Rachel put her dinner dishes in the dishwasher and wiped down the bench. Perhaps it was irrational to be annoyed by this, but why did it take the same amount of dishes no matter what volume she ate? A small steak, some vegetables, and a bit of sauce shouldn’t use this many plates and pots. She walked back to the lounge and turned on the telly, flicking through to find the racing channels. The main channel was showing Hong Kong, while the local one showed all the replays from the city. As much as she didn’t want to watch Static Alarm win and relive the curl of frustration in her stomach that had come when she’d watched today’s race live, she did want to see the other races, so she could text her agent, Matthew, about possible rides. She kept her gaze on the screen, keeping the volume low so she didn’t have to hear the annoying comments of the form analysts justifying why their tips went poorly. She went through her routine post–race day stretches, ensuring her body would be ready for the next day. A loud thumping knock of the door intruded, and she stood up straight, taking her time to open the front door. Jacob stood outside.
‘Why are you here? Allira is on night shift,’ she said. His eyes widened, and his upper lip curled just a tiny bit.
‘Well, hello and good evening to you as well.’
‘Fine.’ Rachel sighed. ‘Come in. I’ve just had a shit day, that’s all.’
‘And I’m an easy target?’
She waved him inside, and he moved easily past her as if he owned the place.
‘Everyone is a target today.’
‘What happened?’
‘Static Alarm won.’ And it burned her deep inside to see the horse win without her. They’d backed the filly up after only a week, and Static Alarm showed her toughness to win again. Rachel had been riding at a country meeting, because getting a full book of rides at a low class meeting was worth more to her financially than riding two outsiders in the city. The prizemoney was miles better in the city, if you could get on a horse with a chance of winning it, but without a decent horse, she’d taken the option to earn a guaranteed income instead.
‘Isn’t winning the entire point of racing?’
‘Yes.’ She spat out the word between clenched teeth.
‘I don’t understand why that’s bad.’
‘Because Sherlock, I wasn’t riding her, and she’s my fucking horse.’ Except she wasn’t, technically speaking, especially now that Toshiko had missed out on buying her, and that bloody dickhead, Driscoll, owned her. She’d never get to ride her first Group One winner again. The unfairness of it sucked.
‘What?’
Rachel slumped onto the couch, resting her elbows on her knees. ‘Never mind me. I won on her at her last start, but I got dragged for a male jockey. He won on her today. It should have been my ride, my victory. I’m the one who showed the trainer she was capable at that grade.’
‘That makes no sense.’
She sat up straight, fury bursting out. ‘Just because I was born without a fucking penis, I have to be twenty times better than the blokes just to get the same opportunities, and even when I’m the best, I still get overlooked for some guy …’
‘I understand.’ Jacob’s quiet voice sucked all the emotion out of the room, and she bounced to her feet.
‘Yes.’ She poked him in his hard chest, and a bolt of lightning rushed up her arm. ‘I had to sit in the bloody jockey’s room at Wodonga and watch Adamson ride my mare to victory, while I got to spend the day with a bunch of slow plonkers.’ She dragged in a deep breath. ‘No, sorry, I don’t mean that. I hate it when people call country class horses donkeys, or whatever. I’m just mad about Static Alarm.’
‘It’s okay to be mad when life is unfair.’ Jacob ran his hand down her arm, from shoulder to elbow, in a conciliatory gesture, and her mouth went dry as his palm warmed her skin. Her heart skipped a beat, then raced for a different reason altogether. She lifted her head and looked up into his dark brown eyes. The depth of colour gave him a kind, protective air, and a sense that she could let herself sink against him. Calm infused her body as she wanted to let him touch her. Was this trust or just desire? He reached up and his finger touched her chin, tilting her head up. She stretched up on tiptoes, and he leaned down. Yes. Please. Her lips parted in anticipation of a kiss, his kiss.
‘There are so many reasons why I shouldn’t kiss you.’ Jacob ran his finger along her bottom lip, and she followed its path with her tongue, her breath catching in her throat. Please. The word refused to form into a sound.
‘I can’t.’ He stepped backwards and shoved his hands behind his back. She leaned forward into the space he’d left, before she swallowed and hauled herself back into a contained space, her shoulders rigid.
