Kitabı oku: «The Price Of Desire: The Price of Success / The Cost of Her Innocence / Not For Sale», sayfa 3

CHAPTER THREE

SASHA clenched her fists behind her back, desperately trying to hold it together. Even from across the room she could feel Marco’s anger. It vibrated off his skin, slammed around the room like a living thing.

Her heart thudded madly in her chest. She opened her mouth but no words emerged.

‘Here’s your chance to speak up, Miss Fleming,’ Marco incised, one long finger flipping open the box to reveal a large, stunning pink diamond set within a circle of smaller white diamonds.

She’d never been one to run from a fight, and Lord knew she’d had many fights in her life. But, watching Marco advance towards her, Sasha yearned to take a step back. Several steps, in fact … right out through the door. Unfortunately she chose that moment to look into his eyes.

The sheer force of his gaze trapped her. It held her immobile, darkly fascinating even as her panic flared higher. She’d dealt with disrespect, with disdain, even with open slurs against her.

Seething, pain-racked Spanish males like Marco de Cervantes were a different box of frogs.

‘Did you refuse my brother or not?’ he demanded, and his low, dangerous voice scoured her skin.

Suppressing a shiver, she said, ‘You’ve got it wrong. Rafael didn’t ask me—’

‘Liar.’ He snapped the box shut. ‘He sent me a text last night. You said no.’

‘Of course I said no. He didn’t mean—’

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘He thought you were just playing hard to get. He was going to try again this morning.’

Sasha knew the brothers were close, but Rafael hadn’t given her any indication he was this close to his brother. In fact the reason she’d grown close to him, despite his irreverent antics with the team and his wildly flirtatious behaviour with every female he came into contact with, was because she’d glimpsed the loneliness Rafael desperately tried to hide. Loneliness she’d identified with.

She watched Marco’s nostrils flare with ever deepening anger as he waited for her answer. She licked her lips, carefully choosing her words, because it was clear that Rafael, for his own reasons, hadn’t given Marco all the facts.

‘Rafael and I are just friends.’

‘Do you take me for a fool, Miss Fleming? You really expect me to believe that you viewed the romantic dinners for two in London or the spontaneous trip to Paris last month as innocent gestures of a mere friend?’

Another stab of surprise went through her at the depth of Marco’s knowledge. ‘I went to dinner with him because Rav … his date stood him up.’

‘And Paris?’

‘He was appearing at some function and I was at a loose end. I tagged along for laughs.’

‘For laughs? And you then proceeded to dance the night away in his arms? What about the other half a dozen times you’ve been snapped together by the paparazzi?’ he demanded.

She frowned. ‘I know you two are close, but don’t you think you’re taking an alarmingly unhealthy interest in your brother’s private life?’

His head jerked as if she’d slapped him. His hazel eyes darkened and his shoulders stiffened as if he held some dark emotion inside. Again she wanted to step back. To flee from a fight for the first time in her life.

‘It’s my duty to protect my brother,’ he stated, with a finality that sharpened her interest.

‘Rafael’s a grown man. He doesn’t need protecting.’

His raised a hand and slowly unfurled his fingers from around the velvet box. ‘Then what do you call this? Why did my brother, the reigning world champion, who rarely ever makes mistakes, deliberately drive into the back of a slower car?’

Her gasp scoured her throat. ‘The accident wasn’t deliberate.’ She refused to believe Rafael would have acted so recklessly. ‘Rafael wouldn’t put himself or another driver in such danger.’

‘I’ve watched my brother race since he was six years old. His skill is legendary. He would never have put himself into the slipstream of a slower car so close to a blind corner. Not if he’d been thinking straight.’

Sasha couldn’t refute the allegation because she’d wondered herself why Rafael had made such a dangerous move. ‘Maybe he thought he could make the move stick,’ she pursued half-heartedly.

Long bronze hands curled around the box. Features tight, Marco breathed deeply. ‘Or maybe he didn’t care. Maybe it was already too late for him when he stepped into the cockpit?’

Horror raked through her. ‘Of course it wasn’t. Why would you say that?’

