Winner Takes All - Book 1 (An Erotic Romance)

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.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

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
yours 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.

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.