The Price Of Desire. Sandra Marton

body. Yet her face held an arresting quality. Her lips were wide and undeniably sensual, and her limbs contained an innate grace when she moved that drew the eye. Her silky black hair, pulled into a loose ponytail at the back of her head, gleamed like a jet pool in the soft lighting. His gaze travelled over her neck, past shoulders that held a hint of delicacy and down to her chest.

      The memory of her breasts against his back intruded. Against him she’d felt decidedly soft, although her body was lithe, holding a whipcord strength that didn’t hide her subtle femininity. When he’d held her wrist in Rafael’s hospital room her skin had felt supple, smooth like silk …

      Sexual awareness hummed within him, unwelcome and unacceptable. Ruthlessly he cauterised it. Even if he’d been remotely interested in a woman such as this, flawed as she was, and without a moral bone in her body, she was the reason his brother had crashed.

      Besides, poaching had never been his style.

      ‘So, what would it take to convince you to keep me on?’ She addressed him without taking her eyes from the view.

      Annoyance fizzled through him.

      ‘You’re known for having relationships with your team mates.’

      Her breath caught and she turned sharply from the window. Satisfaction oozed through him at having snagged her attention.

      Satisfaction turned to surprise when once again she didn’t evade the question. ‘One team mate. A very long time ago.’

      ‘He also crashed under extreme circumstances and lost his drive, I believe?’

      A simple careful nod. ‘He retired from motor racing, yes.’

      ‘And his seat was then given to you?’

      Her eyes narrowed. ‘Your extrapolation is way off base if you think it has any bearing on what has happened with Rafael.’

      ‘Isn’t it curious that you bring chaos to every team you join? Are you an unlucky charm, Miss Fleming?’

      ‘As a former racer yourself, I’m sure you’re familiar with the facts—drivers crash on a regular basis. It’s a reality of the sport. In fact, wasn’t a crash what ended your racing career?’

      For the second time in a very short while the reminder of events of ten years ago cut through him like the sharpest knife. Forcing the memories away, he folded his arms. ‘It’s your circumstances that interest me, not statistics. You dumped this other guy just before a race. This seems to be your modus operandi.’

      Her chest lifted with her affronted breath. He struggled not to let his gaze drop. ‘I resent that. I thought you ran your team on merit and integrity, not rumour and hypothesis.’

      ‘Here’s your chance to dispel the rumours. How many other team mates have you slept with?’

      ‘I had a relationship with one. Derek and I went out for a while. Then it ended.’

      ‘But this … relationship grew quite turbulent, I believe? So much so that it eventually destroyed his career while yours flourished?’

      She snorted. ‘I wouldn’t say flourished, exactly. More like sweated and blooded.’

      ‘But you did start out being a reserve driver on his team. And you did dump him when his seat became available to you?’

      Marco watched her lips tighten, her chin angling in a way that drew his eyes to her smooth throat.

      ‘It’s obvious you’ve done your homework. But I didn’t come here to discuss my personal life with you—which, as it happens, is really none of your business.’

      ‘When it relates to my brother and my team it becomes my business. And your actions in the past three months have directly involved Rafael.’ He reached for the box on the table. ‘Do you know what’s in this box?’ he asked abruptly.

      A wary frown touched her forehead. ‘No. How would I?’

      ‘Let me enlighten you. It contains the personal effects that were found on Rafael’s person when he was pulled out of the car.’ He opened the box. The inside was smeared with blood. Rafael’s blood.

      Blood he’d spilled because of this woman.

      He lifted a gold chain with a tiny crucifix at the end of it. ‘My mother gave this to him on the day of his confirmation, when he was thirteen years old. He always wears it during a race. For good luck.’

      A look passed over her face. Sadness and a hint of guilt, perhaps? He dropped the chain back into the container, closed it and set it down. Reaching into his pocket, he produced another box—square, velvet.

      She tensed, her eyes flaring with alarm. ‘Mr de Cervantes—’

      His lips twisted. ‘You’re not quite the talented actress I took you for, after all. Because your expression tells me everything I need to know. Rafael asked the question he’d been burning to ask, didn’t he?’ he demanded.

      ‘I—’

      He cut across her words, not at all surprised when the colour fled her face. ‘My brother asked you to marry him. And you callously rejected him, knowing he would have to race directly afterwards. Didn’t you?’

       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