‘Gah.’ Seriously? That was the sound she made. The air crackled between them as he retreated. She ran her hand over her ponytail, wanting to trust him, but not sure if she could trust herself.
‘Why did you come here?’ She wanted to ask why he couldn’t kiss her, or to give in to her impulses and pounce on him. How dare he? She shook her head. How dare he tempt her? She growled, it wasn’t his fault that he was so fucking gorgeous, and caring, and everything. It wasn’t his fault her libido hummed whenever he was nearby, and she wanted to jump him. Her self-imposed ban on sex was a bloody stupid idea. She could have sex without a relationship. She’d done it many times before.
‘I was thinking about our phone call, and—’
‘And what?’ Rachel couldn’t process the conversation, not with the arguments going on inside her head, and she started to pace away from him. Allira’s lounge wasn’t big enough for the motion she needed right now. She spun around as a rhythmic thumping noise came from Jacob’s direction. He was bouncing her exercise ball, looking slightly ridiculous as the giant ball was about three times as big as a basketball.
‘I didn’t pick you for a pink person,’ he said. She gaped at him. ‘You know, the ball, it’s pink. I didn’t pick you for a pretty colour like pink.’
She rolled her eyes. When in doubt, go bold. ‘I wanted a rainbow one, but the size I needed only came in pink.’
‘Size?’
‘Yeah, I use it for balance exercises, and it needs to be a similar width to a horse.’ Rachel breathed out, releasing some of the tension, glad for the change in subject. This was a topic she could talk about with certainty.
Jacob caught the ball and held it in front of him. ‘What?’
‘Here, chuck it here and I’ll show you.’
He lobbed the ball over, and she caught it. She placed it on the ground in front of her, and knelt on it, before dragging her feet up to the right place. She anchored them by pressing into the ball, then stood up, mimicking the position she used on a horse when riding.
‘Wow. That’s some trick.’ Jacob’s mouth quirked up at the corners and heat flooded Rachel’s body as his gaze traced all over her.
‘Wanna have a go?’ She grinned as she stood up tall, then jumped off the ball.
‘No.’ His grin disappeared, and he shook his head.
‘Chicken!’
His throat shifted as he swallowed, a sudden fresh tension infusing the air between them. Rachel knew any bloke hated being called a coward, and she opened her mouth to tease him about it.
‘I’d love to have a go …’ His hesitant whisper made her pause.
‘What’s the matter, Jacob? Scared a girl will show you up.’ She loved turning the table on him, or on the him he represented: all those blokes with fragile egos who got more opportunities than her. His eyebrows shot up, and she smiled.
‘No. In normal circumstances, I’m confident I could do it.’
‘But?’ She paused, tilting her head to stare at him. She wanted to know what was stopping him.
‘I can’t take any risks going into the Prelim Final next week.’
She scoffed. ‘A balancing exercise isn’t risky. What are you talking about?’
His nostrils flared as he stared at her unblinking.
‘What aren’t you telling me?’ She met his stare, searching for answers in his gaze. His head made a tiny movement, almost a shake, and his face closed down.
‘I can’t say. It’s finals season.’
‘What the hell are you worried about?’ She held her hands out in front of her. He swallowed again, and her gaze dropped to the movement of his throat. Was that his pulse she could see flickering at the base of his neck? No, surely that wasn’t physically possible.
‘Can I trust you?’
She licked her bottom lip, ‘If you have to ask, then the answer is no.’ Jacob’s eyes widened and she tried not to grin, ‘But yeah, your secrets are safe with me.’
‘I twinged my MCL at training during the week.’ His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, and a frown marred his expression.
‘MCL?’ The acronym rang a bell.
‘Medial collateral ligament, it’s this one.’ Jacob pointed to the inside of his knee, tracing the tiny ligament. Not recalling the name annoyed her. Knees were something Rachel knew a lot about, they’d covered them during her apprenticeship, all the names of the ligaments, and how to care for them. Being a jockey relied on having strong knees, and good balance through that joint. She tried to focus on the technicalities of the joint, except she’d never wanted to lick someone’s knee like she wanted to lick Jacob’s knee. She wanted to trace the ligament with her tongue and taste his skin. Bloody hell, she had it bad for him if she was fantasising about knees.
