The Price of Success (10 page)

‘And you passed with flying colours.’ He raised his glass to her. ‘Bravo.’

Unsettlingly perceptive blue eyes rested on him. ‘Oops, do I detect a certain cynicism there, Marco?’

He clenched his teeth as his control slipped another notch. ‘Has anyone told you it’s not nice to always go for the jugular?’

Her eyes widened. ‘Was that what I was doing? I thought we were having a get-to-know-each-other conversation. At least until you went a little weird on me.’

‘
Perdón
. Weird wasn’t what I was aiming for.’ He took a large gulp of his wine.

‘First an admission of a flaw. Now an apology. Wow—must be my lucky night. Are you feeling okay? Maybe it would help to talk about whatever it is that spooked you?’

Perhaps it was the mellowing effect of the wine. Perhaps it was the fact that he hadn’t had an engaging conversation like
this in a while. Marco was surprised when he found himself laughing.

‘I have no memory of ever being spooked. But, just for curiosity’s sake, which hat will you be wearing for this little heart-to-heart? Diplomat or psychologist?’

Her gaze met his squarely. ‘How about friend?’ she asked.

His laughter dried up.

She wanted to be his friend
.

Marco couldn’t remember the last time anyone had offered to be his friend. Betrayal had a habit of stripping the scales from one’s eyes. He’d learnt that lesson well and thoroughly.

He swallowed another gulp of wine. ‘I respectfully decline. Thanks all the same.’

A small smile curved her lip. ‘Ouch. At least you didn’t laugh in my face.’

‘That would have been cruel.’

One smooth brow rose. ‘And you don’t do cruel? You’ve come very close in the past.’

‘You were a threat to my brother.’

‘Were?
You mean you’re not under that impression any more?’

Realising the slip, he started to set her straight, then paused.
You can’t control what happens in life … Rafael will resent you for controlling his life …
‘I’m willing to suspend my judgement until Rafael is able to set the picture straight himself.’

Her smile faded. ‘You don’t trust me at all, do you?’

He steeled himself against his fleeting tinge of regret at the hurt in her voice.

‘Trust is earned. It comes with time. Or so I’m told.’

So far no one had withstood the test long enough for Marco to verify that belief. Sasha Fleming had already failed that test. She was only sitting across from him because of what he could give her.

She hid her calculating nature well, but he knew it was there, hiding beneath the fiercely determined light in her eyes.

‘Well, then, here’s to earning trust. And becoming friends.’

Marco didn’t respond to her toast because part of him regretted the fact that friendship between them would never be possible.

‘T
HIS
way, Sasha!’

‘Over here!’

‘Smile!’

The Children of Bravery awards took place every August at one of the plushest hotels in Mayfair. Last year Sasha had arrived in a cab with Tom, who had then gone on to ignore her for the rest of the night.

Tonight flashbulbs went off in her face the moment Marco helped her out of the back of his stunning silver Rolls-Royce onto the red carpet.

Blinking several times to help her eyes adjust, she found Tom had materialised beside her. Before he could speak, Marco stepped in front of him.

‘Miss Fleming won’t be needing you tonight. Enjoy your evening.’

The dismissal was softly spoken, wrapped in steel. With a hasty nod, a slightly pale Tom dissolved back into the crowd.

‘That wasn’t very nice,’ she murmured, although secretly she was pleased. Her nerves, already wound tight at the thought of the evening ahead, didn’t need further negative stimulus in the form of Tom. ‘But thank you.’

‘De nada,’
he murmured in that smooth deep voice of his, and her nerves stretched a little tighter.

When he took her arm the feeling intensified, then morphed into a different kind of warmth as another sensation altogether enveloped her—one of feeling protected, cherished …

She applied mental brakes as her brain threatened to go into meltdown. Forcing herself away from thoughts she had no business thinking, she drew in a shaky breath and tried to project a calm, poised demeanour.

