Waiting For Yes

by Claire Ashgrove

  Her father’s hazel eyes glazed over for a moment as he studied Jake. With a sharp nod of his head, he ordered, “You take care of her.”

  “I don’t need taking—”

  Jake cut off her annoyed protest. “Will do, sir. Call us if you want to visit the new farm.”

  She stiffened. What? Inviting the enemy to their home? They were going to have to do some serious talking about this later.

  Her father shuffled his weight between his feet as he rubbed the top of his head again. Then, to her complete surprise, he bent quickly forward with a sloppy kiss to her cheek. “Be safe.” He whirled on his heel and stalked away.

  Gabrielle let out a snort.

  Jake’s hands found her waist, and he slowly turned her around to face him. He brushed his thumb over her cheek with a soft smile. “Sugar, give him a little credit. I think your father just realized you aren’t his baby girl anymore.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That wouldn’t have happened if our engagement hadn’t been broadcast over the loud speakers last night. He’s just posturing to get you in his good favor.”

  Jake nuzzled the tip of his nose across hers. “Your good favor is all I care about. But give it a chance. It’s a start.” He kissed her thoroughly before stepping away and capturing her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

  With a backward glance in the direction her father had taken, Gabrielle gave the folder of registration papers a little tap. A slow smile filtered over her face. It was a start. Her father might screw it up along the way, but for some reason, impressing her father didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t need his approval. Jake had made her realize that.

  She laced her fingers through his. “I love you, Jake Lindsey-Sullivan.”

  He answered with a chuckle. “And I’ll spend eternity loving you.”

  A word about the author...

  Former sporthorse breeder Claire Ashgrove has been writing since her early teens and maintained the hobby for twenty years before deciding to leap into the professional world. Her first contemporary novel, Seduction's Stakes, sold to The Wild Rose Press in 2008. She’s since published five steamy, sexy stories for the Champagne line. Adding to these critically acclaimed contemporaries, Claire’s paranormal romance series about the Immortal Knights Templar will debut in 2011.

  Claire lives on a small farm in Missouri with her two toddler sons, fifteen horses, four cats, and five dogs. In her “free” time, she enjoys cooking, winning at rummy, studying ancient civilizations, and spending quiet moments with her family, including the critters. She credits her success to her family's constant support and endless patience.

  To learn more about Claire, visit her on the web at

  www.claireashgrove.com.

  She can also be found at

  the Cascade Literary Agency’s Blog site:

  http://cascadeliteraryagency.blogspot.com.

  For more from Claire Ashgrove, you’ll want to read:

  Seduction’s Stakes

  by

  Claire Ashgrove

  Chapter One

  …And it’s Infidelity on the turn for home with Mister Spoilsport trailing on the inside. Brimstone makes a break for it, passing Mister Spoilsport, but it’s Infidelity blazing ahead. Here comes Mister Spoilsport on the inside, nip and tuck for a short lead, Infidelity on a hard chase now. Mister Spoilsport is going away! Two and a half lengths ahead! Mister Spoilsport for the win at two minutes flat! He earns his place next to Northern Dancer today, folks! Infidelity comes in second, with Brimstone for the show.

  “Damn it!” Maddie McCleery exploded as she thumped her clenched fist against the painted grandstand railing. “What is with Jennings’ horses? Infidelity should have won, Sybil! He’s been leaving everyone in the dust all spring.”

  She turned her glower on her best friend as she gave in to a fit of frustrated fury. Under normal circumstances, she’d have felt blessed to have her horse take second at the Kentucky Derby. But faced with Riley Jennings’ stolen victory, today’s place left a stale taste in her mouth. No matter how she tried, she simply couldn’t beat the man. Her horses could win all season long; the moment his entered the field, she inevitably came in behind. Usually right behind. Nose to nose type of behind. Today though, he rubbed it in like salt on a wound with the two and a half length distance.

  Sybil reached up to reposition her wind-blown, pale lavender, straw hat. “Who knows, Maddie. The man’s just lucky. Damn hot though. Think you’d introduce me?”