‘Oh shit. Don’t do the balance ball exercise then.’ She heard the wobble in her voice and hoped he would think it was empathy for his injury, not the flickers of lust that she couldn’t contain.
‘Yeah. The team doesn’t want anyone to know, especially the media, and I just have to be careful until next Friday night.’
Rachel frowned. ‘Hang on, don’t you have a duty to punters to let them know?’
Jacob blinked at her question. ‘What?’
‘In racing, everything has to be reported to the stewards, especially things like that which might affect the outcome of a race. Although, of course, if a horse has an injury, they can’t race until cleared by a vet, so it’s a bit of a useless analogy.’
‘It doesn’t work like that in footy.’
‘And that’s why sports betting is a scam.’ Rachel winked at him, to let him know that she joked.
‘All betting is a scam.’ Jacob shrugged. She took a second to let a tight breath out between her teeth. Did he mean to incite violence in her? She put her hands on her hips and glared.
‘It’s not and let me tell you why.’
Jacob’s cynical response was written all over his face and it probably said a lot about her that she wanted to wipe that snide grin off his mouth with her superior knowledge on the subject.
‘Not all betting is the same, so your comment is wrong before you even get to the details. The biggest scams are the pokies and the lottery.’ Rachel resisted the opportunity to poke him in the chest again, although her fingers twitched, and she clamped her hands together.
‘I hate the pokies.’
‘Me too. They are so insidious with a low takeout rate, giving the impression to punters that they are winning as they lose.’
Jacob peered at her, with a deep furrow on his brow.
She shrugged, and waved her hands in the air, ‘Look, I won’t pretend to understand all the maths behind it, but we did talk about the pokies at apprentice school as being really addictive. We covered all that stuff because jockeys aren’t allowed to bet on horses, but we are surrounded by it all the time, so heaps of jockeys end up addicted to pokies. I can’t remember the details of why they are more addictive than other forms of gambling, but it’s something to do with the speed that you lose money.’
Jacob nodded, his eyes narrowed. ‘Makes sense. If you win little amounts often enough, you are tricked into thinking you are winning, when you aren’t.’
‘Yeah, it’s different to lotto because everyone knows you aren’t going to win that. Like Melbourne Mick said, it’s a tax on the mathematically illiterate.’ Rachel shook out her hands and scratched the back of her neck.
‘Melbourne Mick? If that’s not an underground figure, then I’m not a footy player.’
Rachel smiled to acknowledge the truth in Jacob’s comment. ‘Yeah, he was one of the SP crowd in the seventies, famous in racing circles for his pithy quotes.’
‘SP?’
‘Starting price bookie. Man, you don’t know anything!’
‘Hey.’ He made the universal gesture of sports players protesting an umpire’s call with arms spread wide. She smirked at him.
‘It’s true. You seem so naïve.’ She paused waiting for him to answer, but he only raised his eyebrows and dropped his hands to his sides. At least, she’d managed to get rid of the frown off his face.
‘Anyway, in the old days, like before we were born, betting used to be only allowed at the racecourse, and SP bookies were illegal offcourse bookies who took bets based on the oncourse figures. Starting price comes from the bet being paid out at the same amount as the horse started at oncourse. It meant that anyone with spare cash, and a phone line, could set themselves up as a bookie, because they didn’t have to work out the odds themselves, just use what the oncourse bookies set.’
‘Right—and you wonder why people think all of racing is dodgy.’ Jacob raised his eyebrows.
‘That’s the old days. There are no secrets anymore, especially with internet betting. It’s a shame really, racing has lost all the smaller players, all the flavour, now that they legalised offcourse and internet betting. Just the big companies are left, raking in all the money.’ She put her hands on her hips, then tucked them behind her back, twisting her hands together. ‘I’m sure you don’t care about all that. Melbourne Mick was right about lotto. The odds of winning are tiny, and the government takes half of all the money put into the pool before anyone gets paid out.’
‘That much?’ Jacob maintained his cynical expression.
‘Yeah, a fifty per cent takeout is crazy high, but at least everyone knows they have fuck all chance of winning.’
‘Unlike other forms?’ Jacob’s voice portrayed his utter contempt.
