The Track (The Blackmoore Brothers #4)
Chapter 1
Drew
I hate a lot of things in life, but charity dinners are right at the top of the list. I hate all the pompous assholes who look down their pointy fucking noses at me all because I’m an American.
They despise me even more because my own personal wealth probably outstrips the whole lot of them put together. Not that I show off or brag. I’m probably the least flamboyant in the room. It doesn’t matter what the hell they think of me; as long as my mom and dad are proud, that’s all I give a shit about.
Two hours is my maximum time limit for this type of event. I arrive last, eat the mass-produced food, have a couple of drinks, and then leave as soon as I’ve deposited my cheque into the donation box.
I have two reasons for attending: first and foremost, to piss off everyone else in the room, and second, to support the charities that need my help. Some of the charities I’ve never heard of, but I want to spread some of my wealth around where it matters.
As usual, the event is being held in one of the big hotels just out of town. Big chandeliers, and chairs covered in white cloth with stupid bows attached to the backs. Fuck, I hope I’m not paying for all this shit.
I’m standing at the bar minding my own business waiting for a drink when I feel a tap on my shoulder, and as I turn around, I’m completely speechless. “Mr. Blackmoore?” the stunning brunette asks, and I nod my head in response. “May I ask if you wouldn’t mind changing tables this evening? I would really like the opportunity to network with the people on your table, and I’ve been placed with people I already have strong connections with,” the beautiful woman in a bright-red satin dress, ruby-red lips, and eyes as dark as night asks me politely.
I clear my throat and compose myself quickly. “May I ask who you are already seated with?”
“Oh, of course, I’m supposed to be on the table with George and Felicity Walker, Mary and Walter Beauchamp, and Thomas and Carol Doyle.”
“And you don’t like them? Am I right?” I ask, raising my eyebrow. Her tale of wanting to network is exactly that . . . a tale.
“Well . . . Thomas and Carol are my parents, and I don’t really want to spend the evening listening to them say how I’m the biggest letdown since—”
“Okay, okay. I’ll switch. But on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You tell me your name and give me your number.” I give her my signature smile, the one that usually gets me whatever the hell I please.
“You can have my name. It’s Zara. But I can’t give you my number I’m afraid.”
“Okay then, Zara. You take mine and give me a call.” I pull out one of my business cards and hand it to her impeccably manicured nails. Everything about this woman screams rich. She doesn’t look like the normal gold digger I more often than not pick up at these types of events.
“Thank you. I know my father is looking to buy a few horses, so it might work out for the best,” she says as she walks away. I watch her ass sway as she crosses the room and switches out the name cards on the tables.
Fuck, I could sink my teeth right through that tight fabric and listen to her moan. My dick instantly twitches at the image I’m creating in my mind.
“What can I get you, sir?” the bartender asks as I turn back to the bar.
“Scotch, make it a double, and hold the ice.”
***
The evening goes as it always does, but I can’t help sneaking a glance over at Zara and watching as she laughs and jokes with the people at her table. I, on the other hand, have been in a discussion about a few horses I have for sale.
Thomas Doyle wants a horse. He won’t tell me what he intends on using the horse for, but he insists it needs to be a bloody good one. I scoff at his words. I only deal in the best horses. I breed, train, own, and race the best horses on the planet. They are my life, my loves, and my only constant companions. I trust them more than any human being, with the exception of my immediate family.
I have three brothers. Braxton, who owns a chain of theme parks, Kane, who owns night clubs and dance venues all over the US, and Carter, who owns a football club here in the UK. And then mom and dad, who are retired now. Braxton and Kane are both tied down and have kids, Carter . . . I’m not sure what’s going on with him right now. He’s been quiet in our brother’s chat, and that’s so unlike him. I make a mental note to drop in on him soon.
“So, when do you want to come and have a look?” I ask Thomas.
“Tomorrow morning? Would that work for you?” he replies, and I think for a moment.
“Yes, I can do around 11:00 a.m. I’ll be in the training paddock until 10:30, so please don’t arrive too early. I will need to understand your use for this horse by then though. I’m not going to sell you anything that isn’t suitable.”
“Fine . . .” He sighs. “It’s for my daughter. It’s an investment. She’s a little . . . flaky, and I want her to have something to focus on. A horse will really help. She’ll have responsibility and—”
“Can your daughter even ride?” I interrupt.
“Yes, of course she can ride. She’s been riding since she was two years old, but she’s never owned her own horse. She’s always ridden her cousin’s.”
“You do realise that I am talking about thoroughbred racehorses? Not ponies or—”
“Yes, yes, of course I do.” He interrupts me this time, and that frustrates me.
He can come and look at my beautiful creatures, but if I get one tiny inclination he doesn’t know what he’s doing, then it’ll be a wasted journey for him and wasted time for me.
My two hours are up, and I make my excuses and leave. I can’t help but wonder if the woman I met at the bar is his only daughter.
Zara doesn’t strike me as the equestrian type. She’s more of a trophy princess. Something pretty to look at but not a great deal going on in the brains department.
I arrive home and decide to go and check on my girls. I can see through the window that Jasmine is sound asleep, so I decide to head straight to bed.
Thoughts of Zara flit in and out. The way she smiled at me at the bar. Her sly glances over to the table when she thought I wasn’t watching.
But what is bugging me the most is her father. He was quite rude about her, almost as if he doesn’t really care for her much, and that makes me feel kinda weird. My mom still fusses over all of us, and dad, well, he’s just one of the boys.
It would really hurt if they thought about me the way Doyle thinks about Zara.
My eyes close, and I dream of her hot tight ass and her plump and firm tits, and when I wake up with a raging hard-on in the middle of the night, there’s only one solution.
My hand takes hold of my hard dick, and I close my eyes, my mind wandering to Zara again and how I could just bite those perfect lips. Fuck.
I lick the palm of my free hand and slowly roll it over the swollen head. “Fuck . . . Fuck . . .” I groan as I imagine it being her tongue grazing slowly.
“Oh fuck . . . Fuck . . . Fuck . . . Yes!” I yell, as I cover my hand and stomach in my cum. A few more pumps, and I finally catch my breath. Fuck, that was . . . intense, crazy, and hot as fuck!
I look down at my hand and stomach and then lie back on the pillow, unable to move for a moment. No wonder women don’t mind using condoms when this is the mess it leaves.