The Price of Success (9 page)

Light footsteps sounded seconds before the front door opened.

Sasha stood silhouetted against the lights flooding the outer courtyard, the outline of her body in tight dark trousers and top making sparks of desire shoot through his belly.

Clenching his teeth against the intensity of it, he forced himself to remain seated, knowing she hadn’t yet spotted him in the darkened hallway. Her light wrap slipped as she turned to shut the door, and he caught a glimpse of one smooth shoulder and arm. Her dark silky hair was tied in a careless knot on top of her head, giving her neck a long, smooth, elegant line that he couldn’t help but follow.

He found himself tracing the lines of her body, wondering how he’d ever thought her boyish. She was tall, her figure lithe, but there were curves he hadn’t noticed before—right down to the shapely denim-clad legs.

Shutting the door, she tugged off her boots and kicked them into a corner.

She turned and stumbled to a halt, her breath squeaking out in alarm. ‘Marco! Damn it, you
really
need to stop skulking in dark hallways. You nearly scared me to death!’

‘I wasn’t skulking.’ He heard the irritation in his voice and forced himself to calm down. ‘Where have you been? I called you several times.’

She pulled the wrap tighter around her shoulders, her chin tilting up in silent challenge. ‘I went for a drink with the team.

They’re all flying out tomorrow morning and I wanted to say goodbye. I know that wasn’t part of the deal—me socialising with the team—but they kept asking and it would have been surly to refuse.’

Annoyance rattled through him. The last thing he wanted to discuss was his team, or the deal he’d made with Sasha Fleming.
Dios
, he wasn’t even sure why he’d come back here. He should be by his brother’s bedside—even if the doctors intended to keep him in his induced coma until the swelling on his brain reduced.

‘And you were having such a great time you decided not to answer your phone?’

‘I think it’s died.’

‘You
think
?’

‘You’re annoyed with me. Why?’

Sasha asked the question in that direct way he’d come to expect from her. No one in his vast global organisation would dare to speak to him that way. And yet … he found he liked it.

Rising, he walked towards her. A few steps away, the scent of her perfume hit his nostrils. Marco found himself craving more of it, wanting to draw even closer. ‘Why bother with a phone if you can’t ensure it works?’

‘Because no one calls me.’

Her words stopped him in his tracks. For a man who commanded his multi-billion-euro empire using his BlackBerry, Marco found her remark astonishing in the extreme. ‘No one calls you?’

‘My phone never rings. I think
you
were the last person to call me. I get the occasional text from Tom, or Charlie, my physio, but other than that … zilch.’

Marco’s puzzlement grew. ‘You don’t have any friends?’

‘Obviously none who care enough to call. And, before you go feeling sorry for me, I’m fine with it.’

‘You’re fine with being lonely?’

‘With being
alone
. There’s a difference. So, is there another reason you’re annoyed with me?’

She raised her chin in that defiant way that drew his gaze to her throat.

He shoved his phone into his pocket. ‘I’m not annoyed. I’m tired. And hungry. Rosario had gone to bed when I arrived.’

‘Oh, well, that’s good. Not the tired and hungry part. The not annoyed part.’ She bit her lip, her eyes wide on his as he moved even closer. ‘And about Rosario … I hope you don’t mind, but I told her not to wait up for me.’

Marco shook his head. ‘So where did you go for this drink?’ He strove to keep his voice casual.

‘A bodega just off Plaza Mayor in Salamanca.’

He nodded, itching to brush back the stray hair that had fallen against her temple. ‘And did you enjoy your evening out?’

Her shrug drew his eyes to her bare shoulder. ‘Leon is beautiful. And I was glad to get out of the villa.’

Her response struck a strangely discordant chord within him. ‘You don’t like it here?’

‘I don’t mind the proximity to the track, but I was tired of knocking about in this place all by myself.’

Marco stiffened. ‘Do you want to move to the hotel with the rest of the team?’

She thought about it. Then, ‘No. The crew and I seem to be gelling, but I don’t want to become overly familiar with them.’

Marco found himself breathing again. ‘Wise decision. Sometimes maintaining distance is the only way to get ahead.’

‘You
obviously don’t practise that dogma. You’re always surrounded by an adoring crowd.’