‘Other forms of betting, you mean?’
‘Yes. Do people not realise the system is designed to beat them?’
‘Not all systems are designed that way. In horse racing, there are people, like my brother’s partner, Toshiko, who make money from betting,’ Rachel said.
‘That’s not typical, though?’
‘No.’ She nodded once to acknowledge his point, ‘She’s pretty special—a maths genius. And horse racing is the only betting where people can win consistently.’ She pointed at him, ‘You know, I reckon that’s why your mates have gotten conned into that punter’s club Ponzi scheme—because people know winning gamblers, like Toshiko, exist. And maybe the publicity that the guy in Tasmania gets, you know, the one who spends all his gambling income on his art museum—maybe that drags more people into racing because they think they can win like him.’
Jacob nodded. ‘Makes sense. A winning gambler is probably the bookmaker’s best friend. Anyway, that’s what I dropped by tonight to talk about.’
‘What? Art museums?’ Rachel smirked.
A frown flashed on his brow, before he raised one eyebrow. ‘No. Successful gamblers, and your sister-in-law.’
‘Toshiko.’
Jacob nodded again. ‘Remember on the phone a few days ago, you mentioned that she said one of the signs it was a scam was—’
Rachel gasped, ‘—that the results would be given to people after the races, but no list of bets before.’
Jacob held his hands up, and she bit her lip.
‘Sorry for finishing your sentence. Why does that matter?’ Excitement rushed in her veins, similar to the anticipation as she sat astride a horse in the starting gates, waiting for the explosive acceleration when the gates opened, and the thrill of speed as the horse’s hooves thundered underneath her, and the wind whipped past her face. She made herself wait for the answer to the puzzle, her toes tapping on the floor.
‘I mentioned that to my mate, The Palace, and he asked if the members would get any early Melbourne Cup tips.’
‘You mean, like for futures betting. The Cup is still six weeks away.’ Rachel frowned. It was a bit early to be asking for tips, many of the internationals hadn’t had a start here yet, and the field wasn’t close to being finalised.
Jacob’s eyebrows raised up. ‘If you would let me finish …’
She nodded contritely, ‘Okay.’ Her cheeks prickled with heat, embarrassed at her tendency to leap into conversations without waiting for people to finish.
‘So The Palace asked, and he got a response through the punter’s club email …’
‘Hold on …’ Rachel had assumed that Jacob’s team mates knew who was running the club, but if it was all by email, then …
‘Rachel.’
‘Hmm?’
‘Stop interrupting.’
‘Oh right, sorry.’ Her face burned, and her gaze dropped to the carpet. She lifted her head immediately, forcing herself to keep staring at Jacob, unwilling to appear cowardly in front of him.
‘The Palace got an email which said that the Melbourne Cup was a bad betting race—’
Rachel gasped. No, it wasn’t. But the flash in Jacob’s eyes made her clamp her lips together.
‘—and the punter’s club wouldn’t be betting on it, but they could provide a few tips, so the members could have some fun.’
The heat in her face turned from faint embarrassment to outright rage. ‘That’s fucking bullshit.’
Jacob raised his eyebrows, ‘Which part?’
‘All of it. The whole “Melbourne Cup is a bad betting race” had my bullshit meter flying towards the rage end; it’s a great betting race—exposed form, big fields, long favourites. And then to follow it up with “I’ll give you some tips for fun” when he’s never given out the pre-race bets before is off-the-scale total fucking bullshit.’
‘Don’t hold back, Rachel.’
‘How can you be so calm? Your team mates are obviously being ripped off. Don’t you care?’
Jacob’s eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms over his chest.
‘Stop. Stop before you say something you shouldn’t.’ A prickly, electric energy crackled in the air between them, and Rachel couldn’t stop her gaze dropping to his bare forearms. His biceps bulged under his t-shirt, and the lines of strength in his forearms made the outrage in her gut turn into lust, like a magical rock which exploded inside her, spreading heat through her torso and limbs. Oh fuck. If she’d wanted to jump him earlier this evening, this was worse, and her muscles shook with the effort of staying on her side of the room. Rage sex was by far her favourite sort, and the air hummed with possibility. She glanced at the front door. When was Allira due home? She needed to be saved from herself before she did something she’d regret.
