The Price of Success (2 page)

‘I’m sorry, Miss Fleming. You’re not on my list of approved visitors.’

Steeling herself against the nerves dragging through her, Sasha cleared her throat. ‘Is Marco de Cervantes here? Maybe I can ask him?’

She pushed the mental picture of Marco’s cold, unforgiving features to the back of her mind. She was here for Rafael. Surely, as his team mate, his brother wouldn’t bar her from seeing him?

‘No, he left half an hour ago.’

Shock slammed into her. ‘He
left
?’

The nurse nodded. ‘He didn’t seem too happy, but considering the circumstances I guess it’s to be expected.’

For a moment Sasha debated asking if the nurse would make an exception. Break the rules for her. But she dismissed it. Breaking her own rules, getting friendly with Rafael, was probably the reason he’d ended up in this situation. She refused to exacerbate it.

Plucking her sunglasses off her head, she slid them down to cover her eyes. In her jeans and long-sleeved cotton top, with a multi-coloured cheesecloth satchel slung across her body, she looked like every other summer tourist in the city. Her disguise
had helped her evade the paparazzi on her way in. She prayed it would hold up on her way out.

With a heavy heart she turned towards the elevator doors, which stood open as if to usher her away from here as fast as possible.

‘Wait.’ The nurse beckoned with a quick hand movement and leaned forward as Sasha approached the desk. ‘Maybe I can sneak you in for a few minutes,’ she whispered.

Relief washed over Sasha. ‘Oh, thank you so much!’

‘If you don’t mind signing an autograph for my nephew?’

A tinge of guilt arrowed through her, but the need to see Rafael overcame the feeling. With a grateful smile, Sasha took the proffered pen.

‘What the hell are you doing in here?’

Sasha spun round at the harsh voice, and gasped at the dark figure framed in the doorway. A few minutes, the nurse had said. A quick glance at her watch confirmed her sickening suspicion. She’d been here almost an hour!

‘I asked you a question.’

‘I came to see Rafael. There was no one here—’

‘So you thought you’d just sneak in?’

‘Hardly! The nurse—’ Sasha gulped back her words, realising she could be putting the nurse’s job in jeopardy.

‘The nurse what?’

Marco advanced into the room, his formidable presence shrinking the space. She scrambled to her feet, but she still had to tilt her head to see his face.

His cold-as-steel expression dried her mouth further.

She shook her head. ‘I just wanted to see how he was.’ She stopped speaking as he drew level with her, his hard eyes boring into her.

‘How long have you been here?’

She risked another glance at her watch and cringed inwardly. Dared she tell him the truth or blag her way through? ‘Does it really matter?’

‘How long?’ he gritted, his gaze sliding over his brother as if assessing any further damage.

‘Why are you checking him over like that? Do you think I’ve harmed him in some way?’ she challenged.

Hazel eyes slammed back to her. His contempt was evident as his gaze raked her face. ‘I don’t
think
! I
know
you’ve already harmed my brother.’

His tone was so scathing Sasha was surprised her flesh wasn’t falling from her skin.

‘Rafael told you about our fight?’

‘Yes, he did. I can only conclude that your presence here is another media stunt, not out of concern for my brother?’

‘Of course it isn’t!’

‘Is that why the media presence at the hospital gates has doubled in the last hour?’

Her gaze drifted to the window. The blinds were drawn against the late-afternoon sun, but not closed completely. She’d taken a step to look for herself when steely fingers closed on her wrist. Heat shot up her arm, the reaction so unfamiliar she froze.

‘If you think I’m going to let you use my brother to further your own ends, you’re sorely mistaken.’

Alarmed, she stared up at him. ‘Why would you think I’d do that?’

A mirthless smile bared his teeth, displaying a look so frightening she shivered.

‘That press conference you gave? About how much you cared for him? How your thoughts were with him and his family?
About how you’re willing to step into his shoes as soon as possible so you don’t let the team down?
What were your exact words?
“I’ve earned the chance at a full-time seat. I’ve proven that I have what it takes.”
‘

Sasha swallowed, unable to look away from the chilling but oddly hypnotic pull of his gaze. ‘I … I shouldn’t have….’ The echo of unease she’d felt before and during the interview returned. ‘I didn’t mean it like that—’

‘How
did
you mean it, then? How exactly have
you
, a mere reserve driver, earned your place on the team? Why do
you
deserve
Rafael’s seat and not one of the other dozen top drivers out there?’

