The Price Of Desire. Sandra Marton

side of the bed, she swallowed. ‘So, does that mean I have the seat for the rest of the season?’

      He shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze fixed squarely on her. ‘You’ll sign an agreement promising to honour every commitment the team holds you to. Half of the sponsors have agreed to let you fulfil Rafael’s commitments.’

      He hadn’t given a definite yes, but Sasha’s heartbeat thundered nonetheless. ‘And the other half?’

      ‘With nowhere to go, they’ll come round. My people are working on them.’

      Unable to stem the flood of emotion rising inside, she pried her gaze from his and stared down at her trembling hands. She struggled to breathe.

      Finally. The chance to wipe the slate clean. To earn the respect that had been ruthlessly denied her and so callously wrenched from her father. Finally the Fleming name would be spoken of with esteem and not disdain. Jack Fleming would be allowed to rest in peace, his legacy nothing to be ashamed of any more.

      ‘I … thank you,’ she murmured.

      ‘You haven’t heard the conditions attached to your drive.’

      She shook her head, careless of the hair flying about her face as euphoria frothed inside her. ‘I agree. Whatever it is, I agree.’ She wouldn’t let this opportunity slip her by. She intended to grab it with both hands. To prove to anyone who’d dared to naysay that they’d been wrong.

      His eyes narrowed. ‘Yesterday you promised to give anything not to have Rafael in hospital. Today you’re agreeing to conditions you haven’t even heard. Are you always this carefree with your consent? Perhaps I need to rethink making you lead driver. I shudder to think what such rashness could cost me on the race track.’

      ‘I … Fine—name your conditions.’

      He quirked a mocking brow. ‘Gracias. Aside from the other commitments, there are two that I’m particularly interested in. Team Espiritu must win the Constructors’ Championship. We’re eighty points ahead of the next championship challenger. I expect those points only to go up. Understood?’

      A smile lit up her face. ‘Absolutely. I intend to wipe the floor with them.’

      ‘The second condition—’

      ‘Wait. I have a condition of my own.’

      His lips twisted. ‘Déjà vu overwhelms me. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.’

      Sasha ignored him, the need to voice a wish so long denied making her words trip from her lips with a life of their own. ‘If … when I secure you the Constructors’ Championship, I want my contract with Team Espiritu to be extended for another year.’

      When his eyes narrowed further, she rushed to speak again.

      ‘You can write it into my contract that I’ll be judged based on my performance during the next three months. If we win the Constructors’ you’ll hire me for another year.’

      ‘Winning a Drivers’ Championship means that much to you?’

      His curiously flat tone drew her gaze, but his expression remained inscrutable. Her heart hammered with the force of her deepest yearning. ‘Yes, it does.’

      His eyelids descended, veiling his gaze. The tension in the room increased until she could cut the atmosphere with a butter knife. But when he looked back up there was nothing but cool, impersonal regard.

      ‘Very well. Win the Constructors’ Championship and I’ll extend your contract for another year.’

      She couldn’t believe he’d agreed so readily. ‘Wow, that was easy.’

      ‘Perhaps it’s because I don’t believe in talking every subject to death. My time is precious.’

      ‘Yes, of course …’

      ‘As I was saying, before you interrupted, my second condition is more important, Miss Fleming, so listen carefully. You’ll have no personal contact with any male member of the team; you will go nowhere near my brother. Any hint of a non-professional relationship with another driver or anyone within the sport, for that matter, will mean instant dismissal. And I’ll personally make it my mission to ensure you never drive another racing car. Do we understand each other?’

       CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘IF YOU’VE finished your breakfast, I’ll take you on the tour of the race track.’

      Sasha looked up from her almost empty plate of scrambled eggs and ham to find Marco lounging in the doorway that connected the vast living room to the sun-drenched terrace of Casa de Leon.

      She’d been here three days, and she still couldn’t get her head round the sheer vastness of the de Cervantes estate. Navigating her way around the huge, rambling two-storey villa without getting lost had taken two full days.

      With its white stucco walls, dark red slate roofs and large cathedral-like windows, Casa de Leon was an architect’s dream. The high exposed beams, sweeping staircases and intricately designed marble floors wouldn’t have been out of place in a palace. Every piece of furniture, painting and drape looked as if it cost a fortune. Even the air inside the villa smelled different, tinged with a special rarefied, luxurious quality that made her breath catch.

      Outside, an endless green vista, broken only by perfectly manicured gardens, stretched as far as the eye could see … It was no wonder the countless villa staff travelled around in golf buggies.

      Realising Marco was waiting for an answer, she nodded, drawing her gaze from the long, muscular legs encased in dark grey trousers. ‘Sure. I’ll just finish my coffee. Aren’t you having anything?’ She indicated the mouth-watering spread of seasonal fruit, pastries and ham slices on the table.

      Disengaging himself from the doorway, he came towards her, powerfully sleek and oozing arrogant masculinity. ‘I’ll have a coffee, too.’

      When he sat and made no move to pour it himself, she raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes, boss. Three bags full, boss?’

      His hazel eyes gleamed and Sasha had the distinct feeling he was amused, although not a smile cracked his lips. In fact he looked decidedly strained. Which wasn’t surprising under the circumstances, she reminded herself.

      Feeling the mutiny give way, she poured him a cup. ‘Black?’

      ‘Sí. Two sugars.’

      She looked up, surprised. ‘Funny, I wouldn’t have pegged you for the two-sugars type.’

      ‘And how would you have pegged me?’

      ‘Black, straight up, drunk boiling hot without a wince.’

      ‘Because my insides are made of tar and my soul is black as night?’ he mocked.

      She shrugged. ‘Hey, you said it.’ She added sugar and passed it over.

      ‘Gracias.’ He picked up a silver spoon and stirred his drink, the tiny utensil looking very delicate in his hand.

      Sasha found herself following the movement, her gaze tracing the short dark hairs on the back of his hand. Suddenly her mouth dried, and her stomach performed that stupid flip again. Wrenching her gaze from the hypnotic motion, she picked up her cup with a decidedly unsteady hand.

      ‘How are you settling in?’ he asked.

      ‘Do you really want to know?’

      The speed with which Marco had whisked her from Budapest to Spain after she’d signed the contract had made her head spin. Of course his luxury private jet—which he’d piloted himself—had negated the tedium of long airport waits and might have had something to do with it. They’d flown to Barcelona, then transferred by helicopter to