‘For once I agree with the paparazzi.
Smile
. Your face looks frozen,’ Marco drawled, completely at ease with being the subject of intense scrutiny.

He seemed perfectly okay with hundreds of adoring female fans screaming his name from behind the barriers, while she could only think about the ceremony ahead and the memories it would resurrect.

Pushing back her pain, she forced her lips apart. ‘That’s probably because it is. Besides, you’re one to talk. I don’t see you smiling.’

One tuxedo-clad shoulder lifted in a shrug. ‘I’m not the star on show.’ He peered closer at her. ‘What’s wrong with you? You didn’t say a word on the way over here and now you look pale.’

‘That’s because I don’t
like
being on show. I hate dressing up, and make-up makes my face feel weird.’

‘You look fine.’ His gaze swept over her. ‘More than fine. The stylist chose well.’

‘She didn’t choose this dress. I chose it myself. If I’d gone with her choice I’d be half naked with a slit up to my cro—’ She cleared her throat. ‘Why did you send me a stylist anyway?’

When she’d opened the door to Marco’s Kensington penthouse apartment to find a stylist with a rack of designer gear in tow, Sasha had been seriously miffed.

‘I didn’t want to risk you turning up here in baggy jeans and a hippy top.’

‘I’d never have—!’ She caught the gleam of amusement in his eyes and relaxed.

Another photographer screamed her name and she tensed.

‘Relax.
You
chose well.’ His gaze slid over her once more. ‘You look beautiful.’

Stunned, she mumbled, ‘Thank you.’

She smoothed a nervous hand over her dress, thankful her new contract had come with a lucrative remuneration package
that meant she’d been able to afford the black silk and lace floor-length Zang Toi gown she wore.

The silver studs in the off-the-shoulder form-fitting design flashed as the cameras went off. But even the stylish dress, with its reams of material that trailed on the red carpet, couldn’t stem the butterflies ripping her stomach to shreds as the media screamed out for even more poses. Nor could it eliminate the wrenching reason why, on a night like this, she couldn’t summon a smile.

‘Stop fidgeting,’ he commanded.

‘That’s easy for you to say. Anyway, why are you here? I don’t need a keeper.’ Nor did she need the stupid melting sensation in her stomach every time his hand tightened around her arm.

‘I beg to differ. This event is hosting many sport personalities, including other drivers from the circuit. Your track record—pardon the pun—doesn’t stand you in good stead. The one thing you
do
need is a keeper.’

‘And you’re it? Don’t you have better things to do?’

When he’d pointed out after they’d landed this morning that it was more time-efficient for her to stay with him in London, than to come to the ceremony from her cottage in Kent, she hadn’t bargained on the fact that he’d appoint himself her personal escort for the evening.

His rugged good looks lit up in sharp relief, courtesy of another photographer’s flash, but he hardly noticed how avidly the media craved his attention. Nor cared.

‘The team has suffered with Rafael’s absence. It’ll be good for the sponsors to see me here.’

The warmth she’d experienced moments ago disappeared. She felt his sharp gaze as she eased her arm from his grasp.

‘How long do we have to stay out here?’ The limelight was definitely a place she wasn’t comfortable in. However irrational, she always feared her deepest secret would be exposed.

‘Until a problem with the seating is sorted out.’

She swivelled towards him. ‘What problem with the seating?’

Relief poured through her as he steered her away from the
cameras and down the red carpet into the huge marble-floored foyer of the five-star hotel.

The crowd seemed to pause, both men and women alike staring avidly as they entered.

Oblivious to the reaction, Marco snagged two glasses of champagne and handed one to her. ‘Some wires got crossed along the line.’

Sasha should have been used to it by now, but a hard lump formed in her throat nonetheless. ‘You mean I was downgraded to nobody-class because my surname is Fleming and not de Cervantes?’

He gave her a puzzled look. ‘Why should your name matter?’