‘Don’t be scared of me.’ Jacob misinterpreted her glance.
‘I’m not.’ She breathed in, filling her lungs in an attempt to slow her galloping pulse.
‘Rachel.’ Damn him for saying her name with an awe that sent a delicious shiver down her spine. Only a week ago she’d promised herself she’d take time to be single, to wait before she listened to her libido: her libido had betrayed her before, she shouldn’t trust this feeling. She blew out a short breath and pressed her hand to her collarbone. The intensity of desire inside her outdid any she’d felt before with anyone else. She pulled in another breath, letting it out slowly. It was only strong because she’d forbidden herself. It had to be because of that, it couldn’t possibly be real. It wasn’t allowed to be. The timing was all wrong.
‘Don’t mind me. What are you going to do about your mates?’ Her voice was all scratchy and she coughed. He dropped his arms, so they hung loose at his side, then lifted one hand to scratch his temple. The rubbing of his fingertips against his short black hair sounded loud in the room, louder than the quiet whispers of the races on the telly.
‘I don’t know. If they are already invested in this, then they might not want to hear that it’s a con.’
‘Why are people so complicated?’ Rachel sighed. The lust didn’t go away, it never did around him, but it began to ease, down to a manageable level as they both focused on the real problem. She wanted to roll her eyes. Listen to her, telling herself lies. Life was easier before she knew Lisa was a mongrel cheat, and she yearned for a simpler time when sex was comforting, fun, and didn’t have this wild unfulfilled longing.
‘Is that a rhetorical question?’ A snippet of a smile flashed on Jacob’s face.
‘Are you teasing me?’ She didn’t want him to flirt with her, except that she did, because she was a glutton for punishing herself.
His eyes glittered, drawing her in. ‘Would you like me to?’
‘No,’ she shouted, then said it again at her usual volume, ‘no.’
‘Ahh, that’s a shame. I think I’d enjoy teasing you.’ His eyes sparkled with humour, and she gaped at him.
‘Can we keep to the punter’s thing? It’s spring carnival. I can’t, right now.’ Did that scramble of words even make sense?
‘I can wait.’
Rachel shook her head. ‘That’s not what I meant.’ A panic made her heart race, and her chest felt tight, like his teasing stole the air from her lungs and made her throat tight. If there was any time of the racing calendar when she needed to focus on work, and not be distracted by sex, it was the spring carnival.
‘Do I scare you?’ The words might have scared her, except for the cheeky tone of them. He’d slowly been walking towards her, and now stood only a step away. He smelled like home, the earthy dry dirt of the farm with a hint of gum tree and masculine salty sweat of hard work, and she inhaled deep as she took the final step forward to stand with only an inch of air between them.
‘You don’t scare me.’ She sucked in a deep breath, and smirked, ‘Although if you keep mentioning it, I’m going to start wondering if there is a reason I should fear you.’ She had to tip her head back to look up at him, the usual frustration at being so damned short irrelevant. Rather than give in to her lack of height and stretch up on tiptoes, she pressed her heels down into the ground.
‘My words will never be enough to reassure you if you are determined to be scared.’ His gaze held hers steadily, his brown eyes were so dark they were almost black, reminding her of the farm dam at night, with the dark water shimmering under the moonlight. She searched the depths, trying to figure out if he teased her, or if was offended at the premise. She’d never had the good sense to fear men, not even when they held physical power and strength much greater than hers, not even when she ought to be scared. She didn’t bother to hold her keys in her fist, like many women did, when walking at night. It didn’t seem practical, if she punched someone with a loaded fist, she was just as likely to hurt her own hand. Too many times, Serena had told her not to be naïve, and to be careful.
‘I’m not determined to be scared. What the fuck, Jacob! I—’
He grinned, wide and cheeky, with a quick flash of teeth, ‘Is that right?’
She glanced away, then back at him, ‘Are you teasing me?’
‘Rachel.’ He spoke her name with a reverence and she wanted to shut her eyes and just breathe it in.
‘Hmm?’
