Kitabı oku: «The Price Of Desire», sayfa 6

And the first time Luke asked her opinion on how to avoid the under steering problem that had cropped up, Sasha forced herself to blink back the stupid tears that threatened.

Marco heard the car drive away as he came down the stairs. He curbed the strong urge to yank the door open and forced himself to wait. When he reached the bottom step he sat down and rested his elbows on his knees, his BlackBerry dangling from his fingers.

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.’

‘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.

CHAPTER SIX

‘THIS 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.’