‘Come on. I may have missed school the day rocket science was taught, but I know how this works.’ Even when the words weren’t said, Sasha knew she was being judged by her father’s dishonour.

‘Your surname has nothing to do with it,’ Marco answered, nodding greetings to several people who tried to catch his eye. ‘When the awards committee learned I would be attending, they naturally assumed that I would be bringing a plus one.’

A sensation she intensely disliked wormed its way into her heart. ‘Oh, so I was bumped to make room for your date. Not because …?’

He raised a brow. ‘Because?’

Shaking her head, Sasha took a hasty sip of her bubbly. ‘So why didn’t you? Bring a date, I mean?’ When his brow rose in mocking query, she hurried on. ‘I know it’s certainly not for the lack of willing companions. I mean, a man like you …’ She stumbled to a halt.

‘A man like me? You mean The Ass?’ he asked mockingly.

Heat climbed into her cheeks but she refused to be cowed. ‘No, I didn’t mean that. The other you—the impossibly rich, successful one, who’s a bit decent to look at….’ Cursing her runaway tongue, she clamped her mouth shut.

‘Gracias …
I think.’

‘You know what I mean. Women scale skylights, risk life and limb to be with you, for goodness’ sake.’

‘Skylight-scaling is a bit too OTT for me. I prefer my women to use the front door.
With
my invitation.’ His gaze connected with hers.

Heat blazed through her, lighting fires that had no business being lit. His broad shoulders loomed before her as he bent his head. As if to … As if to … Her gaze dropped to his lips. She swallowed.

Chilled champagne went down the wrong way.

She coughed, cleared her throat and tried desperately to find something to say to dispel the suddenly charged atmosphere. His eyelids descended, but not before she caught a flash of anguish. Stunned, she stared at him, but when he looked back up his expression was clear.

‘To answer your question, this is a special event to honour children. It’s not an event to bring a date who’ll spend all evening checking out other women’s jewellery or celebrity-spotting.’

‘How incredibly shallow! Oh, I don’t mean you date shallow women—I mean … Hell, I’ve put my foot in it, haven’t I?’

The smile she’d glimpsed once before threatened to break the surface of his rigid demeanour. ‘Your diplomatic hat is slipping, Sasha. I think we should go in before you insult me some more and completely shatter my ego.’

‘I don’t think that’s possible,’ she murmured under her breath. ‘Seriously, though, you should smile more. You look almost human when you do.’

The return of his low, deep laugh sang deliciously along her skin, then wormed its way into her heart. When his hand arrived in the small of her back to steer her into the ballroom a whole heap of pleasure stole through her, almost convincing her the butterflies had been vanquished.

The feeling was pathetically short-lived. The pictures of children hanging from the ceiling of the chandeliered ballroom punched a hole through the euphoric warmth she’d dared to bask in. Her breath caught as pain ripped through her. If her baby had lived she would have been four by now.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Marco demanded in a low undertone.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

Unwilling to risk his incisive gaze, she hurried to their table and greeted an ex-footballer who’d recently been knighted for his work with children.

Breathing through her pain, it took a moment for her to realise she was the subject of daggered looks and whispered sniggers from the other two occupants of the table.

Feeling her insides congeal with familiar anger, she summoned a smile and pasted it on her face as the ex-footballer’s trophy wife leaned forward, exposing enough cleavage to sink a battleship.

‘Hi, I’m Lisa. This is my sister, Sophia,’ she said.

Marco nodded in greeting and introduced Sasha.

Sophia flashed Marco a man-gobbling smile, barely sparing Sasha a glance.

A different form of sickness assailed Sasha as she watched the women melt under Marco’s dazzling charisma. Eager eyes took in his commanding physique, the hard beauty of his face, the sensual mouth and the air of authority and power that cloaked him.

He murmured something that made Sophia giggle with delight. When her gaze met Sasha’s, it held a touch of triumph that made Sasha want to reach out and pull out her fake hair extensions. Instead she kept her smile and turned towards the older man.