  Maddie rolled her eyes. Leave it to Sybil to focus on men when the horse she’d just wagered over five thousand dollars on failed to win. But then, to Sybil, money grew on trees. Win or lose, she didn’t care. Her agenda today was simply to find the best looking man out of the elite group of trainers and owners to add to her never-ending list of wealthy idiots that fawned over her shocking red hair and size D boobs.

  “Don’t you need to go down to the infield and collect your horse or something? Look, he’s already down there. If we go now, we might bump into him in the tunnel.” Sybil rose to tiptoe, peeking over the crowd to watch Riley waltz with his horse toward the winner’s circle.

  “They aren’t interested in my boy now. Second means little to the press. I need to go pay my jockey. I’d like to get to the barns before Jennings does.” To accomplish that, she’d need to hurry. She couldn’t understand it. Why they always lost to Riley. No matter the horse, no matter the field, no matter the terrain. They always lost. She was sick to death of losing.

  “Take me with you to Harvey Weatherson’s Derby Day banquet tonight? I’ve got to meet Riley, Maddie. I’ve been sitting back waiting for you to do something; but if you aren’t going to, I’m not waiting any longer.”

  Fed up with her friend’s incessant comments, Maddie clenched her fingers around the railing and sucked in a sharp breath. Letting it out, she counted to ten before turning an annoyed look on her childhood friend. “Oh, for the love of God, knock it off already. Riley Jennings is a pig. Every time I’ve seen him there’s a different girl on his arm. His ego is as big as China, and sure he’s nice to look at, but Jesus, Sybil, have a little class. You know I can’t stand that man.”

  Sybil blinked her surprise. With a look that asked Maddie if she’d lost her mind, she lifted one strawberry eyebrow and countered, “You used to like him a great deal if I remember right. Skinny-dipping with him and all.”

  Maddie tensed with the reminder. She’d tried to forget that long-ago memory. “We were kids then, and that was years ago. Before he inherited his father’s racing farm and started rubbing my nose in the dirt.”

  The crowd broke out in another roar of cheers, and Maddie looked to the winner’s circle. Ben Farley sat atop the black colt, sporting a wide smile. The jockey touched his fingers to his green-and-navy helmet, and offered Riley a nod of respectful acknowledgement. She let her gaze settle on Riley. Six foot tall, if not a little taller, his broad shoulders spoke of strength even hidden beneath a khaki-colored suit jacket. Kept in a stylish cut, his wavy brown hair glinted with the bright springtime sunlight, and in the light breeze, every now and then, it tumbled over one eye. Had he been any other man, she would have shared Sybil’s interest.

  Observing Riley’s self-satisfied smile, Maddie glowered again. Pompous ass.

  “I need to get to the barns, Sybil. Before the rest of the owners file in and I get stuck there.”

  “I’ll walk down that way with you. I’m sure Andy has the car waiting near the entrance, and I think I’ll head out before traffic turns into a nightmare.” Sybil picked her small clutch off her seat and tucked it under her arm.” If the man bothers you that much, you need to find a way to beat him. Maybe then you’ll see how freakin’ hot he really is. Any luck buying the colt of his you want?”

  Shaking her head as she navigated the stone stairs in her uncomfortable heels, Maddie’s attention wavered to the breathtaking grey colt Riley wanted to sell. He’d refused her three hundred thousand dollar offer, and his subsequent l
aughter had humiliated her. He wanted double, at least. Not unheard of in the racing circuit, and nothing she couldn’t immediately do, but far higher than her pride could accept. “He had some fancy schmancy excuse, but I suspect he’s refusing because I won’t go out on a date with him.”

  “Which I completely don’t get. The man’s eyes about fall out of his head every time he looks at you. Maddie, please. If you won’t introduce me to him, let me live vicariously through you. Go out with the guy. I bet he could make a woman orgasm for hours.”

  She rounded into the walkway leading to the long tunnel that would, a half mile later, open to the barn area, and folded her arms across her chest in defiance. “If you say one more thing about Riley Jennings, I’m going to smack you, Sybil. I don’t get involved with racing men. Period. They’re nothing but trouble. I’ve yet to meet a one of them that isn’t opposed to hedging life’s bets.”