‘Because it’s my time! I deserve the chance.’ She wrenched at her captured arm. His hand tightened, sending another bolt of heat through her body.

Straight black brows clamped together. His arresting features were seriously eroding her thought processes. Even livid to the point where she could imagine heat striations coming off his body he oozed enough sex appeal to make her finally understand why his bodyguards were forever turning away paddock groupies from his luxury hospitality suite. Rumour had it that one particularly eager groupie had scaled the mobile suite and slipped into his bedroom via the skylight.

‘Your time?
Why?’ he challenged again, stepping closer, invading her body space and her ability to breathe. ‘What’s so special about
you
, Sasha Fleming?’

‘I didn’t say I was special.’

‘That’s not what I got from the press junket. In fact I deduced something along the lines that the team would be making a huge mistake if you weren’t given Rafael’s seat. Was there even the veiled threat of a lawsuit thrown in there?’

The thought that this might be her only chance to find a decent seat had resonated in the back of her mind even as she’d felt sickened at the thought of how wrong the timing was.

‘Nothing to say?’ came the soft taunt.

She finally managed to wrench her wrist from his grasp and stepped back. ‘Mr de Cervantes, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss this.’

Her glance slid to Rafael, her throat closing in distress at the tubes and the horrid beeping of the machines keeping him alive.

Marco followed her gaze and froze, as if just realising where he was. When his gaze sliced back to hers she glimpsed a well of anguish within the hazel depths and felt something soften inside her. Marco de Cervantes, despite his chilling words and seriously imposing presence, was hurting. The fear of the unknown, of wondering if the precious life of someone you held dear would pull through was one she was agonisingly familiar with.

Any thought of her job flew out of her head as she watched him wrestle with his pain. The urge to comfort, one human being to another, momentarily overcame her instinct for self-preservation.

‘Rafael is strong. He’s a fighter. He’ll pull through,’ she murmured softly.

Slowly he pulled in a breath, and any hint of pain disappeared. His upper lip curled in a mocking sneer. ‘Your concern is touching, Miss Fleming. But cut the crap. There are no cameras here. No microphones to lap up your false platitudes. Unless you’ve got one hidden on your person?’ His eyes slid down her body, narrowing as they searched. ‘Will I go on the internet tomorrow and see footage of my brother in his sick bed all over it?’

‘That’s a tasteless and disgusting thing to say!’ Spinning away, she rushed to the leather sofa in the suite and picked up her satchel. Clearly it was time to make herself scarce.

Careful not to come within touching distance of Marco de Cervantes, she edged towards the door.

‘Any more tasteless than you vying for his seat even before you knew for certain whether he was alive or dead?’ came the biting query.

Sasha winced. ‘I agree. It wasn’t the perfect time to do an interview.’

A hint of surprise lightened his eyes, but his lips firmed a second later. ‘But you did it anyway.’

Blaming Tom would have been easy. And the coward’s way out. The truth was, she
wanted
to be lead driver.

‘I thought I was acting in the best interests of the team. And, yes, I was also putting myself forward as the most viable option. But the timing was wrong. For that, I apologise.’

That grim smile made another appearance. Her body shuddered with alarm. Even before he spoke Sasha had the strongest premonition that she wasn’t going to like the words that spilled from his lips.

‘You should’ve taken more time to think, Miss Fleming. Because, as team owner,
I
ultimately decide what’s in the best interests of Team Espiritu. Not you.’

He sauntered to his brother’s bedside and stood looking down at him.

Sasha glanced between the two men. This close, the resemblance between them was striking. Yet they couldn’t have been more different. Where Rafael was wild and gregarious, his brother smouldered and rumbled like the deepest, darkest underbelly of a dormant volcano. The fear that he could erupt at any moment was a very real and credible threat. One that made her throat dry and her heart race.

Finally he turned to face her. Trepidation iced its way to her toes.

‘My decision and mine alone carries. Your timing wasn’t just wrong. It was detestable.’ His voice could have frozen water in the Sahara. ‘It also makes my decision incredibly easy.’