‘He sent me a text an hour before the race to tell me he intended to have what he wanted. At all costs.’

Sasha’s blood ran cold. ‘I … no, he couldn’t have said that! Besides, he didn’t mean—’ She bit her lip to stop the rest of her words. Although they’d rowed, she wasn’t about to betray Rafael’s trust. ‘We’re just friends.’

‘You’re poison.’ His hand slashed through the denial she’d been about to utter. ‘Whatever thrall you hold over your fellow team mates, it ends right now.’

Sliding the box containing the engagement ring into his pocket, he returned to the desk. Several papers were spread across it. He searched through until he found what he was looking for.

‘Your contract is a rolling one, due to end next season.’

Still reeling from the force of his words, Sasha stared at him.

‘My lawyers will hammer out the finer details of a pay-off in the next few days. But as of right now your services are no longer needed by Team Espiritu.’

With the force of a bucket of cold water, she was wrenched from her numbness.

‘You’re firing me because I befriended your brother?’

The hysterical edge to her voice registered on the outer fringes of her mind, but Sasha ignored it. She’d worked too hard, fought too long for this chance to let mere hysteria stand in her way. If she had to scream like a banshee she would do so to make Marco de Cervantes listen to her. After years of withstanding vicious whispers and callous undermining, she would not be dismissed so easily. Not when her chance to see her father’s reputation restored, the chance to prove her own worth, was so close.

‘Do you want to stop for a moment and think how absurd that is? Do you really want to carry on down that road?’ she demanded, raising her chin when he turned from the desk.

‘What road?’ he asked without looking up.

‘The sexist, discriminatory road. Or are you going to fire Rafael too when he wakes up? Just to even things up?’

His gaze hardened. ‘I’ve been running this team for almost a decade and no one has ever been allowed to cause this much disruption unchecked before.’

‘What do you mean, unchecked?’

‘I warned Rafael about you three months ago,’ he delivered without an ounce of remorse. ‘I told him you were trouble. That he should stay away from you.’

Her anger blazed into an inferno. ‘How dare you?’

He merely shrugged. ‘Unfortunately, with Rafael, you only have to suggest there’s something he can’t have to make him hunger desperately for it.’

‘You’re unbelievable—you know that? You think you can play with people’s lives!’

His face darkened. ‘Believe me, I’m not playing. Five million.’

Confused, she frowned. ‘Five million … for what?’

‘To walk away. Dollars, pounds or euros. It doesn’t really matter.’

Fire crackled inside her. ‘You want to pay me to give up my seat? To disappear like some sleazy secret simply because I became friends with your brother? Even to a wild nut-job like me that seems very drastic. What exactly are you afraid of, Mr de Cervantes?’

Strong, corded arms folded over his chest. His body was held so tense she feared he would snap a muscle at any second. ‘Let’s just say I have experience with women like you.’

‘Damn, I thought I was one of a kind. Would you care to elaborate on that stunning assertion?’

One brow winged upward. ‘And have you selling the story to the first tabloid hack you find? I’ll pass. Five million. To resign and to stay away from the sport.’

‘Go to hell.’ She added a smile just for the hell of it, because she yearned for him to feel a fraction of the anger and humiliation coursing through her. The same emotions her father had felt when he’d been thrown out of the profession that had been his life.

‘Is that your final answer?’ he asked.

‘Yes. I don’t need to phone a friend and I don’t need to ask any audience. My final answer—go to hell!’

Sasha braced herself for more of the backlash he’d been doling out solidly for the last hour. But all he did was stare at her, his gaze once again leaving her feeling exposed, as if he’d stripped back a layer of her skin.

He nodded once. Then he paced the room, seemingly lost for words. Finally he raked both hands through his hair, ruffling it until the silky strands looked unkempt in a sexy, just-got-out-of-bed look that she couldn’t help but stare at.

Puzzled by his attitude, she forced her gaze away and tried to hang on to her anger. She didn’t deserve this. All she’d tried to be was a friend to Rafael, a team mate who’d seemed to be battling demons of his own.

