The Price of Success Page 12

  For a full minute he didn’t answer. Then, ‘I don’t want you to think that the kiss has bought you any special privileges.’

  ‘You mean like expecting you to bring me coffee every morning?’ she replied sarcastically, a surprisingly acute pain scouring its acidic path through her belly.

  ‘My expectations from you as a driver haven’t changed. In fact nothing has changed. Understood?’

  Setting down her mug on the bedside table, she hugged her knees. ‘All this angst over a simple kiss, Marco?’ The need to reduce the kiss to an inconsequential blip burned through her, despite her body’s insistence on reliving it.

  He prowled to the window and turned to face her. ‘Women have a habit of reading more into a situation than there actually is.’ His raised hand killed her response. ‘While taking pains to state the contrary. But I want to be very clear—I don’t do relationships.’

  Her breath fractured in her lungs. ‘I’m not looking for one,’ she forced out.

  His whole body stiffened. ‘Then it stands to reason that there shouldn’t be a problem.’

  She hugged her knees tighter. ‘Again I sense a but.’

  ‘But … for some reason you’re all I think about.’

  The statement was delivered with joyless candour. Yet her heart leapt like a puppet whose string had been jerked. And when his eyes met hers and she saw the heat in them something inside her melted.

  He strode back towards the bed, shoving clenched fists into his pockets. She stared up at him, her pulse racing. ‘And you’re annoyed about that?’

  His gaze raked her face slowly. Then slid to her neck, her breasts, and back up again. Molten heat burned in his eyes. ‘Livid. Frustrated. Puzzled. Intensely aroused.’

  Of their own volition her eyes dropped below his belt-line. Confronted with the evidence, she felt a deep longing melt between her legs. She swallowed as heat poured through her whole being.

  Looking away, she muttered, ‘Don’t do that.’

  A strained sound escaped his throat. ‘I was just about to demand the same of you.’

  ‘I’m not doing anything. You, on the other hand—you’re …’ She sucked in a desperate breath.

  ‘I’m what?’ he demanded, his voice low, ferocious.

  ‘You’re all brooding and … and fierce … and angry … and … aroused. You’re cursing your desire for me and yet your eyes are promising all sorts of rampant steaminess.’ Her eyes darted back to the bulge in his trousers and a lump clogged her throat.

  ‘I … I think you should leave.’

  ‘You don’t sound very sure about that.’

  ‘I am. I don’t want you. And even if I did you’re off-limits to me, remember? So you can’t … can’t present me with … this!’

  A pulse jerked in his jaw. ‘I never said the situation wasn’t without complications.’

  ‘Well, the solution is easy. You hired me to do a job so let me get on with it. We don’t have to see each other until the season ends and we win the Constructors’ Championship. We’ll stand on the top podium and douse ourselves in champagne. Then we’ll go our separate ways until next season starts.’

  ‘And you will have fulfilled this promise you made?’

  Surprise zapped through her. He remembered. ‘Partly, yes,’ she replied, before thinking better of it.

  His gaze turned speculative. ‘To whom did you make the promise?’

  She dragged her eyes from his, the sudden need to spill everything shocking her with its intensity. But she couldn’t. Marco didn’t trust her. And she wasn’t prepared to trust him with the sacred memory of her father.

  She shook her head. ‘It’s none of your business. Are you going to leave me alone to get on with it?’

  His mouth firmed into a hard line. ‘The team has too much riding on this for me to take my eye off the ball at this juncture. So do our sponsors. Once you have proved yourself—’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard it all before.’ She couldn’t stop the bitterness from spilling out. ‘Prove myself. Don’t bewitch anyone on the team. Especially not the boss. Message received and understood. Perhaps you could take your frustrations elsewhere, then, and spare me the thwarted lust backlash?’

  He stiffened with anger. ‘Dios. Has no one ever told you that the difference between attractive feistiness and maddening shrew is one bitchy comment too many?’

  ‘No one has dared,’ she threw back.

