His gaze focused out the window of what was now his former office, Marcus Vasquez watched Melanie Preston move along the cobblestone walk.  The silver moonlight mixing with a pale glow from the small landscape lights dotting the gardens made the woman seem almost ghost-like.

Since the path veered off in several directions, he wondered where the hell she was headed.

None of his business, he reminded himself.  He’d had little say during his tenure at Quest Stales over what the ace jockey did.  As of this afternoon Marcus no longer worked for Thomas and Jenna Preston, so whatever had prompted their only daughter to leave her cousin’s wedding reception and traipse around in the moonlight was none of his concern.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the view.

Despite her ankle-wrecking heels and the walkway’s uneven surface, Melanie’s gait was fluid, like a dancer’s.  He’d worked at Quest so short a time he hadn’t seen her in a dress before this evening’s wedding.  Which was a good thing because the way the gold material slithered against her slim hips was enough to revive a dead man.

He was very much alive.

Watching her, Marcus felt the hunger stir inside him that he’d kept hidden since the moment they’d met. 

She was barely five feet tall, lean and agile.  For the rest of his life, he would carry a mental picture of her from the video he’d watched uncountable times: Melanie Preston on Derby Day wearing Quest’s bright racing silks, urging Leopold’s Legacy to leap from the starting gate and hurtle onto the track.  Barely fastened to the saddle, her entire body had lifted into the air like a butterfly preparing to take flight.  Only her hands on the reins and the tips of both boots wedged in the stirrups still tied her to earth.

Marcus had worked his way up in the racing business on four continents.  Without a doubt, she was the best jockey he’d encountered.  If the scandal hadn’t broken after the Preakness win, she most likely would have raced the stallion in the Belmont to a Triple Crown sweep.  

She was also the most annoying jockey he had ever run across.

It wasn’t simply due to her making herself scarce around the main stables since his first day on the job, choosing to work instead with her younger brother who’d taken a colt named Something To Talk About to train on his own.  The few times Melanie had shown up here in his office, her talk of implementing numerous unproven approaches to stable management techniques had tried Marcus’s patience. 

It hadn’t helped that during their every exchange he’d been as aware of her striking blue eyes, sun streaked blond hair and compact curves as he’d been of her words.  He’d damn well had his share of X-rated fantasies about his boss’s daughter.

Fantasies he hadn’t allowed himself to act on.  Not only because he had a policy never to mix business with pleasure.  There was the small complication of his blood ties to the man who Marcus had recently learned owned Apollo’s Ice.  Although there was no proof Nolan Hunter was involved in the scandal that had tarnished the Preston family’s standing in the racing world and caused a fiscal disaster for their stables, Marcus doubted the Preston’s would have hired him away from the Australian side of their family if anyone had known he was Hunter’s half-brother.  And because of a promise made long ago, Marcus didn’t intend to tell anyone. 

With the above weighing heavy on his shoulders, Marcus had felt a measure of relief when he saw proof that the Preston’s youngest son, Robbie, had developed the capabilities to step into the head trainer position.  Confident that the horses and stables would be in good hands -- and knowing it would ease the strain on the Prestons not to have to pay his hefty salary -- had made it easy for Marcus to give notice that he would be moving on.

Even if he still had no idea where he would be moving on to.

He’d worked on farms and around tracks since he was ten.  Stableboy, 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. 

Grinding out an oath between his teeth, Marcus 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 pulse 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 they 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 all 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.  “You’ve avoided me the entire time I 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 wondered along one wall of the office, pretending interest in the series of framed newspaper clippings that covered 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 that even now was swarming through her system made her want to run for the hills.  After having been 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.

Men 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 when she saw the change in his eyes, the deepening, the darkening of them 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 linking with hers.  “Since you made a special trip down here to tell me goodbye, maybe we should make the most of it.”

Her fingers clenched reflexively on his.  “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 clenched. 

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 deep in his chest and pressed closer.  The scent of warm skin mixed with Chanel filled his head.  He knew what it was like to be cheated out of something he wanted badly.  Tonight, he’d be damned if he held himself back from taking what he’d wanted for so long.

While his mouth fed on hers, he spread his legs and inched closer, heat spreading through him as his thighs brushed the outside of hers and his groin nudged her belly.

She was tiny and soft and feminine, and he wanted her.  When their kiss turned frenzied, arousal pounded through him.  He wanted to tear his slacks open, rip apart the soft, thin material of her gown and take her right here on the desk.  He wanted to watch her face when he filled her.

This need, this want of her was instantaneous and stronger than anything he’d known. 

And all around crazy, considering who he was currently ravishing.

That thought had desire dying like a flame suddenly doused.

What the hell was he doing?  He no longer worked for Thomas and Jenna Preston, but he respected them.  Marcus knew full well neither would thank him for doing his best to seduce their daughter before he left Quest. 

Even if she had somehow unlocked emotions inside him that went far past attraction and challenge to verge on pain.

Melanie opened her eyes as Marcus stepped away.  She felt dizzy, weak, as shaken as she had the first time she’d been bucked off a horse.  Dazed, she lifted a hand and touched her fingers to her lips, lips that felt hot and swollen and thoroughly kissed.

“I guess after that, we’ll be friends for life,” she managed.

He smiled, just the faintest curve of his lips.  “At least.”

“I should get back,” she added, her body not receiving any of her brain’s commands to move.

Marcus didn’t move, either.  He stood facing her, his eyes dark and unreadable.  “I’ll walk you there,” he said after a long moment.

Her heart hammered in her head, echoing in her ears like a train picking up speed in a tunnel.  How was it possible to be stunned so thoroughly by the heat?  To be swept away so quickly, to want so desperately what you knew you shouldn’t have?

Where once the pull she felt toward him had scared her, the intensity of it now terrified her.   

“You don’t need to walk me.  You’re not done packing.”

“I just finished.”  He added a file folder to the box, closed its flaps, then hefted it up with one arm.  “I’ll stow this in my car on the way back to the reception.”

“Fine.”  Hoping to heck her trembling legs continued to support her, Melanie turned and headed for the door.  As she moved, she swept her tongue over her lips.  Marcus’s taste churned through her blood all over again. 

What if she never managed to fully rid her system of his taste?   

Thank goodness, she thought as he switched off the light and closed the door to the office.  Thank goodness he’d be gone by morning.

Copyright © 2008 by Maggie Price
Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A.