‘X1 Premier Racing is a multi-million-spectator sport. I can’t exist in a vacuum.’

‘Okay. Um … do you think we can turn the lights on in here? Only we seem to be making a habit of having conversations in the dark.’

‘Sometimes comfort can be found in darkness.’

Facing up to reality’s harsh light after his own crash ten years ago had made him wish he’d stayed unconscious. Angelique’s smug expression as she’d dropped her bombshell had certainly made him wish for the oblivion of darkness.

Sasha gave a light, musical laugh. The sound sent tingles of pleasure down his spine even as heat pooled in his groin. His
eyes fell to her lips and Marco experienced the supreme urge to kiss her. Or to keep enjoying the sound of her laughter.

‘What’s so funny?’ he asked as she reached over his shoulder and flipped on the light switch.

‘I was thinking either you’re very hungry or you’re very tired, because you’ve gone all cryptic on me.’

He
was
hungry. And not just for food. A hunger—clawing and extremely ravenous—had taken hold inside him.

Pushing aside the need to examine it, he followed her as she headed towards the kitchen. The sight of her bare feet on the cool stones made his blood thrum faster as he studied her walk, the curve of her full, rounded bottom.

‘I could do with a snack myself. Do you want me to fix you something?’

Walking on the balls of her feet made the sway of her hips different, sexier. He tried to stop himself staring. He failed.

‘You cook?’ he asked past the strain in his throat.

‘Yep. Living on my own meant I had to learn, starve or live on takeaways. Starving was a bore, and Charlie would’ve had conniptions if he’d seen me within a mile of a takeaway joint. So I took an intensive cookery course two years ago.’

She folded her wrap and placed it on the counter, along with a small handbag. Only then did he see that her top was held up by the thinnest of straps.

Opening the fridge, she began to pull out ingredients. ‘Roast beef sandwich okay? Or if you want something hot I can make pasta carbonara?’ she asked over her shoulder.

Marco pulled up a seat at the counter, unable to take his eyes off her. ‘I’m fine with the sandwich.’

Her nod dislodged more silky hair from the knot on her head. ‘Okay.’ Long, luxurious tresses slipped down to caress her neck.

She moved around the kitchen, her movements quick, efficient. In less than five minutes she’d set a loaded plate and a bottle of mineral water before him. He took a bite, chewed.

‘This is really good.’

Her look of pleasure sent another bolt of heat through him.

He waited until she sat opposite him before taking another bite. ‘So, how long have you lived on your own?’

‘Since …’ She hesitated. ‘Since my father died four years ago.’

She looked away, but not before he caught shadows of pain within the blue depths.

‘And your mother? Is she not around?’

She shook her head and picked up her sandwich. ‘She died when I was ten. After that it was just Dad and me.’

The sharp pain of losing his own mother surfaced. Ruthlessly, he pushed it away.

‘The team are wondering how Rafael is,’ Sasha said, drawing him away from his disturbing thoughts.

‘Just the team?’

She shrugged. ‘We’re all concerned.’

‘Yes, I know. His condition hasn’t changed. I’ve updated Russell. He’ll pass it on to the team.’

He didn’t want to talk about his brother. Because speaking of Rafael would only remind him of why this woman who made the best sandwich he’d ever tasted was sitting in front of him.

‘How is your father holding up?’

He didn’t want to talk about his father either.

Recalling his father’s desolation, Marco shoved away his plate. ‘He watched his son crash on live TV. How do you think he’s doing?’

A flash of concern darkened her blue eyes. ‘Does he … does he know about me?’ she asked in a small voice.

‘Does he know the cause of his son’s crash is the same person taking his seat?’ He laughed. ‘Not yet.’

He wasn’t sure why he’d kept that information from his father. It certainly had nothing to do with wondering if his brother’s version of events was completely accurate, despite Rafael’s voice ringing in his head …
She’s the one, Marco
.

Sasha’s gaze sought his, the look into them almost imploring. ‘I didn’t cause him to crash, Marco.’

Frustrated anger seared his chest. ‘Didn’t you?’

She shook her head and the knot finally gave up its fight. Dark, silky tresses cascaded over her naked shoulders and everything
inside Marco tightened. It was the first time he’d seen it down, and despite the fury rolling through him the sudden urge to sink his fingers into the glossy mass, feel its decadent luxury, surged like fire through his veins.