  “Have you considered that if you dated him, you might just get that colt?”

  “Sybil,” she exclaimed, exasperated. “I am not bartering my body for a horse!”

  “I didn’t say that.” She pulled on the ribbon beneath her chin and tugged her hat off her head, shaking out her wealth of curly red hair. “At no time did I mention sex, bodies, petting, touching—anything along those lines. I said date.”

  She’d also said orgasm, but Maddie didn’t feel like reminding her. Instead, she frowned. At thirty-one years old, Riley had only improved with age. The lanky, but handsome, eighteen-year-old she’d lost a round of Truth or Dare to transformed into a broad-shouldered, confident man, whose commanding presence not only garnered him respect with racing’s elite, but also left a trail of simpering women in his wake. She wasn’t about to become one of them.

  Then again, what Sybil proposed had merit. One date. Heat him up a little. Stroke his ego. Perhaps stroke something else—over his clothes of course. Insinuate promises she didn’t intend to fulfill, and he’d give in to her proposed offer before he realized she wouldn’t follow through. A trick older than time itself.

  She wanted that colt. It was the one horse with the propensity to beat Riley’s on the field. That win would be even more satisfying than any other—his own homebred horse stealing away his constant victory.

  A smile crept across her face. No, it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. She could do it tonight even. While she wouldn’t be privy to Churchill Downs’ winner’s celebration, she would be at Harvey Weatherson’s banquet. Riley’s ego wouldn’t let him stay away. He’d want to hear the praise over Mister Spoilsport. Not to mention, the added chaos of an abundance of guests would keep him distracted just enough he wouldn’t see through her plan.

  The longer she thought about it, the more she could feel the sweet taste of victory, and the more tempting the idea became.

  ****

  Beneath the wreath of red roses hanging around Mister Spoilsport’s neck, Riley Jennings’ fingers smoothed the horse’s black hair. Kentucky Derby winner—he couldn’t believe it. He’d prepared for this day since he was a little boy who followed his father around the shed row. They’d come close on two occasions, but today the dream came true. The crowning moment to three generations of Jennings racing. How he wished his father could have seen Mister Spoilsport run.

  He pressed a kiss against his horse’s neck. “This one’s for you, Pop.”

  As the last of the reporter’s disappeared, he handed the big black’s reins to his groom and clapped the young man on the shoulder. “We did it, Scott. Take this boy on over to the veterinary shed. When you’re done, take him back to the barns and hose his legs down. Go ahead and wrap them tonight. I’ll meet you there.”

  Unlike any racing owner he could recall—and his memory held countless names—he was the only man who both owned, and trained, his horses. He suspected he was the only one qualified, as the rest of the owners had more experience with money than any actual horse management. As such, his victory was doubly rewarding.

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  The man was more boy than adult, and when he grinned, Scott’s freckled cheeks only emphasized his youth. But he was good with horses. Damn good, Riley thought, as the gangly twenty-year-old marched Mister Spoilsport away to a soft whistling melody.

  The horse pricked his ears and bumped Scott’s elbow with his nose.

  The groom responded with an affectionate pat and a peppermint disk.

  He reminded Riley of himself.

  Clutching his trophy beneath one arm, he turned toward the twin spires that marked the Jockey Club. Staring at the legendary edifice, he committed the vision to memory. He didn’t intend to forget this once-in-a-lifetime view.

  With a shake of his pants leg, he knocked off the dust and headed for the underground tunnel that would lead him to the stabling area. The throngs of people already flooded out of the grandstand and infield, moving in waves that resembled a brightly colored, stormy sea. In their wake, debris cluttered the ground—plastic cups, forgotten hats, an occasional shoe—all souvenirs for the lucky grounds people that would spend the next week cleaning up.

  The long walk felt much shorter against the thrill of winning. What he remembered as a bittersweet journey in years previous, now felt like a short jaunt around the block. Down the outside trail, he waved to the reporters and spectators alike that yelled their congratulations. A few men and cameras waited at Mister Spoilsport’s stall, conversing with Ben, no doubt, about his first Derby win. Never one who really enjoyed the spotlight, he headed for the small shed where owners and trainers gathered to both celebrate and commiserate.