‘I always forget how small you are. You always seem so much bigger. I can’t imagine you being afraid of anything.’ He placed his hand on her back, his large palm covering half her back, and sending jolts of heat whipping up her spine. She wanted to melt against him, to succumb to the weight of lust and just let it flow into her. No, she shook her head, she’d done this so many times before, and it always ended badly. Her spine tensed, rigid.
‘Relax, Rachel.’ He wrapped her in a hug, cradling the back of her head with his other hand. His hard body seared against hers and her knees wobbled. Hell. Why was she fighting this?
‘What have you done to me?’ he asked, in a grave whisper. She bristled.
‘What have you done to me? I don’t need this complication in my life.’ She hadn’t meant to sound quite so snarky, but one touch from him had her forgetting her own purpose, her own decisions. He stroked his hand down her back, gentle, then stepped back, releasing her from his arms but not moving far enough away for her liking.
‘Rachel. I don’t want to ignore this …’
‘Chemistry? It’s just lust, Jacob, it doesn’t matter, and we can’t. I can’t. Not now.’
‘Why not?’
Rachel pushed him on the chest, walking away, free, but wanting to kick something, the wall or the back of the couch. Anything to get rid of this fierce energy inside her. She wanted to leap on a horse, and gallop freely with the wind rushing past her cheeks, to revel in the rhythm and speed. To go as fast as possible and run far away from the way her body betrayed her.
‘Why are you hot and then cold?’ Jacob asked.
‘Fuck you.’
‘Hey.’ He spoke quietly, holding his hands out in front of him.
She put her hands on her hips. ‘You want to know why not? Because I’m living with your sister. I’ve just left a fucking cheat, I don’t need to leap into another relationship—’
‘Who said anything about a relationship?’
His casual comment stole the breath from her lungs. ‘Fucking seriously? I’m not going to fuck you without some sort of commitment.’
‘Woah.’ Jacob stared at her with a puzzled expression. It wasn’t that hard to figure it out. She’d spelled it out for him.
She shrugged and turned away, ‘It’s just chemistry. It happens.’
‘Okay. If it matters so much to you, I’m going to walk away now. Tell Allira I’ll call her later about lunch this week.’ Jacob walked past Rachel, all the previous humour gone from his face, and left. Rachel stared at the front door as it clicked shut. How dare he accuse her of leading him on? Hot and fucking cold. Nope. He was the one who touched her, she wasn’t going to take the blame for his lack of control. She paced across the lounge, and threw her leg out, kicking her exercise ball as rage made her blood hot. The ball shot out, whacking into the wall, and knocked a mirror off. It hit the ground with a sick crunch, the frame splintering and glass breaking all over the floor.
‘Goddamn it. Are you fucking kidding me?’ The swearing calmed her down, as a rush of guilt sent a cold wave over the back of her neck. Of all the places her wild kick could have sent her ball, it had to be directly at Allira’s decorative mirror. Rachel tiptoed around the smashed glass, wondering if she should throw some salt over her shoulder, or some shit, to counter the bad luck she’d just given herself. Nah, she wasn’t superstitious, not like many of her fellow jockeys. She knew that Serena carried a tiny scrap of fabric inside her helmet, while some had precise routines they liked to go through before the races. Rachel tended to barrel on through life, and even now with the prospect of seven, or was it nine? Well, however many years of bad luck ahead of her, she didn’t worry about it.
She grabbed the little brush and shovel from under the kitchen sink and started to clean up. The action of brushing the shards of glass into the small shovel was soothing, although the guilt didn’t go away. She’d need to apologise, not her strong suit, and buy a replacement for Allira. What a shit housemate she was. She ran through her finances in her head—if she won another big race this spring, she’d be able to put a deposit on her own place. It gave her something positive to strive for, her own space, where she could be free to simply be. A place where she could hang a punching bag in the lounge if she damned well wanted to. A place without fucking crap on the walls to be broken. She sucked in a sharp breath, now she was being unfair. She knew, logically, she needed alone time, and she didn’t want to crave Jacob the way she did. The last thing she needed right now was yet another fling with someone who she didn’t know well enough to trust. One who braved her temper to tell her he just wanted a quick fuck, not a relationship. She tipped the broken glass into the bin with a satisfying crunch. Time to vacuum up the small pieces, then do some internet shopping for a replacement. She always paid her debts.