The Price of Success Page 11

  Sliding gracefully into the seat, she tucked her hair behind one ear. In that moment Marco, struggling to breathe and damning himself to hell, knew he craved her.

  Impossibly. Desperately.

  Sasha caught the expression on Marco’s face and her heart stopped.

  ‘What’s the matter? Oh, my God, if you tell me I have food caught in my teeth I’ll kill you!’ she vowed feverishly.

  Desperately blinking back the threatening tears, she tried to stem the painful memories that looking into Toby Latham’s face had brought. She couldn’t afford to let Marco see her pain. The pain she’d let eat her alive, consume her for years, but had never been able to put to rest.

  She heard sniggers from across the table but ignored them, her attention held hostage by the savagely intense look in Marco’s eyes.

  ‘Your teeth are fine,’ he replied in a deep, rough voice.

  ‘Then what? Was my speech that bad?’ Caught in the traumatising resurgence of painful memories, she’d discarded her carefully prepared notes and winged it.

  ‘No. Your speech was … perfecto.’

  Her heart lurched at his small pause. Before she could question him about it the MC introduced the next guest. With no choice but to maintain a respectful silence, she folded her shaking hands in her lap.

  Frantically, she tried to recall her speech word for word. Marco was obviously reacting to something she’d said. Had she been wrong to mention Rafael? Had her joke been too crass? A wave of shame engulfed her at the thought.

  She waited until the next award had been presented, then leaned over. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered into his ear.

  His head swivelled towards her. His jaw brushed her cheek, sending a thousand tiny electric currents racing through her.

  ‘What for?’ he asked.

  ‘I shouldn’t have made that crack about Rafael skiving off. It was tasteless—’

  ‘And exactly what Rafael himself would’ve done had the situation been reversed. Everyone’s been skirting around the subject, either pretending it’s not happening or treating it with kid gloves. You gave people the freedom to acknowledge what had happened and set them at ease. I’m no longer the object of pitying glances and whispered speculation. It is I who should be thanking you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Sí,’ he affirmed, his gaze dropping to her mouth.

  ‘Then why did you look so … off?’

  His eyes darkened. ‘Your words were powerful. I was touched. I’m not made of stone, Sasha, contrary to what you might think.’

  The reproach in his voice shamed her.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just … I thought …’

  ‘Forget it.’

  He gave a tight smile, turned away and addressed Sophia, who flashed even more of her cleavage in triumph.

  As soon as the last award was given, Sophia turned to Marco. ‘We’re going clubbing.’ She named an exclusive club frequented by young royals. ‘We’d love you to join us, Marco,’ she gushed.

  Sasha gritted her teeth but stayed silent. If Marco wanted to party with the Fake Sisters it was his choice. All the same, Sasha held her breath as she waited for his answer, hating herself as she did so.

  ‘Clubbing isn’t my scene, but thanks for the offer.’

  ‘Oh, we don’t have to go clubbing. Maybe we can do something … else?’

  Sasha stood and walked away before she could hear Marco’s response.

  She’d almost reached the ballroom doors when she felt his presence beside her. The wave of relief that flooded her body threatened to weaken her knees. Sternly, she reminded herself that Marco’s presence had nothing to do with her personally. He was here for the team’s sake.

  ‘Are you sure you’d rather not be out with the Fa … Sophia? She seemed very eager to show you a good time. Seriously, I can take a taxi back.’

  His limo pulled up. He handed her inside, then slid in beside her. ‘I prefer to end my evening silicone-free, gracias.’

  She laughed. ‘Picky, picky! Most men wouldn’t mind.’

  Perfect teeth gleamed in the semi-darkness of the limo. ‘I am not most men. No doubt you’ll add that to my list of flaws?’

  His eyes dropped to her chest, abruptly cutting off her laughter.

  ‘You had better not be examining me for silicone. I’ll have you know these babies are natural.’

  ‘Trust me, I can tell the difference,’ he said, in a low, intense voice.

  She swallowed hard. The thought that she was suddenly treading unsafe waters descended on her. Frantically, she cast her mind around for a safe subject.

  ‘So you don’t like clubbing?’

  ‘It’s not how I choose to spend an evening, no.’

  ‘Let me guess—you’re the starchy opera type?’

  ‘Wrong again.’

  She snapped her fingers. ‘I know—you like to stay indoors and watch game shows.’

  Low laughter greeted her announcement. Deep inside, a tiny part of Sasha performed a freakishly disturbing happy dance.

  Encouraged, she pressed on. ‘Telemetry reports and aerodynamic calculations?’

  ‘Now you’re getting warm.’

  ‘Ha! I knew you were a closet nerd!’

  He cast her a wry glance. ‘I prefer to call it passion.’

  She shrugged. ‘A passionate nerd who surrounds himself with a crowd but keeps his distance.’

  He stiffened. ‘You’re psychoanalysing me again.’

  ‘You make it easy.’

  ‘And you make baseless assumptions.’