  Pushing open the door to the small, but busy, building, he stepped inside the noise. Across the room, talking with the renown jockey Arthur Cormak, a swathe of blond hair drew his immediate attention.

  Maddie McCleery.

  The sexiest racehorse owner he’d ever met. Damned if just hearing her voice didn’t short-circuit his libido.

  Stepping around a burly man with biceps as wide as Riley’s thigh—no doubt one of Sheikh Ramana’s bodyguards—he angled his head to get a better look at her.

  Today, she’d freed her long golden hair from its usual loose ponytail, and beneath her wide straw bonnet, it hung like fine silk down her back. The ends of it brushed against the top of her delicious little ass. For a moment, he pictured her naked. God, what heaven she would be. Tanned skin that probably didn’t have a bathing suit line, flush up against that beautiful hair. Like a bright flag marking the way to treasure. Inviting him to explore.

  At that moment, she dropped her pen and bent to pick it up. Her ankle-length, gauze-like sundress molded itself to the very same delectable bottom he was imagining. No panties. No telltale mark of any kind of underwear. Soft, curvy, pert. Riley felt his cock stiffen in response. She was all glorious and free beneath that flimsy dress. Sheer torture.

  “Nice little treat, ain’t she?” Harvey Weatherson set one age-spotted hand on Riley’s shoulder and offered him a cigar with the other. “Ain’t a man in here who wouldn’t give his nuts if they thought they had a chance at tasting that slice of pie.” His weathered features wrinkled into an amused grin, and his watery-blue eyes sparkled as he added in a lower voice, “Including me. Don’t be tellin’ Pearl that, though. She’d cut mine off for just thinkin’ about it.”

  Riley laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry, Harvey. I won’t tell Pearl a thing.”

  Accepting the cigar, he put the end of it in his teeth and gnawed on it. He didn’t smoke, but every now and then, he enjoyed the unlit flavor. His eyes strayed back to Maddie.

  “Best put it out of your mind, son. She’s made it known she won’t have a thing to do with anyone involved in racing.”

  Riley didn’t need Harvey to tell him that. He already knew. He was still trying to learn his lesson, however. He’d asked her out at least a dozen times, and each time she refused. But the little flash of interest behind her dark green eyes said something entirely different. It reminded him of the seventeen-year-old
twig who once had a crush on him. Tall and thin, back then, she hadn’t even been able to fill out her bikini. Now, however, he mused as she turned sideways, and he caught a glimpse of her ample breasts, she was all grown up. And those damn green eyes of hers kept him coming back time and again, to try. One day, her words would match the message they conveyed.

  “Nice win, son. You know that time ties you with Northern Dancer’s 1964 run, don’t you? Puts your stud colt right up there with the Hall of Famers.” Harvey’s blue eyes twinkled again.

  Riley nodded, but he hesitated with his response. He didn’t intend to jinx the future by assuming too much ahead of time. “Let’s just hope he’s on his game at the Preakness.”

  “Aw hell, Pimlico is a shorter race. Mister Spoilsport shouldn’t have any problem there. Got your eye on the Triple Crown, do ya, son?”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  The old man burst into raspy laughter and smacked his bony palm against Riley’s back.

  At the sound of Harvey’s wheezing cackle, Maddie turned around. Her eyes fell on Riley, their shimmering light speaking volumes as they worked their slow way up from his loafer-clad feet, along his Armani suit pants, and at last, to his face. His pulse jumped in response to her blatant appreciation, blood flooded to his groin, and his stomach clenched into a knot.

  He summoned a lazy smile and dipped his head in an acknowledging nod.

  She turned away, but not before he noticed the blush that crept into her cheeks.

  Riley made his mind up, right then and there. Maddie McCleery wouldn’t tell him no again. One way or the other, he’d taste that sultry mouth of hers, feel it skate across his body. If he had to use his two-year-old colt as a bargaining chip, he would.

  She finished her business with Cormak and started for the door.