Her heart stopped. ‘Wh—what decision?’

‘Relieving you of your job, of course.’ The smile widened. ‘Congratulations. You’re fired.’

‘W
HAT?’

‘Get out.’

Sasha remained frozen, unable to heed Marco de Cervantes’s command. Finally she forced out a breath.

‘No. You—you can’t do that. You can’t fire me.’ Somewhere at the back of her mind she knew this to be true—something about contracts … clauses—but her brain couldn’t seem to track after the blow it had been dealt.

‘I can do anything I want. I
own
the team. Which means I own you.’

‘Yes, but …’ She sucked in a breath and forced herself to focus. ‘Yes, you own the team, but you don’t
own
me. And you can’t fire me. I haven’t done anything wrong. Sure, the press interview was a little mistimed. But that isn’t grounds to sack me.’

‘Maybe those aren’t the only grounds I have.’

Cold dread eased up her spine. ‘What are you talking about?’

Marco regarded her for several seconds. Then his gaze slid to his brother. Reaching out, he carefully smoothed back a lock of hair from Rafael’s face. The poignancy of the gesture and the momentary softening of his features made Sasha’s heart ache for him, despite his anger at her. No one deserved to watch a loved one suffer. Not even Marco de Cervantes.

When his gaze locked onto her again Sasha wasn’t prepared for the mercurial shift from familial concern to dark fury.

‘You’re right. My brother’s bedside isn’t the place to discuss this.’ He came towards her, his long-legged stride purposeful
and arrestingly graceful. His broad shoulders, the strength in his lean, muscled body demanded an audience. Sasha stared, unable to look away from the perfect body packed full of angry Spanish male.

In whose path she directly stood.

At the last second her legs unfroze long enough for her to step out of his way. ‘It’s okay. I’ll leave.’

‘Running away? Scared your past is catching up with you, Miss Fleming?’

She swallowed carefully, striving to maintain a neutral expression. Marco de Cervantes didn’t know. He
couldn’t
.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. My past has nothing to do with my contract with your team.’

He stared into her face for so long Sasha wanted to slam on the shades dangling uselessly from her fingers.

‘Extraordinary,’ he finally murmured.

‘What?’ she croaked.

‘You lie so flawlessly. Not even an eyelash betrays you. It’s no wonder Rafael was completely taken with you. What I don’t understand is why. He offered you what you wanted—money, prestige, a privileged lifestyle millions dream about but only few achieve. Isn’t that what women like you ultimately want? The chance to live in unimaginable luxury playing mistress of a
castillo
?’

‘Um, I don’t know what sort of women
you’ve
been cavorting with, but you know nothing about me.’

Impossibly, his features grew colder. ‘I know everything I need to know. So why didn’t you just take it? What’s your angle?’ His intense gaze bored into her, as if trying to burrow beneath her skin.

It took every control-gathering technique she’d learned not to step back from him.

‘I have no
angle—’

‘Enough of your lies. Get out.’ He wrenched the door open, fully expecting her to comply.

Her eyes flicked to Rafael’s still form. Sasha doubted she’d see him again before the team’s month-long August break. ‘Will
you tell him I came to see him when he wakes up—please?’ she asked.

Marco exhaled in disbelief. ‘With any luck, by the time my brother wakes up any memory he has of you will be wiped clean from his mind.’

She gasped, the chill from his voice washing over her. ‘I’m not sure exactly what Rafael told you, but you’ve really got this wrong.’

Marco shrugged. ‘And you’re still fired. Goodbye, Miss Fleming.’

‘On what grounds?’ she challenged, hoping this time her voice would emerge with more conviction.

‘I’m sure my lawyers can find something. Inappropriate enthusiasm?’

‘That’s a reason you should be keeping me on—not a reason to fire me.’

‘You’ve just proved my point. Most people know where to draw the line. It seems you don’t.’

‘I
do,’
she stressed, her voice rising right along with the tight knot in her chest.

‘This conversation is over.’ He glanced pointedly at the door.

She stepped into the corridor, reeling from the impact of his words. Her contract was airtight. She was sure of it. But she’d seen too many teams discard perfectly fit and able drivers for reasons far flimsier than the one Marco had just given her. X1 Premier Racing was notorious for its court battles between team owners and drivers.