If fake boobs and faker lashes were his thing, Marco was welcome to them.

Marco clenched his fist on his thigh and forced himself to calm down. He’d never been so thoroughly and utterly ignored by a date in his life.

So Sasha wasn’t technically his date. So what? She’d arrived with him. She would leave with him. Would it hurt her to try and make conversation with
him
instead of engaging in an in-depth discussion of the current Premier League?

Slowly unclenching his fist, he picked up his wine glass.

Sasha laughed. The whole table seemed to pause to drink it in—even the two women who had so rudely ignored her so far.

By the time the tables were cleared of their dinner plates he’d had enough.

‘Sasha.’

She smiled an excuse at the older man before turning to him.

‘Yes?’

At the sight of her wide, genuine smile—the same one she’d worn when she’d offered her friendship at
Casa de Leon
—something in his chest contracted. He forced himself to remember the reason Sasha Fleming was here beside him. Why she was in his life at all.

Rafael. The baby brother he’d always taken care of.

But he isn’t a child any more
…

Marco suppressed the unsettling voice. ‘The ceremony’s about to start. You’re presenting the second award.’

Her eyes widened a fraction, then anxiety darkened their depths.

‘Yes, of course. I … I have my speech ready. I’d better read it over one more time, just in case …’ Her hands shook as she plucked a tiny piece of paper from her bag.

Without thinking, he covered her hand with his. ‘Take a deep breath. You’ll be fine.’

Eyes locked onto his, she slowly nodded. ‘I … Thanks.’

The MC took to the stage and announced the first award-giver. Sasha smiled and clapped but, watching her closely, Marco caught a glimpse of the pain in her eyes. Forcing himself to concentrate on the speech, he listened to the story of a four-year-old who’d saved her mother’s life by ringing for an ambulance and giving clear, accurate directions after her mother had fallen down a ravine.

The ice-cold tightening his chest since he’d stepped from the car increased as he watched the little girl bound onto the stage in a bright blue outfit, her face wreathed in smiles. Forcing himself not to go there, not to dwell in the past, he turned to gauge Sasha’s reaction.

She was frozen, her whole body held taut.

Frowning, he leaned towards her. ‘This is ridiculous. Tell me what’s wrong.
Now
.’

She jumped, her eyes wide, darkly haunted with unshed tears. Her smile flashed, only this time it lacked warmth or substance.

‘I told you, I’m fine. Or I would if I’d remembered to bring a tissue.’

Wordlessly, he reached into his tuxedo jacket and handed her his handkerchief, a million questions firing in his mind.

Accepting it, she dabbed at her eyes. ‘If I look a horror, don’t tell me until I come back from the stage, okay?’ she implored.

It was on the tip of his tongue to trip out the usual platitudes he gave to his dates. Instead he nodded. ‘Agreed.’

Marco watched her gather herself together. A subtle roll of her shoulders and a look of determination settled over her features. By the time she rose to present the award her smile was fixed in place.

Watching the lights play over her dark hair, illuminate her beautiful features and the generous curve of her breasts, Marco felt the familiar tightening in his groin and bit back a growl of frustration.

‘As most of you know, Rafael de Cervantes was supposed to present this award to Toby this evening. Instead he’s skiving off somewhere in sunny Spain.’

Laughter echoed through the room.

‘No, seriously, just as Toby said a prayer before rushing into his burning home to save his little sister and brother, so we should all take a moment to say a prayer for Rafael’s speedy recovery. Toby fought for his family to live. Not once did he give up. Even when the rescuers told him there was no hope for his little brother he ignored them and rescued him. Why? Because he’d promised his mother he’d take care of his siblings. And he never once wavered from that promise. There are lessons for all of us in Toby’s story. And that’s never to give up. No matter how small or big your dreams, no matter how tough or impossible the way forward seems, never give up. I’m delighted to present this award to Toby Latham, for his outstanding bravery against all odds.’