After her experience with Derek, and the devastating pain of losing the baby she hadn’t known she was carrying until it was too late, she’d vowed never to mix business with pleasure. Derek’s jealousy as she’d risen through the ranks of the racing world had eroded any feelings she’d had for him until there’d been nothing left.

As if sensing her withdrawal, he’d tried to hang on to her with a last-ditch proposal. When she’d turned him down he’d labelled her a bitch and started a whispering campaign against her that had undermined all her years of hard work.

Thankfully Derek had never found out the one thing he could have used against her. The one thing that could have shattered her very existence. The secret memory of her lost baby was buried deep inside, where no one could touch it or use it as a weapon against her.

Even her father hadn’t known, and after living through his pain and humiliation she’d vowed never to let her personal life interfere with her work ever again.

Rafael’s easy smile and wildly charming ways had got under her guard, making her reveal a few careful details about her past to him. His friendship had been a balm to the lonely existence she’d lived as Jack Fleming’s daughter.

The thought that Marco had poisoned him against her filled her with sadness.

‘You know, I thought it was Rafael who told you about my past. But it was the other way round, wasn’t it?’ she asked.

She waited for his answer, but his gaze was fixed on the view outside, on the picturesque towers of the Royal Castle. A stillness surrounded him that caught and held her attention.

‘For as long as I can remember I’ve been bailing Rafael out of one scrape or another.’

The words—low, intense and unexpected—jolted aside her anger.

‘He’s insanely passionate about every single aspect of his life, be it food, driving or volcano-boarding down the side of some godforsaken peak in Nicaragua,’ he continued. ‘Unfortunately the perils of this world seem to dog him. When he was eleven, he discovered mushrooms growing in a field at our vineyard in León and decided to eat them. His stomach had to be pumped or he’d have died. Two years later, he slipped away from his boarding school to run with the bulls at Pamplona. He was gored in the arm. Save for a very substantial donation to the school, and my personal guarantee of his reformation, he would’ve been thrown out immediately.’

His gaze focused on her. ‘I can list another dozen episodes that would raise your hair.’

‘He’s a risk-taker,’ Sasha murmured, wondering where the conversation was headed but deciding to go with it. ‘He has to be as a racing driver; surely you understand that?’ she argued. ‘Didn’t you scale Everest on your own five years ago, after everyone in your team turned back because of a blizzard? In my book that’s Class A recklessness.’

‘I knew what I was doing.’

‘Oh, okay. How about continuing over half the London-Dakar rally with a broken arm?’

His clear surprise made her lips twist. ‘How—?’

‘Told you I had nerd-tastic info on you. You own the most successful motor racing team in the history of the sport. I want to drive for you. I’ve done my homework.’

‘Very impressive, but risk-taking on the track is expected—within reason. But even before Rafael ever got behind the wheel of a race car he was … highly strung.’

‘If he’s so highly strung that you have to manage him, then why do you let him race? Why own the team that places him in the very sport likely to jeopardise his well-being?’

His eyes darkened and he seemed to shut off. Watching him, Sasha was fascinated by the impenetrable mask that descended over his face.

‘Because racing is in our blood. It’s what we do. My father never got the chance to become a racer. I raced for him, but because I had the talent. So does Rafael. There was never any question that racing was our future. But it’s also my job to take care of my brother. To save him from himself. To make him see beyond his immediate desires.’

‘Have you thought that perhaps if you let him make his own mistakes instead of trying to manage his life he’ll wise up eventually?’

‘So far, no.’

‘He’s a grown man. When are you going to cut the apron strings?’

‘When he’s proved to me that he won’t kill himself without them.’

‘And are you so certain you can save him every single time?’

‘I can put safety measures in place.’

She laughed at his sheer arrogance. ‘You’re not omnipotent. You can’t control what happens in life. Even if you could, Rafael will eventually resent you for controlling his life.’

Marco’s lips firmed, his eyelids descending to veil his eyes.

She gave another laugh. ‘He already does, doesn’t he? Did you two fight? Was that why you weren’t at the track this weekend?’

