shook his head, though he was smiling, his teeth a white flash in his brown face. “One day that smart mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble, young lady.”

  She laughed, feeling glorious and invincible. “Not today, though.”

  He laughed with her, the corners of his eyes crinkling even more in his mirth. “Just because it’s your lucky day.”

  “Pardon me.”

  Linc and Sasha both turned at the sound of Damien Taylor’s voice. The trainer stuck out his hand.

  “Good too see you, Mr. Taylor. Congratulations on the win.”

  Damien Taylor shook Linc’s hand, treating everyone in the vicinity to another devastating smile. “Thank you. But don’t think I don’t know who really won out here.” His blue eyes touched Sasha and she felt a blush climb into her cheeks.

  Down girl!

  “Ms. Cormick.” His eyes seemed to burn even deeper into hers. “If you’re free, I’d like to invite you to a little gathering this afternoon. Are you able to go?”

  She didn’t even have to think about it. “Thank you. I’d love to come.” She paused. “As long as I get to change into something a little less horse-friendly.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Good.” He reached into his inside jacket pocket, took out a card and scribbled something on the back of it. “Here’s the address. Meet me there and take all the time you need to get ready.”

  After another smile, a nod in Linc’s direction, he was gone.

  “Wow,” she said under her breath. “That…wow!” Did she just get invited to a party with Damien Taylor? One of the richest men in Kentucky? One of the most beautiful men she had ever seen?

  “Get that deer in the headlights look off your face and go get ready.” Linc patted her on the shoulder, hard. Just like he had Heavy Impact a few minutes before.

  Sasha shook her head, sending her dark hair flying around her face. Before she could say anything, Linc shoved her toward the exit.

  “See you later,” he called out.

  Chapter Two

  At her apartment, Sasha dropped her keys on the hook by the door, quickly stripping off her clothes as she went but carrying each item of clothing she discarded with her. Her studio was small and she defiantly kept it neat and clean; a habit ingrained in her from spending years in the foster care system. Keep things neat and easy to find. That way, when it was time to go on the next place, all she had to do was grab her few belongings and was out the door.

  The walls of her little apartment were the same eggshell white as when she moved in five years before. Still unadorned. The only truly personal items was the small shelf of books near her full-sized bed and the photo of Marshall Taylor, her first trainer who had been like a father to her. One of the first people to treat her with decency, kindness, and respect.

  Naked, Sasha dropped her clothes in the bathroom’s laundry hamper and turned on the shower. Forty five minutes later, she was clean and dry. Unscented lotion smoothed into her tanned skin and the barest amount of make-up on her face. Her hair she wore pinned up into a simple French twist and diamond studs dotted the lobes of her small ears. She stood in front of her closet in her bra and panties, a hand on her hip.

  “What the hell do you wear to a party with a bunch of rich muckety mucks?” A dress, like a real girl? a sarcastic voice chimed from the back of her head.

  She stared at the endless parade of slacks, jeans, t-shirts, wondering if she even had a dress in there after her last round of purging.

  Then, she remembered the dress and heels she’d bought for a funeral nearly eight months before. She grabbed them from the back of her closet and quickly put them on. As she dressed, she tried not to think about the reality of where she was going and who had invited her there. If not for the incredible win at the Derby, she would probably be more nervous about rubbing elbows with the Richie Riches than she already was. But at least they wouldn’t kick her out of the party for looking like a peasant. In the mirror, she looked fine enough; the knee-length, black dress scooped just under her collar bones and clung slightly to her figure from the few pounds she had deliberately put on to get back up to a hundred pounds.

  She walked across the hardwood floors, feeling the unfamiliar exaggerated rocking of her hips from the high heels. Sasha grabbed her keys from the hook, then she paused, looking at the picture of Marshall on the dresser. Tall and lean, stern looking with his bald head and small scar on his right cheek. The face of a kind man.

  She smiled at the photograph, knowing how proud of her he would have been today. “Wish me luck,” she said softly.

  Then she opened the door and left.

  Chapter Three

  Sasha parked her little white Honda Civic in a lot near the address where Damien had told her to come. With the traffic passing by in a steady hush past her, she strolled along the sidewalks of downtown Louisville looking for the address. She hummed softly beneath her breath with each step. Happy.

  After nearly four years of riding professionally, she was living her dream of being a Derby winner. At twenty, she now felt she had the world at her feet. Only one thing would make her triumph even better. But her mind shied away from that desire. A lover. The beginning to a family of her own to love. No. That would have to wait until the end of her career. This was just the beginning of things. Her voice faded away into the night, the happy song draining away.

  Ah, well. Don’t be greedy. You can’t get everything you want.

  She shrugged mentally and kept walking. The high heels forced her to go slowly, holding her little black purse under her arm as she searched the buildings she passed for the right set of numbers. The breeze teased at her upswept hair, blowing kisses against the back of her neck.

  I won the Kentucky Derby. The memory of her triumph came to her again and a brilliant smile swept over Sasha’s face. This is who I am today. A winner.

  “Is that smile for me?”

  The voice startled the smile from her face. She lifted her head for its source and saw Damien Taylor standing on the steps of a high-rise building glittering with green glass in the light from the lowering sun. He stood with a hand in his pants pocket, another on the cell phone he lowered from his ear. Damien slipped the phone in an inside jacket pocket and waited for her to come to him.

  As he stood bathed in the streetlights, the crisp illumination from the doorway of the building, Sasha stared. The suit he wore was obviously tailored to his impressive body, a pin-striped gray that brought out the paleness in his eyes. He looked like James Bond; confident, sexy, and a lot dangerous.

  Damn.

  She forced her heavy tongue to move. “No,” she said in response to his question. “I was actually thinking about the pile of laundry I have waiting for me at home.”

  He hummed a low noise of disappointment, though his mouth quirked up in amusement. “Pity.”

  As she walked closer to him, she became even more aware of the movement of her hips under the dress, the shoes elongating her legs and making her butt sway more than usual. By the way he watched her so carefully, she knew he saw all these things. Did he look at her and think she was trying too hard? That she didn’t pull off the girly outfit as well as other women who wore the same trappings everyday?

  “You look lovely,” Damien Taylor said.

  Sasha almost tripped over her fe
et. She felt a blush overtaking her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.” He offered his arm to her when she stood within two feet of him. “Shall we go up?”

  She stared at the suited arm, overwhelmed again by the elegance of the man, his utter sexiness. Butterflies assaulted her stomach.

  “Sure.” Sasha took his arm, immediately aware of the corded strength beneath the expensive suit. His scent, a mixture of sandalwood and citrus, immediately surrounded her.

  He led her into the building, past the concierge who waved to him with a wide smile, and to the elevator. She released his arm as he pressed the button for the penthouse, suddenly conscious of the small space. Conscious of how her pulse raced when she was with him. It was one thing to fantasize about him while he remained aloof and far from her reach; but to have him so close, the smell of him teasing her, the recent memory of his strong warmth under her hand. Sasha drew a single, silent breath.