  ‘Well, take it from me. You need to stop throwing blind punches and learn to pick your fights.’ He strode towards the door. ‘Romano will drive you to your appointment and bring you back here.’

  ‘That’s not necessary. I’ve hired a scooter.’

  He whirled to face her. ‘No. Romano will drive you.’ His tone brooked no argument.

  ‘Seriously, Marco, you need to dial back the caveman stuff—’

  ‘And you need to take greater responsibility for your welfare. If you come off your scooter and break an arm or a leg the rest of the season is finished. I thought you wanted the drive? Or do you think you’re invincible on those little piles of junk you like to travel on?’

  She bit back a heated retort. Marco was right. All her hard work and sacrifice would amount to nothing if she couldn’t ensure she turned up to her races with her bones intact.

  ‘Fine. I’ll use the car.’

  Pushing back the covers, she slid her feet over the edge and stood. The air thickened once more as Marco tensed.

  Sasha refused to look into his face. His brooding, tempting heat would weaken her sorely tested resolve.

  ‘I need to get ready for the shoot.’

  He made a sound she couldn’t decipher. She squeezed her thighs together and fingered the hem of her T-shirt.

  ‘Your breakfast will be delivered in half an hour.’ He moved towards the door. ‘Oh, and Sasha …?’

  Unable to stop herself, she looked. Framed in the doorway, his stature was impressively male and utterly arresting. ‘Yes?’ she rasped.

  ‘Unless you want things to slide out of control, don’t wear that T-shirt in my presence again. You may not be mine, but I’m not a saint. The next time I see you in it I may feel obliged to take advantage of its instruction.’

  His words hit her with the force of a tsunami. By the time he shut the door, a hundred different images of Marco using his teeth on her had short-circuited her brain.

  The photo shoot was horrendously tedious. Several hours of sitting around getting her hair and make-up done, followed by a frenzied half-hour of striking impossible poses, then back to repeating the whole process again.

  Sasha returned to the hotel very near exhaustion, but she had gained a healthy respect for models. She also now understood why men like Marco dated them. The sample pictures the photographer had let her keep showed an end result that surprised her.

  After pressing the button for the lift, she fished the pictures out of her satchel, shocked all over again by how different she looked—how a few strokes of a make-up brush could transform plain to almost … sexy. Or was it something else? All day she’d been unable to dismiss last night’s kiss from her mind. Her face burned when she reached the picture of her licking her tingling lips. She’d been recalling Marco’s moan of pleasure as he’d deepened their kiss.

  So really it was Marco’s fault …

  Opening the door to the suite, she stopped in her tracks as strains of jazz music wafted in from the living room. Following the sound, she entered the large, opulent room to find Marco lounging on the sofa, an electronic tablet in his hand and a glass of red wine on a table beside him.

  ‘I thought you were going to be late?’ The words rushed out before she could stop them. Her suddenly racing pulse made her dizzy for a few seconds.

  His gaze zeroed in on her. ‘I wrapped things up early.’

  ‘And you couldn’t find anyone in your little black book to spend the evening with?’

  The thought that he hadn’t gone out and vented his sexual frustration on some entir
ely willing female sent a bolt of elation through her, which she tried—unsuccessfully—to smash down.

  She couldn’t read the hooded look in his eyes as he set aside the gadget.

  ‘It’s only seven-thirty. The night is still young,’ he replied.

  Something crumpled into a small, tight knot inside her, and the sharp pang she’d felt that morning returned. ‘That’s just typical. You’re going to call some poor woman out of the blue and expect her to be ready to drop everything to go out with you, aren’t you?’ she mocked.

  One corner of his mouth quirked. ‘Luckily, the women I know are kind enough to want to drop everything for me.’

  She snorted. ‘Come off it. We both know kindness has nothing to do with it.’

  As she’d seen first-hand at the awards ceremony, women would crawl over hot coals to be with Marco. And many more would do so regardless of his financial status or influence. With a body and face like his, he could be penniless and still attract women with a snap of his fingers. As for that lethal, rarely seen smile, and the way he kissed—

  Her thoughts screeched to a halt as he stood and came towards her.

