Hot in the Saddle

By Rob Preece

Since the Start Bicycling Company pulled the rug out from his dreams, Max Sandow has been fighting for his survival in the industry he loves. He's finally got his company going, winning some business and doing what he loves. When Joli Start, of the Start Bicycling family walks into his factory, the only thing he wants to see is her gone. But Joli needs Max--she's agreed to a cross-country bicycle race for control of her family's business--and it'll take a miracle for her to win. Max, sometimes known as Miracle Max, is the one coach who just might be able to pull off the upset of the century. Joli thinks its just business--but she's willing to pay anything, do anything it takes, to win Max as her coach. When she makes him an offer he can't refuse, Max reluctantly agrees. But neither really knows what they're getting into. Because this isn't just a bike race, they're risking their bodies, and their hearts.

Based (extremely loosely) on author Rob Preece's attempt at a cross-country bicycle trip, HOT IN THE SADDLE combines steamy sex, an exciting journey that offers both Max and Joli self-discovery as well as a physical trip, and an emotionally satisfying conflict and resolution. Max and Joli are both competitors, intent on their goals--and the growing attraction they feel for one another can never erase the fact that their goals are in complete conflict.

The realistic setting and the intense action of the bicycle race will appeal to cycling fans, but they're really backdrop to the real action of the story--the growing attraction between two characters who know that the only way they have a chance to be together is for Joli to lose--but who are both too proud to even think about throwing the race and letting Joli's evil cousin take the company and the only family Joli has ever known. The relationship is steamy and a lot of fun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rob Preece
• Release date: Aug 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781602151918

Rob Preece

When he's not writing, Rob Preece is playing competitive bridge or planning long distance bicycle trips. He's a fan of fantasy and science fiction, spent months trying to build a staff that would work like Gandalfs (and studied Bo fighting) and does magic tricks on dates. Yeah, he should probably stick with writing.Rob is the publisher for BooksForABuck.com, a small primarily electronic publisher of novel-length mystery, science fiction, fantasy and romance.

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HOT IN THE SADDLE

Rob Preece

Published by BooksForABuck.com

at Smashwords

Copyright Rob Preece 2004-2012

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Chapter 1

The meeting had started badly, then fell off a cliff.

Joli Start pasted on her best smile and tried again. It will only be for a few months. Trust me, I don't want to be doing this any more than you do.

Right. If way-too-handsome Max Sandow knew how to smile, you couldn't have proved it by Joli. "Neither of us want this, right. So here's a concept. We don't do it. Now get the hell out of here before I throw you out."

In general, Joli wouldn't have minded the idea of being manhandled by six feet of gorgeous hard-muscled male. The only way she was going to let this particular hunk rub her was the wrong way, though. And he'd done that in a big way.

Why don't you let us run through our offer before you toss us out. We did fly halfway across the country to see you, after all.

Max ran his hands through thick wavy black hair, but the look in his jet-colored eyes said he was at the point of tearing every hair out. Which would be a pity. His hair was a little longer than she usually liked, and that earing would have to go but--Joli yanked her mind out of that gutter.

Max glared pointedly at his watch. All right. You've got five minutes.

Joli stared around Max's office and finally found a small patch of desk that wasn't littered with empty coffee mugs, welding equipment, or bits of bicycle paraphernalia. It took less than thirty seconds to set up her laptop and projector and she flashed the first slide on the wall.

She and her friend and co-worker Terri had spent hours on the presentation. There was no way they could do justice to it in five minutes. Still, Joli let Terri go through the PowerPoint charts, pointing out the benefits of working with Start Bicycles, and showing the royalties that Max stood to earn if he agreed to Joli's unconventional proposal.

Joli was about to launch into her conclusion, a strong plea to help her save her grandfather's company, Start Bicycles, when Max glanced at his watch, stood, yawned and turned away.

But--

I gave you your five minutes. I listened. I didn't even interrupt. I did everything I promised. Now you're going to what you said you’d do--get out.

Now you wait just a minute, Terri shouted. Her hands balled into fists and for a moment, Joli thought her five-foot in heels friend was about to attack the man. We've given you a fair offer and I think we deserve the courtesy of some careful consideration.