  ‘Good try, but you can’t freeze me out with that tone. You’re single-minded to the point of obsession. I wiki-ed you. You have more money than you could ever spend in ten lifetimes and yet you don’t let anyone close. You have the odd liaison, but nothing that lasts more than a few weeks. According to your girlfriends, you never stay over. And there’s a time limit on every relationship.’

  ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read—especially in the tabloid press.’

  ‘Tell me which part is false,’ she challenged.

  His gaze hardened. ‘I’ll tell you which part is right—every relationship ends. For ever is a concept made up to sell romance novels.’

  ‘Didn’t you have a long liaison once, when you were still racing? What was her name …? Angela? Ange—?’

  ‘Angelique,’ he bit out, his face frozen as if hewn from rock. ‘And she wasn’t a liaison. We were engaged.’

  ‘She must be the reason, then.’

  Cold eyes slammed into her. ‘The reason?’

  ‘For the way you are?’

  ‘Did Derek Mahoney turn you into the intrusive woman you are today?’ he fired back, his tone rougher than sandpaper. ‘Because I’d like to find him and throttle the life out of him.’

  Sasha knew she should let it go. But somehow she couldn’t.

  ‘Yes. No.’ She sighed and looked out of the window at Kensington’s nightlife. ‘Damn, I wish I smoked.’

  An astounded breath whistled from his lips. ‘Why would you wish that?’

  ‘Because trying to have a conversation with you is exhausting enough to drive anyone to drink. But since I have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow, and I’ve reached my one-glass drink limit, smoking would be the other choice—if I smoked.’ Abandoning the view, she turned back to him. ‘Where was I?’

  A mirthless smile lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘You were dissecting my life and finding it severely deficient.’

  ‘Mockery? Is that your default setting?’

  He lowered his gaze to her lips and her insides clenched so hard she feared she’d break in half. The limo turned a sharp corner. She grabbed the armrest to steady herself. Too late she realised the action had thrust her breasts out. Marco’s gaze dropped lower. Heat pooled in her belly. Her breasts ached, feeling fuller than they’d ever felt.

  He leaned closer. Her heart thundered.

  ‘No, Sasha,’ he said hoarsely. ‘This is my default
setting.’

  Strong hands cupped her cheeks, held her steady. Heat-filled eyes stared into hers, their shocking intensity igniting a fire deep inside her.

  Sasha held her breath, almost afraid to move in case … in case …

  He fastened his mouth to hers, tumbling her into a none-too-gentle kiss that sent the blood racing through her veins. He tasted of heat and wine, of tensile strength and fiery Latin willpower. Of red-blooded passion and intoxicating pleasure. And he went straight to her head.

  Sasha felt a groan rise in her throat and abruptly shut it off. She wasn’t that easy. Although right now, with Marco’s mouth wreaking insane havoc on her blood pressure, easy was deliciously tempting.

  His tongue caressed hers and the groan slipped through, echoing in the dim cavern of the moving car. One hand slipped to her nape, angling her head. Although he didn’t need to. She was willingly tilting her head, all the better to deepen the pressure and pleasure of his kiss. Her mouth opened, boldly inviting him in.

  His moan made her triumphant and weak at the same time. Then she lost all thought but of the bliss of the kiss.

  Lost all sense of time.

  Until she heard the thud of a door.

  Their lips parted with a loud, sucking noise that arrowed straight to the furnace-hot apex of her thighs.

  Marco 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.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘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 d
river 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 no need to beat yourself up over it.’

  Running out of oxygen, she clamped her mouth shut.

  This was yet another reason why she hated mornings. At this time of day the natural barrier between her brain and her mouth was severely weakened.

  Throw in the fruitless soul-searching she’d done into the wee hours, and the resultant sleep-deprivation, and who knew what would come of out her mouth next?

  He shoved a forceful hand through his hair. ‘Dios, this has nothing to do with your contract. If you were mine to take I’d have no reservations. None. The things I would do to you. With you.’

  He named a few.

  Her mouth dropped open.

  Lust singed the air, its fumes thick and heavy. Her fingers clenched around her mug. Silently, desperately, she willed it away. But her body wasn’t prepared to heed her. Underneath her T-shirt her nipples reacted to his words, tightening into painful, needy buds.

  ‘Wow! That’s … um … super, super-naughty.’

  Hazel eyes snapped pure fire at her. ‘And that’s just for starters,’ he rasped.

  Her breath strangled in her chest.

  In another life, at another time …

  No! Even in a parallel universe having anything to do with Marco would be bad news.

  ‘I hear a but somewhere in there. Either you still think I’m poison or it’s something else. Tell me. I can take it.’

  He gave a jerky nod of his head in a move she was becoming familiar with. ‘Last night, at the awards, you spoke of Rafael like a friend.’

  ‘Because that’s what he is. Just a friend.’

  His jaw clenched. ‘You’re asking me to take your word over my brother’s?’

  ‘Not really. I’m saying give us both the benefit of the doubt. See where it takes you.’

  He shook his head. ‘As long as Rafael sees you as his there can be nothing between us.’

  Despite the steaming coffee in her hand, she felt a chill spread through her. ‘The message has been received, loud and clear. Was there something else?’