The Price Of Desire: The Price of Success / The Cost of Her Innocence / Not For Sale. JACQUELINE BAIRD
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‘Liar!’
‘That’s the second time you’ve called me a liar, Marco. For your own sake I hope there isn’t a third. Or I’ll take great pleasure in slapping your face. Contract or no bloody contract. Whatever Rafael led you to believe, I didn’t set out to ensnare him, or encourage him to fall for me—which I don’t think he did, by the way. And I certainly didn’t get him riled up enough to cause his accident. Whatever demons Rafael’s been battling, they finally caught up with him. I’m tired of defending myself. I was just being his friend. Nothing else.’
Heart hammering, she took a seat on one of the extremely delicate-looking twin cream and gold striped sofas and pulled in a deep breath to steady the turbulent emotions coursing through her. Emotions she’d thought buckled down tight, but which Marco had seemed to spark to life so very easily.
‘I find it hard to believe your actions have taken you down the same path twice in your life.’
‘An unfortunate coincidence, but that’s all it is. I have to live with it. However, I refuse to let you or anyone else label me some sort of femme fatale. All I want is to do my job.’
He sat down opposite her. When his gaze drifted down her body, she struggled to fight the pinpricks of awareness he ignited along the way.
‘You’re a fighter. I admire that in you. There’s also something about you …’
His pure Latin shrug held a wealth of expression that made her silently shake her head in awe.
‘An unknown quality I find difficult to pinpoint. You’re hardly a femme fatale, as you say. The uncaring way you dress, your brashness, all point to a lack of femininity—’
Pure feminine affront sparked a flame inside her. ‘Thanks very much.’
‘And normally I wouldn’t even class you as Rafael’s type. Yet on the night before his accident he was fiercely adamant that you were the one. Don’t get me wrong, he’s said that a few times in the past, but this time I knew something wasn’t quite right.’
Despite his accusation, sympathy welled inside her. ‘Did you two fight? Was that why you didn’t come to Friday’s practice?’
His nod held regret. ‘I lost it when he asked for the ring.’
‘You had it?’
He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply. ‘Yes. It belonged to our mother. She didn’t leave it specifically to either of us; she just wanted the first one of us to get married to give it to his bride.’ He shook his head once. ‘I always knew it would go to Rafael since I never intend—’ He stopped and drew in a breath. ‘Rafael has claimed to be in love with many girls, but this was the first time he’d asked for the ring.’
‘And you were angry because it was me?’
His jaw clenched. ‘You could have waited until the race was over,’ he accused, his voice rough with emotion.
‘Marco—’
‘He’d have had the August hiatus to get over you; he would’ve mended his broken heart in the usual way—ensconced on a yacht in St Tropez or chasing after some Hollywood starlet in LA. Either way, he would’ve arrived back on the circuit, smiled at you, and called you pequeña because he’d forgotten your name. Instead he’s in a hospital bed, fighting for his life!’
‘But I couldn’t lie,’ she shot back. ‘He didn’t want me—not really. And I’m not on the market for a relationship. Certainly not after—’ She pulled herself up short, but it was too late.
He stood and pulled her up, caught her shoulders in a firm grip. ‘After what?’
‘Not after my poor track record.’
‘You mean what happened with your previous lover?’
She nodded reluctantly. ‘Derek proposed just before I broke up with him. I’d known for some time that it wasn’t working, but I convinced myself things would work out. When I declined his proposal a week later he accused me of leading him on. He said I was only refusing him because I wanted to sell myself to the highest bidder.’
Derek had repeated that assertion to every newspaper and team boss who would listen, and Sasha’s career had almost ended because of it. She pushed the painful memories away.
‘Rafael knew there was no way I’d get involved with him romantically.’
Marco’s grip tightened, his gaze scouring her face as if he wanted to dig out the truth. Sasha forced herself to remain still, even though the touch of his hands on her branded her—so hot she wanted to scream with the incredibly forceful sensation of it.
‘Do you know the last thing I said to him?’ he rasped.
Her heart aching for him, she shook her head.
‘I told him to stop messing around and grow up. That he was dishonouring our mother’s memory by treating life like his own personal playground.’ His eyelids veiled his gaze for several seconds and his jaw clenched, his emotions riding very near the surface. ‘If anything happens to him—’
‘It won’t.’
Without thought, she placed her hand on his arm. Hard muscles flexed beneath her fingers. His eyes returned to her face, then dropped to her mouth. Sharp sensation shot through her belly, making her breath catch.
Sasha felt an electric current of awareness zing up her arm—a deeper manifestation of the intense awareness she felt whenever he was near. Comfort, she assured herself. I’m offering him comfort. That’s all. This need to keep touching him was just a silly passing reaction.
‘He’ll wake up and he’ll get better. You’ll see.’
Face taut and eyes bleak, he slowly dropped his hands. ‘I have to go,’ he said.
She stepped back, her hands clenching into fists behind her back to conceal their trembling. ‘You’re returning to the hospital?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m going to Madrid.’
Her belly clenched with the acute sense of loss. ‘For how long?’ she asked lightly.
‘For however long it takes to reassure my father that his precious son isn’t dying.’
The state-of-the-art crash helmet was no match for the baking North Spanish sun. Sasha sat in the cockpit of the Espiritu DSI, the car that had won Rafael the championship the year before. Eyes shut, she retraced the outline of the Belgian race track, anticipation straining through her.
Sweat trickled down her neck, despite the chute pumping cold air into the car. When she’d mentally completed a full circuit she opened her eyes.
They burned from lack of sleep, and she blinked several times to clear them. She’d been up since before dawn, the start of her restless night having oddly coincided with the moment Marco’s helicopter had lifted off the helipad. For hours she’d lain tangled up in satin sheets, unable to dismiss the look on Marcus’s anguished face from her mind. Or the heat of his touch on her body.
Firming her lips, she forcibly cleared her mind.
She wrapped fireproof gloved hands around the wheel and pictured the Double S bends at Eau Rouge, and the exact breaking point at La Source. Keeping her breathing steady, she finally achieved the mental calm she needed to block out the background noise of the mechanics and the garage. She emptied every thought from her mind, the turmoil of the past few days reduced to a small blot. She welcomed the relief of not having to dwell on anything except the promise of the fast track in front of her.
Her eyes remained steady on the mechanic’s STOP/GO sign, her foot a whisper off the accelerator.
When the sign went up, she launched out of the garage onto the track. Adrenalin coursed through her veins as the powerful car vibrated beneath