If I was the kind of guy who thought about things, I never would have given you the appointment in the first place. I've been polite and patient, but that's about to end. And don't make a fist in my presence unless you intend to use it.

Joli wrapped her arms around her friend and half-dragged her out of Max's office. A decade before, when Max had been king of the sprinters and dominated professional bicycling, he'd had a reputation as a man who never backed down from a fight. Although she'd never heard of him fighting a woman, Joli wouldn't put it past him. The funny thing was, she suspected he really did think he'd been patient and polite. Talk about a tenuous connection with reality.

Come on, Terri. This was a bad idea from the start.

Now that's the first intelligent thing either of you has said since you got there. Max's voice was a deep-pitched drawl with just the slightest hint of a southern accent.

Screw you and the horse you rode in on, Terri shouted.

Shut up, Joli hissed. Do you really want to keep on talking to this jerk?

* * * *

Terri ranted for the first ten minutes as they drove back to the Austin, Texas hotel where they would spend the night. The trip hadn't been a total bust--they'd had the chance to meet with their Texas distributors and pitch the following year's Start Bicycle Company designs--but Joli couldn't wait to get back home to San Jose, California.

So, what are we going to do? Terri asked when Joli pulled into the Marriott parking lot.

I'll just train myself. I mean, I've been hanging around bikes my whole life. You don't seriously think I need some jerk to tell me how to clip my feet into a pedal system, do you?

Terri didn't look convinced. Your cousin Tyler has been hanging around bikes all his life too. He won the Santa Rosa Triathlon last month, and he's got two members of Lance Armstrong's old U.S. Postal Team working with him. So, yeah, I think you need Max.

Joli shifted into park, set the emergency brake, and flicked the automatic door locks open. Well, we don't have him. So what's plan B.

Plan B is you lose, honey. Which means that your jerky cousin takes over, fires your butt, and sells Start Bicycling to the highest bidder. Probably some company in China that will take the brand and use it to produce a bunch of cheap trash-bikes.

Terri reached into the back seat for her laptop computer and the portable projector and stood, straightening out the charcoal gray business suit she'd worn for the meeting with Max. Terri was right, Max had been their best hope.

It wasn't as if Joli would go hungry even if she lost her job. Still, she had fought for this chance, insisting that a woman was as good as a man, pushing her grandfather to be fair, to give her a chance. He had taken a lot of persuading but he’d finally caved. Now, after all that, she was going to blow it. All because one jerk, Max Sandow, wouldn't even give her a fair hearing.

There are other coaches, Joli reminded her friend.

I guess, Terri agreed. I mean, who knows. Maybe Tyler will break his leg or something.

Which was about what it would take for Joli to win this crazy race anyway.

Terri grasped her arm. Hey, I was kidding. Women have the advantage over men when it comes to endurance. If this was a sprint, or even say a century, Tyler would beat you for sure. But a cross-country trek is over three thousand miles. You'll grind him into the dirt. Like women do in that dogsled race—what’s it called?

Joli forced another smile and tried not to think about how many women raced on equal terms with the men in the Tour de France—also a multi-thousand mile endurance race. The answer was zero. I guess I'd better. Joli wasn't the only person who would be out a job if she couldn't pull out a win in this race. Terri and their entire marketing department would probably join her in the unemployment line. Over the past couple of years, they'd had too many confrontations with Tyler to believe he would keep anyone from her team on.

Max had earned his reputation as a miracle worker, turning around one of the worst teams in history into Tour de France champions, then taking another bad team and doing the same thing. If anyone could help her, it would be Max. The only problem was, he wouldn't even talk to her.

We really do need Max, don't we? Joli finally concluded.

We've got to do something, Terri urged. Maybe we could hold him up or something. Ambush him.

Joli couldn't help thinking about those dark eyes and those strong muscular arms. If he hadn't been such a jerk, she wouldn't mind ambushing him—at least for a wild night.

She tried to tell herself that his good looks had nothing to do with the plan that started to percolate through her mind--but was only partly convinced.

You're right, Joli agreed. I've got to ambush him. But somehow I don't think a gun is the tool to use.

