The Price Of Desire. Sandra Marton
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time to make herself scarce.
Careful not to come within touching distance of Marco de Cervantes, she edged towards the door.
‘Any more tasteless than you vying for his seat even before you knew for certain whether he was alive or dead?’ came the biting query.
Sasha winced. ‘I agree. It wasn’t the perfect time to do an interview.’
A hint of surprise lightened his eyes, but his lips firmed a second later. ‘But you did it anyway.’
Blaming Tom would have been easy. And the coward’s way out. The truth was, she wanted to be lead driver.
‘I thought I was acting in the best interests of the team. And, yes, I was also putting myself forward as the most viable option. But the timing was wrong. For that, I apologise.’
That grim smile made another appearance. Her body shuddered with alarm. Even before he spoke Sasha had the strongest premonition that she wasn’t going to like the words that spilled from his lips.
‘You should’ve taken more time to think, Miss Fleming. Because, as team owner, I ultimately decide what’s in the best interests of Team Espiritu. Not you.’
He sauntered to his brother’s bedside and stood looking down at him.
Sasha glanced between the two men. This close, the resemblance between them was striking. Yet they couldn’t have been more different. Where Rafael was wild and gregarious, his brother smouldered and rumbled like the deepest, darkest underbelly of a dormant volcano. The fear that he could erupt at any moment was a very real and credible threat. One that made her throat dry and her heart race.
Finally he turned to face her. Trepidation iced its way to her toes.
‘My decision and mine alone carries. Your timing wasn’t just wrong. It was detestable.’ His voice could have frozen water in the Sahara. ‘It also makes my decision incredibly easy.’
Her heart stopped. ‘Wh—what decision?’
‘Relieving you of your job, of course.’ The smile widened. ‘Congratulations. You’re fired.’
‘WHAT?’
‘Get out.’
Sasha remained frozen, unable to heed Marco de Cervantes’s command. Finally she forced out a breath.
‘No. You—you can’t do that. You can’t fire me.’ Somewhere at the back of her mind she knew this to be true—something about contracts … clauses—but her brain couldn’t seem to track after the blow it had been dealt.
‘I can do anything I want. I own the team. Which means I own you.’
‘Yes, but …’ She sucked in a breath and forced herself to focus. ‘Yes, you own the team, but you don’t own me. And you can’t fire me. I haven’t done anything wrong. Sure, the press interview was a little mistimed. But that isn’t grounds to sack me.’
‘Maybe those aren’t the only grounds I have.’
Cold dread eased up her spine. ‘What are you talking about?’
Marco regarded her for several seconds. Then his gaze slid to his brother. Reaching out, he carefully smoothed back a lock of hair from Rafael’s face. The poignancy of the gesture and the momentary softening of his features made Sasha’s heart ache for him, despite his anger at her. No one deserved to watch a loved one suffer. Not even Marco de Cervantes.
When his gaze locked onto her again Sasha wasn’t prepared for the mercurial shift from familial concern to dark fury.
‘You’re right. My brother’s bedside isn’t the place to discuss this.’ He came towards her, his long-legged stride purposeful and arrestingly graceful. His broad shoulders, the strength in his lean, muscled body demanded an audience. Sasha stared, unable to look away from the perfect body packed full of angry Spanish male.
In whose path she directly stood.
At the last second her legs unfroze long enough for her to step out of his way. ‘It’s okay. I’ll leave.’
‘Running away? Scared your past is catching up with you, Miss Fleming?’
She swallowed carefully, striving to maintain a neutral expression. Marco de Cervantes didn’t know. He couldn’t.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. My past has nothing to do with my contract with your team.’
He stared into her face for so long Sasha wanted to slam on the shades dangling uselessly from her fingers.
‘Extraordinary,’ he finally murmured.
‘What?’ she croaked.
‘You lie so flawlessly. Not even an eyelash betrays you. It’s no wonder Rafael was completely taken with you. What I don’t understand is why. He offered you what you wanted—money, prestige, a privileged lifestyle millions dream about but only few achieve. Isn’t that what women like you ultimately want? The chance to live in unimaginable luxury playing mistress of a castillo?’
‘Um, I don’t know what sort of women you’ve been cavorting with, but you know nothing about me.’
Impossibly, his features grew colder. ‘I know everything I need to know. So why didn’t you just take it? What’s your angle?’ His intense gaze bored into her, as if trying to burrow beneath her skin.
It took every control-gathering technique she’d learned not to step back from him.
‘I have no angle—’
‘Enough of your lies. Get out.’ He wrenched the door open, fully expecting her to comply.
Her eyes flicked to Rafael’s still form. Sasha doubted she’d see him again before the team’s month-long August break. ‘Will you tell him I came to see him when he wakes up—please?’ she asked.
Marco exhaled in disbelief. ‘With any luck, by the time my brother wakes up any memory he has of you will be wiped clean from his mind.’
She gasped, the chill from his voice washing over her. ‘I’m not sure exactly what Rafael told you, but you’ve really got this wrong.’
Marco shrugged. ‘And you’re still fired. Goodbye, Miss Fleming.’
‘On what grounds?’ she challenged, hoping this time her voice would emerge with more conviction.
‘I’m sure my lawyers can find something. Inappropriate enthusiasm?’
‘That’s a reason you should be keeping me on—not a reason to fire me.’
‘You’ve just proved my point. Most people know where to draw the line. It seems you don’t.’
‘I do,’ she stressed, her voice rising right along with the tight knot in her chest.
‘This conversation is over.’ He glanced pointedly at the door.
She stepped into the corridor, reeling from the impact of his words. Her contract was airtight. She was sure of it. But she’d seen too many teams discard perfectly fit and able drivers for reasons far flimsier than the one Marco had just given her. X1 Premier Racing was notorious for its court battles between team owners and drivers.
The thought that she could lose everything she’d fought for made her mouth dry. She’d battled hard to hold onto her seat in the most successful team in the history of the sport, when every punter with a blog or a social media account had taken potshots at her talent. One particularly harsh critic had even gone as far as to debate her sexual preferences.
She’d sacrificed too