The Price Of Desire: The Price of Success / The Cost of Her Innocence / Not For Sale. JACQUELINE BAIRD
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stared down at her, his breath shaking out of his chest. ‘Dios,’ he muttered after several tense, disbelieving seconds.
You can say that again. Thankfully, the words didn’t materialise on her lips. Her eyes fell to his mouth, still wet from their kiss, and the heat between her legs increased a thousandfold.
Get a grip, Sasha. She reined herself in and pulled away as reality sank in. She’d kissed Marco de Cervantes—fallen into him like a drowning swimmer fell on a life raft.
‘We’re here,’ he rasped, setting her free abruptly to spear a hand through his hair.
‘Y-yes,’ she mumbled, cringing when her voice emerged low and desire-soaked.
With one last look at her, he thrust his door open and helped her out.
They entered the exclusive apartment complex in silence, travelled up to the penthouse suite in silence. Sasha made sure she placed herself as far from him as possible.
After shutting the apartment door he turned to her. Sasha held her breath, guilt rising to mix with the desire that still churned so frantically through her.
‘I have an early start—’
‘Sasha—’
Marco gestured for her to go first.
Sasha cleared her throat, keeping her gaze on his chest so he wouldn’t see the conflicting emotions in her eyes. ‘I have an early start tomorrow. So … um … goodnight.’
After a long, heavy pause, he nodded. ‘I think that’s a good idea. Buenos noches.’
All the way down the plushly carpeted hallway she felt his gaze on her. Even after she shut the door behind her his presence lingered.
Dropping her clutch bag, she traced her fingers over her lips. They still tingled, along with every inch of her body. Resting her head against the door, she sucked in a desperate breath.
One hand drifted over her midriff to her pelvis, where desire gripped her in an unbearable vice of need. A need she had every intention of denying, no matter how strong.
Wanting Marco de Cervantes was a mistake. Even if there was the remotest possibility of a relationship between them it would be over in a matter of weeks. And she knew without a shadow of a doubt that it would also spell the end of her career.
And her experience with Derek had taught that no man—no matter how intensely charismatic, no matter how great a kisser—was worth the price of her dreams.
‘COFFEE… I smell coffee,’ she mumbled into the pillow, the murky fog of her brain teasing her with the seductive aroma of caffeine. ‘Please, God, let there be coffee when I open my eyes.’
Carefully she cracked one eye open. Marco stood at the foot of her bed, in a dark green T-shirt and jeans, a steaming mug in his hand.
‘If I demand to know what you’re doing in my bedroom so early, will you withhold that coffee from me?’
There was no smile this morning, just an even, cool stare, but awareness drummed beneath the surface of her skin nonetheless.
‘It’s not early. It’s eight o’clock.’
With a groan, she levered herself up, braced her back against the headboard. ‘Eight o’clock is the crack of dawn, Marco.’ She held out her hand for the cup. He didn’t move. ‘Please,’ she croaked.
With an uncharacteristically jerky movement he rounded the bed and handed it to her. Sasha tried not to let her eyes linger on the taut inch of golden-tanned skin that was revealed when he stretched. Her brain couldn’t handle anything so overwhelming. Not just yet.
She took her first sip, groaned with pleasure and sagged against the pillow.
‘You’re not a morning person, are you?’
‘Oops, my secret is out. I think whoever decreed that anything was important enough to start before ten o’clock in the morning should be hung, drawn and quartered.’ She cradled the warm mug in her hand. ‘Okay, I guess now I’m awake enough to ask what you’re doing in my room.’
‘I knocked. Several times.’
She grimaced. ‘I sleep like the dead sometimes.’ She took another grateful sip and just stopped herself from moaning again. Moans were bad. ‘How did you know to bring me coffee?’
‘I know everything about you,’ he answered.
Her heart lurched, but she managed to keep her face straight. Marco didn’t know about her baby. And she meant to keep it that way.
‘I forgot. You have mad voodoo skills.’
His eyes strayed up from where he’d been examining the vampire on her T-shirt. ‘No voodoo. Just mad skills. As to why I’m here—I have a meeting in the city in forty-five minutes—’
‘On a Saturday?’ She caught his wry glance. ‘Oh, never mind.’
‘I wanted to discuss last night before I left.’
Her breath stalled in her chest. ‘Yes. Last night. We kissed.’
A sharp hiss issued from his lips. Then, ‘Sí, we did.’
She bravely met his gaze, even as her heart hammered. ‘Before you condemn me for it, you need to know I don’t make a habit of that sort of thing.’
His very Latin shrug drew her eyes to the bold, strong outline of his shoulders. ‘And yet it happened.’
‘We could blame the wine? Oh, wait, you barely touched your glass all evening.’
‘How would you know? You were neck-deep in discussing the Premier League.’
She sighed. ‘What can I say? I love my footie. Which club do you support?’
‘Barcelona.’
She grimaced. ‘Of course. You seem the Barcelona type.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t even want to know what that means.’
Silence encased them. She took a few more sips of her coffee, instinctively sensing she’d need the caffeine boost to withstand what was coming.
Marco raised his head and looked at her. The tormented gleam in his eyes stopped her breath. ‘What happened last night will not happen again.’
Despite telling herself the very same thing over and over last night, she felt a sharp dart of disappointment and hurt lance through her. She feigned a casual tone. ‘I agree.’
‘You belong to my brother,’ he carried on, as if she hadn’t spoken.
‘I belong to no one. I’m my own person.’
His gaze speared hers. ‘It can’t happen again.’
Again the uncomfortable dart of pain. ‘And I agreed with you. Are you trying to convince me or yourself?’
He shook his head. ‘You know, I’ve never met anyone so forthright.’
‘I believe in being upfront. I’m nobody’s yes-woman. You need to know that right now. I kiss whomever I want. But kissing you was a mistake. One that I hope will not jeopardise my contract.’
His gaze hardened. ‘You value being a racing driver more than personal relationships?’
‘I haven’t had a successful run with relationships but I’m a brilliant driver. I think it’s wise to stick to doing what I do best. And I’d prefer not to lose my job because you feel guilty over a simple kiss. I also understand if you have some reservations because of your brother. Really, it’s no big deal. There’s