Want me to-- Terri gave a sexy wiggle that showed off curves way out of line with her slender form. I mean, it wouldn’t be a complete hardship or anything.

Uh-uh. He's got a bug in his butt about Start. Well, I'm the only Start around here and I'm the one who's got to persuade him. Joli paused for a second. If you want to help, though, why don't you come up to my room and help me doll up. I need a little more ammunition before I go back for the ambush.

But--

Hey, I've slept with guys a lot less attractive than Max Sandow. Now that she thought about it, none of the three guys she'd slept with had been anywhere near as good looking as Max.

I'll bet none of them were as big jerks, though.

Joli wasn't going to take that loser of a bet. Can I borrow that little black dress you brought?

Terri nodded. Are you sure this is worth it?

To save her friends' jobs and her grandfather's company, Joli would be willing to do just about anything. Yeah, she said. I'll close my eyes and pretend it's someone else.

* * * *

Max brought the hammer down on the extruded graphite compound he'd designed--and watched it shatter. Damn. He'd been sure they had the formula this time. In the business of high performance racing bicycles, a few ounces could mean many thousands of dollars, but an equipment failure meant nothing but a ruined reputation.

Well, chalk up another interesting failure.

Got a minute, boss? His partner, Bart Pierson, stood in the entryway to the shop.

Max nodded, then grabbed a shop rag and wiped off his face. The shop was always warm but today was a real scorcher. I've got a couple of beers in my office.

The faintest hint of perfume still clung to the air like a memory that wouldn't go away.

He fished the beers from the mini-refrigerator under his desk and handed one over to Bart.

Want to tell me what the chicks from Start wanted? Bart demanded.

Max shrugged. I guess word got around that Sandow Bicycles was kicking their butt at the high end. They wanted me to let them license my name again.

Bart took a long swallow from the bottle. Uh, it wouldn't hurt to have a little more income.

Max shook his head. We built this company out of nothing, Bart. After those doping charges, you were the only one to believe in me. But in the past couple of years we've started to get some credibility back. What do you think associating with Start would do to that reputation?

Bart picked at the label on the beer bottle, refusing to meet Max's eyes. They make some good bikes.

Max forced himself to be fair. Yeah, a few. But half their line is made by licensees now. Ever since old man Start stepped back and started letting Tyler run things, they've moved toward the discount store market. Not that that's bad, I guess—I mean, people have to start riding something. It just isn't anything I want my name associated with.

Bart's phony smile let Max know that there was something seriously wrong.

All right, give me the bad news.

I just got word. The Belgian Bank team canceled their order. Start signed up to sponsor them.

Max rubbed his eyes. Guess I should have wrung those Start female's necks while they were here, then. Instead of sending them packing with their tails between their legs.

That one was a honey, though.

Neither one hurt any to look at.

I meant the Asian lady. Va-va-voom, if you know what I mean.

Max took a hit on his own beer. Bart was right, of course. Terri had been a doll. The other, Joli Start, had been a little too pale, a little too skinny. And he'd always liked tiny brunettes rather than model-tall blondes. Yet Joli had been the one that had sent his hormones into overdrive. Well, we're not taking Start’s offer. So we'll just have to find another customer for those bikes. I'll call some friends.

Right. Bart finished his beer and stood. Well, I guess I can stand another month where I don't get paid. Heck, my landlord would probably have a heart attack if I paid my rent on time anyway.

We'll make this work, Max assured him.

I hope so. Bart tossed the empty in the trash. Well, I'll see you tomorrow.

Max picked up the phone. He needed to move some product. It wasn't fair to Bart to make the poor guy worry about his next paycheck. Too bad those Start women hadn't been able to offer anything interesting.

An hour later, Max had run out of people to call and had sold a grand total of one bike. His friendly banker would float him a loan on the receivable and he'd be able to pay Bart something--at least enough for his apartment. But if Max didn't figure out something during the month, he would be out of business. Damn. That Belgian deal had been a real coup. The publicity alone would have been worth millions and the order would have paid to expand his plant, hire a couple more techs, and really go after Start for the high end of the racing market.