The thought that she could lose everything she’d fought for made her mouth dry. She’d battled hard to hold onto her seat in the most successful team in the history of the sport, when every punter with a blog or a social media account had taken potshots at her talent. One particularly harsh critic had even gone as far as to debate her sexual preferences.

She’d sacrificed too much for too long. Somehow she had to convince Marco de Cervantes to keep her on.

She turned to confront him—only to find a short man wearing a suit and a fawning expression hurrying towards them. He
handed Marco a small wooden box and launched into a rapid volley of French. Whatever the man—whose discreet badge announced him as Administrator—was saying, it wasn’t having any effect on Marco.

Marco’s response was clipped. When the administrator started in surprise and glanced towards the reception area, Sasha followed his gaze. The nurse who had let her in stood behind the counter.

The administrator launched into another obsequious torrent. Marco cut him off with an incisive slash of his hand and headed for the lifts.

Sasha hurried after him. As she passed the reception area, she glimpsed the naked distress in the nurse’s eyes. Another wave of icy dread slammed into her, lending her more impetus as she rushed after Marco.

‘Wait!’

He pressed the button for the lift as she screeched to a halt beside him.

Away from the low lights of the hospital room Sasha saw him—really saw him—for the first time. Up close and personal, Marco de Cervantes was stunning. If you liked your men tall, imposing and bristling with tons of masculinity. Through the gap in his grey cotton shirt she caught a glimpse of dark hair and a strong, golden chest that had her glancing away in a hurry.

Focus!

‘Can we talk—please?’ she injected into the silence.

He ignored her, his stern, closed face forbidding any conversation. The lift arrived and he stepped in. Sasha rushed in after him. As the doors closed she saw the nurse burst into tears.

Outraged, she rounded on him. ‘My God. You got that nurse sacked, didn’t you?’

Anger dissolved the last of her instinctive self-preservation and washed away the strangely compelling sensation she refused to acknowledge was attraction.

‘I lodged a complaint.’

‘Which, coming from you, was as good as ordering that administrator to sack her!’

Guilt attacked her insides.

‘She must live with the consequences of her actions.’

‘So there’s no in-between? No showing mercy? Just straight to the gallows?’

Deep hazel eyes pinned her where she stood. ‘You weren’t on the list of approved visitors. She knew this and disregarded it. You could’ve been a tabloid hack. Anybody.’

His eyes narrowed and Sasha forced her expression to remain neutral.

‘Or maybe she knew
exactly
who you were?’

She lowered her lids as a wave of guilty heat washed over her face.

‘Of course,’ he taunted softly. ‘What did you offer her? Free tickets to the next race?’

Deciding silence was the best policy, she clamped her lips together.

‘A personal tour of the paddock and a photo op with you once you became lead driver, perhaps?’

His scathing tone grated on her nerves.

Raising her head she met his gaze, anger at his highhandedness loosening her tongue. ‘You know, just because your brother is gravely ill, it doesn’t give you the right to destroy other people’s lives.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ he bit out.

‘Right now you’re in pain and lashing out, wanting anyone and everyone to pay for what you’re going through. It’s understandable, but it’s not fair. That poor woman is now jobless just because
you’re
angry.’

‘
That poor woman
abused her position and broke the hospital’s policy for personal gain. She deserves everything she gets.’

‘It wasn’t for personal gain. She did it for her nephew. He’s a fan. She wanted to do something nice for him.’

‘My heart bleeds.’

‘You do the same, and more, for thousands of race fans every year. What’s so different about this?’

Dark brows clamped together, and his jaw tightened in that barely civilised way that sent another wave of apprehension
through her. Again she glimpsed the dark fury riding just below his outward control.

‘The difference, Miss Fleming, is that I don’t compromise my integrity to do so. And I don’t put those I care about in harm’s way just to get what I want.’

‘What about compassion?’

His brows cleared, but the volatile tinge in the air remained. ‘I’m fresh out.’

‘You know, you’ll wake up one morning not long from now and regret your actions today.’

The lift doors glided open to reveal the underground car park. A few feet away was a gleaming black chrome-trimmed Bentley Continental. Beside it, a driver and a heavily muscled man whose presence shrieked
bodyguard
waited. The driver held the back door open, but Marco made no move towards it. Instead he glanced down at her, his expression hauntingly bleak.