He ignored her questions. ‘What I do, I do for his own good. And you’re not good for him. My offer still stands.’

Just like that they were back to his sleazy offer of a buy-off. Distaste filled her.

She looked around the sleekly opulent room at the highly polished surfaces, the velvet walls, the bespoke furniture and elegant, sweeping staircases that belonged more in a stately home than in a hotel. Luxurious decadence only people like Marco de Cervantes could afford. The stamp of power and authority told her she wouldn’t find even the smallest chink in the de Cervantes armour.

The man was as impenetrable as his wealth was immeasurable.

In the end, all she could rely on was her firm belief in right and wrong.

‘You can’t fire me simply to keep me out of Rafael’s way. It’s unethical. I think somewhere deep down you know it too.’

‘I don’t need moral guidance from someone like you.’

‘I disagree. I think you need a big-ass, humongous compass. Because you’re making a big mistake if you think I’m going to go quietly.’

His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Rafael told me you were feisty.’

What else had Rafael told him? Decidedly uncomfortable at the thought of being the subject of discussion, she shrugged. ‘I haven’t reached where I am today without a fight or three. I won’t go quietly,’ she stressed again.

Several minutes of silence stretched. Her nerves stretched along with them. Just when she thought she’d break, that she’d have to resort to plain, old-fashioned, humiliating begging, he hitched one taut-muscled thigh over the side of the desk and indicated the chair in front of it.

‘Sit down. I think a discussion is in order.’

Marco watched relief wash over her face and hid a triumphant smile.

He’d never had any intention of firing Sasha Fleming. Not immediately, anyway. He’d wanted her rattled, on a knife-edge at the possibility of losing what was evidently so precious to her.

The bloodthirsty, vengeance-seeking beast inside him felt a little appeased at seeing her shaken. He also wanted to test her, to see how far she would go to fight for what she wanted. After all, the higher the value she placed on her career, the sweeter it would be to snatch it away from her. Just as he’d had everything wrenched from him ten years ago.

He ruthlessly brushed aside the reminder of Angelique’s betrayal and focused on Sasha as she walked towards him.

Again his senses reacted to her in ways that made his jaw clench. The attraction—and, yes, he was man enough to admit to it—was unwelcome as much as it was abhorrent. Rafael was in a coma, fighting for his life. The last thing Marco wanted to acknowledge was a chemical reaction to the woman in the middle of all this chaos. To acknowledge how the flare of her hips made his palms itch to shape them. How the soft lushness of her lower lip made him want to caress his finger over it.

‘Regardless of the state of the team, I have a responsibility towards the sponsors.’

His office had already received several calls, ostensibly expressing concern for his brother’s welfare. In truth the sponsors were sniffing around, desperate to find out what Marco’s next move would be—specifically, who he would put in Rafael’s place and how it would affect their bottom line.

She nodded. ‘Rafael was scheduled to appear at several sponsored engagements during the August hiatus. They’ll want to know what’s happening.’

Once again Marco was struck by the calm calculation in her voice. This wasn’t the tone of a concerned lover or a distraught team mate. Her mind was firmly focused on Team Espiritu. In other circumstances, her single-mindedness would have been admirable. But he knew first-hand the devastation ambition like hers could wreak.

Before he could answer a knock sounded on his door. One of his two butlers materialised from wherever he’d been stationed and opened the door.

Russell Latchford, his second-in-command, and Luke Green, the team’s chief engineer, entered.

Russell approached. ‘I’ve just been to see Rafael—’ He stopped when he saw Sasha. ‘Sasha. I didn’t know you were here.’ His tone echoed the question in his eyes.

Sasha returned his gaze calmly. Nothing ruffled her. Nothing except the threatened loss of her job. The urge to see her lose that cool once again attacked Marco’s senses.

‘Miss Fleming’s here to discuss future possibilities in light of Rafael’s accident.’

As team principal, it was Russell’s job to source the best drivers for the team, with Marco giving final approval. Marco saw his disgruntlement, but to his credit Russell said nothing.

‘Have you brought the shortlist I asked for?’ Marco asked Russell.