Well, all that would happen eventually. The Belgian thing was just a delay. He stood, stretched, and took a deep breath.

The perfume that Joli Start had worn still lingered in the air. In fact, it seemed to be getting stronger.

You're working late, big guy.

Joli was wrapped in some black outfit that plunged in front, had a cutout that showed a surprisingly cute belly button, and demonstrated a pair of legs that would stop traffic any day of the week.

His hormones kicked in a fractional second before his brain and he felt a surge of desire. Desire he ruthlessly suppressed. What part of go-away didn't you understand?

I thought I would sweeten my offer. She took a step toward him, swaying slightly as she walked.

His traitor body responded. What was it about this woman that sent his hormones into a eighteen-year-old state? He was thirty-five, for Pete's sake. He was supposed to be all grown up.

I've been screwed by Start before, Max told her. I didn't enjoy it last time so I think I'm going to have to take a pass.

He caught her slap only inches from his face. You are quick, though. But I wonder if you can go the distance.

I'm a woman, she told him as she wrenched her hand free. It's men who can't keep it up in the long haul. Of course it's common knowledge that you're a specialist in sprinting to the finish.

He dropped her hand like it was on fire. That's the problem with groupies, he told her. If you take a lot of time with each, you never get through the line. Got to speed things up.

Joli went red in her face. From her faster breathing, Max knew that anger rather than embarrassment caused the reaction.

You are just about the most arrogant, annoying, tasteless man I've had the misfortune to meet. It's no wonder you got fired from Start.

Max reached into his refrigerator and took out two more beers. He tossed one to the steaming Joli and popped the other with his opener. Sounds like you need to cool down, he told her.

Yeah? Well, you can just--

You were the one who came here and talked about sweetening the offer, he reminded her. You were the one who implied that I couldn't make my equipment work. You're pretty good at dishing it out, aren't you? But you don't seem so good at taking it. What's the matter? Poor little rich girl never had a man who would talk back?

* * * *

Joli looked at the bottle in her hand, at the outrageous dress she'd borrowed from Terri, and at the floor. Pretty much, she was willing to look at anything but Max.

What had she been thinking? He had been a bicycle champion. He'd had women throwing themselves at him for years. Joli wasn't painful to look at, but she had never been recruited as a model, either. Whereas, a few years ago when he'd been in his prime, Max had been cover material for half the magazines in Europe. To her mind, he looked even better now than he had then. The faint lines near his eyes spoke of pain and experience, not of the cocky certainty he'd had years before. His smile seemed more scarce, but more precious when it came. Not that he'd smiled much lately. Of course that could be just a reaction to her.

Not knowing what else to do, she twisted at the top of the beer bottle--and sliced a good hunk off of her hand. Ouch!

Oh, great. He sounded disgusted. Better let me take a look at that.

It only took her a second to realize what a bad idea that would be. Unfortunately, during that second, Max seized her hand.

His strong fingers unclenched her fist, then he was all business.

He reached into a large first aid kit, dabbed off the blood with a Handiwipe, smeared ointment over her palm, and finally taped a butterfly bandage over the wound which, she realized, wasn't quite as serious as she'd first thought.

Her brain seemed to have gone into slow motion. All she could think about was the warmth of Max's work-hardened hands as they brushed against her skin, the way his dark tan contrasted with her sunblock-protected arms, and the warm fluttery feeling that had taken root in the base of her stomach.

Then he lifted her hand near his lips and blew on it gently.

Max Sandow was a proven jerk. He'd snubbed her when she had gotten herself into her most vampy role, and he was going to cost her and her friends their jobs. So why was this one of the top ten erotic moments in her life?

Next time, you might want to use the bottle opener, Max told her, one sardonic eyebrow lifted slightly.

She pulled herself back to her mission. Yeah? So there's going to be a next time?

He dropped her hand like it had burned him. I was speaking generically.

I wasn't. I really need your help, Max.

He nodded, then went and sat behind his desk.

She pulled up a chair and sat down herself. The ambush had backfired badly and she was the one who had gotten burned, but the battle isn't over until one side retreats and Joli didn't intend to