  ‘Maybe not,’ he conceded, with not a hint of arrogance in sight. ‘How was the shoot?’

  The question wrenched her from her avid scrutiny of his body. ‘Aside from the free shoes, it was a pain in the ass,’ she replied.

  ‘Of course,’ he agreed gravely. Then without warning he reached out and plucked the pictures from her fingers. ‘Maybe you’ll even get around to wearing them instead of going barefoot or wearing those hideous boots—’

  He stopped speaking as he stared at the pictures. Awareness crawled across her skin as he slowly thumbed through them, lingering over the one where she was draped over the bonnet of the not-yet-released prototype of his latest car, the Cervantes Triunfo. Eventually he returned to that one. And looked as if he’d stopped breathing.

  ‘Marco …’

  She stretched out her hand to retrieve the pictures. He ignored her, his attention fixed on the picture, his skin drawn tight over the chiselled bones of his face.

  ‘Marco, I don’t want to keep you. I have plans of my own.’

  His head snapped up. ‘What plans?’ he demanded, his tone rough and tight.

  Sasha couldn’t think how to answer. Her whole mind was paralysed by the way his eyes blazed. Shaking her head, she tried to turn away. He grabbed her arm in a firm hold.

  No! Too hot. Too irresistible. Too much.

  ‘Let me go,’ she murmured, her voice scraped raw with desire.

  ‘What plans?’ he gritted out.

  ‘Are you sure you want to know? You may not approve.’

  His hand tightened on her arm, his eyes darkening into storm clouds that threatened thunder and lightning. ‘Then think carefully before you speak.’

  She sighed. ‘Fine. You’ve busted me. I was going to beg your chef to make me that T-bone steak and salad he made for us yesterday, followed by chocolate caramel delight for dessert—I’ll think about the calories later. Afterwards I intend to have a sweltering foursome with Joel, LuAnn and Logan.’

  The hand that had started to relax suddenly tightened, harder than before.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Marco bit out, his voice a thin blade of ice slicing across her skin.

  Reaching into the handbag slung over her shoulder, she pulled out the boxed set of her favourite TV vampire show.

  He released her and reached for it. After scrutinising it, he threw it down onto the sofa along with the pictures.

  ‘Take a piece of advice for free, pequeña. It’s a mistake to keep goading me. The consequences will be greater than you ever bargained for.’ His voice was soft. Deadly soft.

  Sasha felt a shiver go through her. Most people mistakenly assumed partaking in one of the most dangerous sports in the world meant X1 Premier Racing drivers were fearless. Sasha wasn’t fearless. She had a healthy amount of fear and respect for her profession. She knew when to accelerate, when to pull back the throttle, when to pull over and abandon her car.

  Right now the look on Marco’s face warned her she was skidding close to danger. She heeded the warning. Lashing out because of the maelstrom of emotions roiling inside her would most likely result in far worse consequences than she’d endured with Derek.

  ‘Understood. Let me go.’

  Surprise at her easy capitulation lit his eyes. Abruptly he released her.

  ‘I need a shower. I guess you’ll be gone when I come out. Enjoy your evening.’

  Shamelessly, she fled.

  Marco watched her go, frustration and bewilderment fighting a messy battle inside him.

  He prided himself on knowing and understanding women. After Angelique, his determination never to be caught out again had decreed it. Women liked to think they were complicated creatures, but when it came down to it their needs were basic, no matter how much they tried to hide it. Hell, some—like Angelique—even spelled it out.

  ‘I want fame, Marco. I want excitement! I can’t be with a man who’s a has-been.’

  The memory slid in, reminding him why he now ensured the women he associated with knew there was no rosy future in store for them and had no surprises waiting to trap him.

  A reality devoid of surprises suited him just fine.

  His eyes followed Sasha’s tall, slim figure down the hallway.

  She surprised him, he admitted reluctantly. She also infuriated him. She made his blood boil in a way that was so basic, so … sexual—even without the benefit of those pictures …

  Dios! With a growl, he whirled towards the window. When he’d gone to her room to set things straight this morning the last thing he’d expected was for her to reassure him that it had been no big deal.