‘I regret a lot that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours—not least watching my brother mangle himself and his car on the race track because he believed himself to be heartbroken. One more thing doesn’t make a difference.’

‘Your emotions are overwhelming you right now. All I’m saying is don’t let them overrule your better judgement.’

A cold smile lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘My
emotions
? I didn’t know you practised on the side as the team’s psychologist. I thought you’d ridden down with me to beg for your job back, not to practise the elevator pitch version of pop psychology. You had me as your captive audience for a full thirty seconds. Shame you chose to waste it.’

‘Mock me all you want. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re acting like—’ She bit her lip, common sense momentarily overriding her anger.

‘Go on,’ he encouraged softly. Tauntingly. ‘Acting like what?’

She shrugged. ‘Like … well, like an ass.’

His eyes narrowed until they were mere icy slits. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Sorry. You asked.’

Anger flared in his eyes, radiated off his body. Sasha held
her breath, readying herself for the explosion about to rain on her head. Instead he gave a grim smile.

‘I’ve been called worse.’ He nodded to his bodyguard, who took a step towards them. ‘Romano will escort you off the premises. Be warned—my very generous donation to this hospital is contingent on you being arrested if you set foot anywhere near my brother again. I’m sure the administrator would relish that challenge.’

Despair rose to mingle with her anger. ‘You can’t do this. If you don’t listen to me I’ll … I’ll talk to the press again. I’ll spill everything!’

‘Ah, I’m glad to finally meet the
real
you, Miss Fleming.’

‘Ten minutes. That’s all I want. Let me convince you to keep me on.’

‘Trust me—blackmail isn’t a great place to start.’

She bit her lip. ‘That was just a bluff. I won’t talk to the press. But I do want to drive for you. And I’m the best mid-season replacement you’ll find for Rafael.’

‘You
do
place a high premium on yourself, don’t you?’

Unflinching, she nodded. ‘Yes, I do. And I can back it up. Just let me prove it.’

His gaze narrowed on her face, then conducted a lazy sweep over her body. Suddenly the clothes that had served as perfect camouflage against the intrusive press felt inadequate, exposing. Beneath the thin material of her T-shirt her heart hammered, her skin tingling with an alien awareness that made her muscles tense.

As a female driver in a predominantly male sport, she was used to being the cynosure of male eyes. There were those who searched for signs of failure as a driver, ready to use any shortcomings against her. Then there were the predators who searched for weaknesses simply because she was a woman, and therefore deemed incapable. The most vicious lot were those who bided their time, ready to rip her apart because she was Jack Fleming’s daughter. Those were the ones she feared the most. And the ones she’d sworn to prove wrong.

Marco de Cervantes’s gaze held an intensity that combined
all of those qualities multiplied by a thousand. And then there was something else.

Something that made her breath grow shallow in her lungs. Made her palms clammy and the hairs bristle on her nape.

Recalling the sheer intensity of the look he’d directed into the camera earlier, she felt her heartbeat accelerate.

‘Get in the car,’ he bit out, his tone bone-chilling.

Sasha glanced into the dark, luxurious interior of the limo and hesitated. The feelings this man engendered in her weren’t those of fear. Rather, she sensed an emotional risk—as if, given half a chance, he would burrow under her skin, discover her worst fears and use them against her. She couldn’t let that happen.

‘If you want me to hear you out you’ll get in the car. Now,’ he said, his tone uncompromising.

She hesitated. ‘I can’t.’

‘Can’t
isn’t a word I enjoy hearing,’ he growled, his patience clearly ebbing fast.

‘My bike.’ He quirked one brow at her. ‘I’d
rather
not leave it here.’

His glance towards the battered green and white scooter leaning precariously against the car park wall held disbelief. ‘You came here on
that
?’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘You’re wearing the most revolting pair of jeans I’ve ever seen and a scarf that’s seen better days. Add that to the oversized sunglasses and I don’t need to be a genius to guess you were trying some misguided attempt to escape the paparazzi. I am right?’ At her nod, he continued. ‘And yet you travelled on the slowest mode of motorised transport known to man.’