Sasha inhaled sharply, and he saw her hands clench in her lap as Russell handed over a piece of paper.

‘I’ve already been discreetly approached by the top five, but every driver in the sport wants to drive for us. It’ll cost you to buy out their contracts, of course. If you go for someone from the lower ranking teams it’ll still cost you, but the fallout won’t be as damaging as poaching someone from the top teams.’

Marco shook his head. ‘Our sponsors signed up for the package—Rafael and the car. I don’t want a second-class driver. I need someone equally talented and charismatic or the sponsors will throw hissy fits.’

Luke spoke up. ‘There’s also the problem of limited in-season testing. We can’t just throw in a brand-new driver mid-season and expect him to handle the car anywhere near the way Rafael did.’

Marco glanced down at the list. ‘No. Rafael is irreplaceable. I accept that the Drivers’ Championship is no longer an option, but I want to win the Constructors’ Championship. The team deserves it. All of these drivers would ditch their contract to drive for me, but I’d rather not deal with a messy court battle. Where do we stand on the former champion who retired last year? Have you contacted him?’

Russell shook his head. ‘Even with the August break he won’t be in good enough shape when the season resumes in September.’

‘So my only option is to take on a driver from another team?’

‘No, it isn’t.’ Sasha’s voice was low, but intensely powerful, and husky enough to command attention.

Marco’s eyes slid to her. Her stance remained relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, but in her eyes he saw ferocious purpose.

‘You have something to add?’

Fierce blue eyes snapped at him as she rolled her shoulders. As last time, he couldn’t help but follow the movement. Then his eyes travelled lower, to the breasts covered by her nondescript T-shirt. Again the pull of desire was strong and sharp, unlike anything he’d experienced before. Again he pushed it away and forced his gaze back to her face.

A faint flush covered her cheeks. ‘You know I do. I know the car inside out. I’ve driven it at every Friday Practice since last season. The way I see it, I’m the only way you can win the Constructors’ Championship. Plus you’d save a lot of money and the unnecessary litigation of trying to tempt away a driver mid-season from another team. In the last few practices my runtimes have nearly equalled Rafael’s.’

Marco silently admitted the truth of her words. He might not sit on the pit wall for every single minute of a race—the engineer and aerodynamicist in him preferred the hard facts of the telemetry reports—but he knew Sasha’s race times to the last fraction.

He also knew racing was more than just the right car in the right hands. ‘Yes, but you’re yet to perform under the pressure of a Saturday practice, a pole position shoot-out and a race on Sunday. I’d rather have a driver with actual race experience.’

Russell fidgeted and cleared his throat. ‘I agree, Marco. I think Alan might be a better option—’

‘I’ve consistently surpassed Alan’s track times,’ she said of the team’s second driver. ‘Luke will confirm it.’

Luke’s half-hearted shrug made Marco frown.

‘Is there a problem?’

The other man cleared his throat. ‘Not a problem, exactly, but I’m not sure how the team will react to … you know …’

‘No, I don’t know. If you have something to say, then say it.’

‘He means how the team will react to a woman lead driver,’ Sasha stated baldly.

Recalling her accusation of sexism, he felt a flash of anger swell through him. He knew the views of others when it came to employing women as drivers. The pathetically few women racers attested to the fact that it was a predominantly male sport, but he believed talent was talent, regardless of the gender that wielded it.

The thought that key members in his team didn’t share his belief riled him.

He rose. ‘That will be all, gentlemen.’

Russell’s surprise was clear. ‘Do you need some time to make the decision?’

His gaze stayed on Sasha. Her chest had risen in a sharp intake of breath. Again he had to force himself not to glance down at her breasts. The effort it took not to look displeased him immensely.

‘I’ve requested figures from my lawyers by morning. I’ll let you know my decision.’

His butler led them out.

‘Mr de Cervantes—’ Sasha started.

He held up a hand. ‘Let me make one thing clear. I didn’t refuse you a drive because of your gender. Merely because of your disruptive influence within my team.’

Her eyes widened, then she nodded. ‘Okay. But I want to—’

‘I need to return to my brother’s bedside. You’ll also find out my decision tomorrow.’ He turned to leave.