  Despite being totally into the kiss—as much as he’d been—she’d walked away from him last night. A situation he’d never encountered before.

  Was it because she didn’t really want him? Or was she merely waiting for his brother to wake up so she could resume where they’d left off?

  Acid burned through his stomach at the thought. But even the corrosive effect couldn’t wash away the underlying sexual need that seared him.

  He’d rushed through his meeting with every intention of calling one of the many willing female acquaintances on his BlackBerry. But once he’d returned, his need to go out again had waned. He withdrew from examining why too closely.

  He turned back from the window and his eyes fell on the pictures on the sofa. To the one of her draped all over his car …

  Blindly he stumbled towards his jacket and dug around for his phone. Two minutes later reservations were made. By the time his Rolls collected him from the foyer, Sasha Fleming had been consigned to the furthest corner of his mind.

  Marco stood outside the door ninety minutes later, caught himself listening for sounds from inside, and grimaced in disbelief. He’d spent the last hour or so wining and dining a woman whose name he couldn’t now remember.

  He’d stared at his date’s in-your-face scarlet lips and thought of another set of lips. Plump, freshly licked lips, captured in perfect celluloid. Lips that had responded to his kiss in a way that had sent the most potent pulse of excitement through him.

  Forbidden lips.

  In the end he’d thrown down his napkin and extracted several large notes. ‘You’ll have to forgive me. I’m terrible company tonight. I shouldn’t have disturbed your evening.’

  The practised pout had reappeared. ‘You know I’ll forgive you anything, Marco.’

  Candy? Candice? had leaned forward in another carefully calculated pose, designed to showcase her body to its best advantage.

  ‘Listen, I have an idea. I know how much you like your coffee. When I was filming in Brazil last month I absolutely fell in love with the coffee and brought some back with me. Why don’t we skip dessert and go back to my place and I’ll give you a taste?’

  Barely containing rising distaste, he’d shaken his head. ‘Sorry, I’ll take a rain
check.’

  He’d led her out amid soft protests and further throaty promises of the delights of her cafetière. But coffee, or sex with Candy/Candice had been the last thing on his mind.

  His sudden hunger for chocolate caramel had become overpowering.

  ‘Take my car. I’ll walk,’ he’d said.

  And now here he stood, skulking outside his own apartment like a hormonal teenager on his first date.

  He entered and approached the living room.

  She was curled up on the sofa, a bowl of popcorn in her lap. Her head snapped towards him. As if she’d been listening out for him too. The thought pleased him more than it should have.

  The striking blue of her eyes paralysed him.

  ‘You’re still awake.’ Excelente, Marco. First prize for stating the obvious.

  She blinked. ‘It’s only nine-fifteen.’ Her eyes followed him as he shrugged off his jacket and dropped it on the sofa. When her gaze lingered on his chest he felt the blood surge stronger than before.

  He watched her fingers dance through the bowl of popcorn, the movement curiously erotic. His heart hammered harder. ‘You didn’t have the chocolate caramel after all?’

  ‘Charlie’s disapproving face haunted me. Popcorn is healthier.’ She looked away. ‘So, how was your date?’ she asked, her voice husky.

  He wrenched his gaze from her fingers. ‘You really want to know?’

  Her sensual lips firmed and she shook her head.

  The need to gauge her true feelings drew him closer. ‘Jealous?’

  She inhaled sharply. ‘I thought we weren’t doing this?’

  His eyes fell to her lips. ‘Maybe I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘Well, change it back. Nothing has changed since this morning. I can’t handle your … baggage. And I don’t want a relationship. Of any sort.’

  Marco opened his mouth to tell her he didn’t want anything from her either. But he knew he was lying. His very presence in this room belied that.

  Forbidden or not, he wanted her with a compulsive need that unnerved and baffled him. But the fact that he wanted her didn’t mean he would have her. He was known for his legendary control. He sat down next to her, caught her scent, and simply willed himself not to react.