‘Then what did? Something must have happened to make him imagine that idiotic move would stick.’

Her lips pursed. The look in her eyes was reluctant. Then she sighed. ‘I saw him just before the race. He was arguing with Raven.’

Marco frowned. ‘Raven Blass? His physio?’

She nodded. ‘I tried to approach him but he walked away. I thought I’d leave him to cool off and talk to him again after the race.’

Marco’s muttered expletive made her brows rise, but he was past caring. He strode into the alcove that held his extensive wine collection. ‘I need a drink. White or red?’

‘I shouldn’t. I had a beer earlier.’ She tucked a silky strand behind one ear.

Watching the movement, he found several incredibly unwise ideas crowding his brain. Reaching out, he grabbed the nearest bottle. ‘I don’t like drinking alone. Have one with me.’

Her smile caused the gut-clenching knot to tighten further. ‘Is the great Marco de Cervantes admitting a flaw?’

‘He’s admitting that his brother drives him loco.’ He grabbed two crystal goblets.

‘Fine. I was going to add another twenty minutes to my workout regime to balance out the incredible
tapas
I had earlier. I’ll make it an even half-hour.’

Marco’s gaze glided over her. ‘You’re hardly in bad shape.’

Another sweet, feminine laugh tumbled from her lips, sparking off a frenzied yearning.

‘Charlie would disagree with you. Apparently my body mass index is
way
below acceptable levels.’

Marco uncorked the wine, thinking perhaps Charlie needed his eyes examined. ‘How long is your daily regime?’

‘Technically three hours, but Charlie keeps me at it until I’m
either screaming in agony or about to pass out. He normally stops once I’m thoroughly dripping in sweat.’

His whole body froze, arrested by the image of a sweat-soaked Sasha, with sunshine glinting off her toned body.

Dios
, this was getting ridiculous. He should not be feeling like this—especially not towards the woman who was the every epitome of Angelique: ruthlessly ambitious, uncaring of anything that got in her way. Sasha had nearly destroyed his brother the way Angelique had destroyed Marco’s desire ever to forge a lasting relationship.

And yet in Barcelona he’d found himself thinking of Sasha … admitting to himself that his sudden preoccupation with her had nothing to do with work. And everything to do with the woman herself. The attraction he’d felt in Budapest was still present … and escalating.

Which was totally unacceptable.

He took a deep breath and wrenched control back into his body. While his brother was lying in a coma, the only thing he needed to focus on was winning the Constructors’ Championship. And teaching Sasha Fleming a lesson.

He poured bold red Château Neuf into one glass and set it in front of her. ‘I’ve seen the testing reports. You’ll need to find another three-tenths of a second around Eau Rouge to give yourself a decent chance or you’ll leave yourself open to overtaking. Belgium is a tough circuit.’

She took a sip and his gaze slid to the feline-like curve of her neck. Clenching fingers that itched to touch, he sat down opposite her.

‘The DSII will handle the corners better.’

His eyes flicked over her face, noting her calm. ‘You don’t seem nervous.’

Another laugh. A further tightening in his groin.

Madre di Dios
. It had been a while since he’d indulged in good, old-fashioned, no-holds-barred sex. Sexual frustration had a habit of making the unsavoury tempting, but this … this yearning was insane.

Mentally, he scanned through his electronic black book and
came up with several names. Just as fast he discarded every one of them, weariness at having to disentangle himself from expectation dampening his urge to revisit old ground.

Frustration built, adding another strand of displeasure to his already seething emotions.

‘Believe me, I get just as nervous as the next racer. But I don’t mind.’

‘Because winning is everything, no matter the cost?’ he bit out.

Her eyes darkened. ‘No. Because nerves serve a good purpose. They remind you you’re human; they sharpen your focus. I’d be terrified if I wasn’t nervous. But eighteen years of experience also helps. I’ve been doing this since I was seven years old. Having a supportive father who blatantly disregarded the fact that I wasn’t a boy helped with my confidence too.’

‘Not a lot of parents agree with their children racing. You were lucky.’

She smiled. ‘More like pushy. I threw a tantrum every time he threatened to leave me with my nanny. I won eventually. Although I get the feeling he was testing me to see how much I wanted it.’