‘Please. I … need this.’

The raw, fervent emotion in her voice stopped him from leaving the room. Returning to her side, he stared down at her bent head. Her hands were clenched tighter. A swathe of pure black hair had slipped its knot and half covered her face. His fingers itched to catch it back, smooth it behind her ear so he could see her expression.

Most of all, he wanted her to look at him.

‘Why? Why is this so important to you?’ he asked.

‘I … I made a promise.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Marco frowned. ‘A promise? To whom?’

She inhaled, and before his eyes she gathered herself in. Her spine straightened, and her shoulders snapped back until her whole body became poised, almost regal. Then her eyes slowly rose to his.

The steely determination in their depths compelled his attention. His blood heated, rushing through his veins in a way that made his body clench in denial. Yet he couldn’t look away.

Her gaze dropped. Marco bit back the urge to order her to look at him.

‘It doesn’t matter. All you need to know is if you give me a chance I’ll hand you the Constructors’ Championship.’

Sasha heard the low buzzing and cursed into her pillow. How the blazes had a wasp got into her room?

And since when did wasps make such a racket?

Groaning, she rolled over and tried to burrow into a better position. Sleep had been an elusive beast. She’d spent the night alternately pacing the floor and running through various arguments in her head about how she would convince Marco to keep her on the team. In the end exhaustion had won out.

Now she’d been woken by—

Her phone! With a yelp, she shoved off the covers and stumbled blindly for the satchel she’d discarded on the floor.

‘Huhn?’

‘Do I take it by that unladylike grunt that I’ve disturbed your sleep?’ Marco de Cervantes’s voice rumbled down the line.

‘Not at all,’ she lied. ‘What time is it?’ She furiously rubbed her eyes. She’d never been a morning person.

Taut silence, then, ‘It’s nine-thirty.’

‘What? Damn.’ She’d slept through her alarm. Again.

Could anyone blame her, though? Being part of Team Espiritu meant staying in excellent accommodation, but this time management had excelled itself—the two thousand thread-count cotton sheets, handmade robes, the hot tub, lotions and potions, the finest technology and her personal maid on tap were just the beginnings of the absurd luxury that made the crew of Marco’s team the envy of the circuit. But her four-poster bed and its mattress—dear Lord, the made-by-angels mattress—was the reason—

‘Do you have somewhere else to be, Miss Fleming?’

‘Yes. I have a plane to catch back to London at eleven.’ Thankfully she didn’t have a lot of things to pack, having put her restless energy to good use last night. And the airport was only ten minutes away. Still, she was cutting it fine.

‘You might wish to revise that plan.’

She froze, refusing to acknowledge the thin vein of hope taking root deep within her. ‘And why would I need to do that?’

‘I have a proposition for you. Open your door.’

‘What?’

‘Open your door. I need to look into your eyes when I outline my plan so there can be no doubt on either part.’

‘You’re here?’ Her eyes darted to her door, as if she could see his impressive body outlined through the solid wood.

‘I’m here. But I’ll soon be a figment of your imagination if you don’t open your door.’

Sasha glanced down at herself. No way was she opening the door to Marco de Cervantes wearing a vampire T-shirt that declared ‘Bite Me’ in blood-red. And she didn’t even want to think of the state of her hair.

‘I … Can you give me two minutes?’ If she could get in and out of a race suit in ninety seconds, she sure as hell could make herself presentable in a fraction of that time.

‘You have five seconds. Then I move on to my next call.’

‘No. Wait!’ Keeping the phone glued to her ear, she rushed to the door. Pulling it open, she stuck her head out, trying her best to shield the rest of her body from full view.

And there he stood. Unlike the casual clothes of yesterday, Marco was dressed in a bespoke suit, his impressive shoulders even more imposing underneath the slate-grey jacket, blue shirt and pinstriped tie, his long legs planted in battle stance. His hair was combed neatly, unlike the unruly, sexy mess it’d been yesterday. The strong desire to see it messy again had her pulling back a fraction.