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  ‘No, thanks. I’m not hungry.’

  With a glance, he dismissed the housekeeper. His gaze returned to her, slowly tracing her face. When it rested on her mouth she struggled not to run her tongue over it, remembering how his eyes had darkened the last time she’d done that.

  ‘I have a video call with Tom Brooks, my press liaison, in five minutes. Can I use your study?’

  His eyes locked on hers. ‘Why’s he calling?’

  ‘He wants to go over next month’s sponsorship schedule. I can give you a final printout, if you like.’

  She deliberately kept her voice light, non-combative. Something told her Marco de Cervantes was spoiling for a fight, and after his revelations she wasn’t sure it was wise to engage him in one. Pain had a habit of eroding rational thought.

  Being calmly informed by the doctor that she’d lost the baby she hadn’t even been aware she was carrying had made her want to scream—loudly, endlessly until her throat gave out. She’d wanted to reach inside herself and rip her body apart for letting her down. In the end the only thing that had helped was getting back to the familiar—to her racing car. The pain had never left her, but the adrenaline of racing had eased her aching soul the way nothing else had been able to.

  Looking into Marco’s dark eyes, she caught a glimpse of his pain, but wisely withheld the offer of comfort on the tip of her tongue. After all, who was she to offer comfort when she hadn’t quite come to terms with losing her baby herself?

  Silently, she held his gaze.

  For several seconds he stared back. Then he indicated his study. ‘I’ll set it up for you.’

  She followed him into the room and drew to a stunned halt. The space was so irreverently, unmistakably male that her eyes widened. An old-style burgundy leather studded chair and footrest stood before the largest fireplace she’d ever seen, above which two centuries-old swords hung. The rest of the room was oak-panelled, with dusty books stretching from floor to ceiling. The scent of stale tobacco pipe smoke hung in the air. It wouldn’t have been strange to see a shaggy-haired professor seated behind the massive desk that stood under the only window in the room. Compared to the contemporary, exceedingly luxurious comfort of the rest of the villa, this was a throwback to another century—save for the sleek computer on the desk.

  Marco caught the look on her face and raised an eyebrow as he activated the large flat screen computer on the immense mahogany desk.

  ‘Did your designer fall into a time warp when he got to this room?’

  ‘This was my father’s study—his personal space. He never allowed my mother to redesign it, no matter how much she tried. He hasn’t been in here since she died, and I...I feel no need to change things.’

  A well of sympathy rose inside Sasha for his pain. Casting a look around, she stopped, barely suppressing a gasp. ‘Is that a stag’s head on the wall?’ she asked, eyeing the large animal head, complete with gnarled, menacing antlers.

  ‘A bull stag, yes.’

  She turned from the gruesome spectacle. ‘There’s a difference?’

  The semblance of a smile whispered over his lips. Sasha found she couldn’t tear her gaze away. In that split second she felt a wild, unfettered yearning to see that smile widen, to see his face light up in genuine amusement.

  ‘The bull stag is the alpha of its herd. He calls the shots. And he gets his pick of the females.’

  ‘Ah, I see. If you’re going to display such a monstrosity on your wall, only the best will do?’

  He slanted her a wry glance. ‘That’s the general thinking, yes.’

  ‘Ugh.’

  He caught her shudder and his smile widened.

  Warmth exploded in her chest, encompassed her whole body and made her breathless. Sasha found she didn’t care. The need to bask in the stunning warmth of his smile trumped the need for oxygen. Even when another voice intruded she couldn’t look away.

  When Tom’s voice came again she roused herself with difficulty from the drugging race of her pulse, carefully skirted a coffee table festooned with piles of books, and approached the desk as the screen came to life.

  ‘Hello? Can you hear me, Sasha?’ Tom’s voice held its usual touch of impatience, and his features were pinched.

  Marco’s smile disappeared.

  Sasha mourned the loss of it and moved closer to the screen. ‘I’m here, Tom.’

  He huffed in response, then his eyes swung over her shoulder and widened.

  ‘Sit down,’ Marco said from behind her, pushing the massive chair towards her.

  She sat. He reached over her shoulder and adjusted the screen. Then he remained behind her—a heavy, dominating presence.

  Tom cleared his throat. ‘Uh, I didn’t know you’d be joining us, Mr de Cervantes.’

  ‘A last-minute decision. Carry on,’ Marco instructed.

  ‘Um...okay...’

  She’d never seen Tom flounder, and she bit the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling.

  ‘Sasha, you have a Q&A on the team’s website next Friday. I’ve e-mailed the questions to you. I’ll need it back by Wednesday, to proofread and get it approved by the lawyers. On Friday night you have the Children of Bravery awards in London. Tuesday is the Strut footwear shoot, followed by the Linear Watches shoot in Barcelona. On Sun— Is there a problem?’ he asked testily when she shook her head.

  ‘That’s not going to work. I can’t take all that time off just for sponsorship events.’

  ‘This is the schedule I’ve planned. You’ll have to deal with it.’

  ‘Seriously, I think it makes more sense to group everything together and get it done in the shortest possible time—’

  ‘I’m in charge of your schedule. Let me work out what makes sense.’

  ‘Miss Fleming is right.’ Marco’s deep voice sounded from behind her shoulder. ‘You have several events spaced out over the period of a week. That’s a lot of time wasted travelling. Do you not agree?’

  ‘But the sponsors—’

  ‘The sponsors need to work around her schedule, not the other way round. They can have Thursday to Saturday next week. Otherwise they’ll have to wait until the end of the month. Miss Fleming gets Sundays off. Your job is to manage her time properly. Make it happen.’

  Marco reached past Sasha and disconnected the link. Although it was a rare treat to see Tom get his comeuppance, a large part of her tightened with irritation.

  ‘I’m perfectly capable of arranging my own schedule, thank you very much.’

  ‘It didn’t seem that way.’

  ‘Only because you didn’t give me half a chance.’ She craned her neck to gaze up at him, feeling at a severe disadvantage.

  His head went back as he glared down his arrogant nose at her. ‘I didn’t like the way he spoke to you,’ he declared.

  Her heart lurched, then swung into a dive as a wave of warmth oozed through her. Sasha berated herself for the foolish feeling, but as much as she tried to push it away it grew stronger.

  Despite the alien feeling zinging through her, she tried for a casual shrug. ‘I don’t think he likes me very much.’

  A frown creased his forehead. ‘Why not?’

  Her bitter laugh escaped before she could curb it. Rising, she padded several steps away, breathing easier. ‘Probably for the same reasons you don’t. He doesn’t think I have any business being a racing driver. He believes I’ve made him a laughing stock by association.’

  ‘Because of your gender or because of your past indiscretions?’

  ‘According to you they’re one and the same, aren’t they?’ she retorted.

  The hands gripping the back of the chair tightened. ‘I told you in Budapest your gender had nothing to do with my decision to fire you. Your talent as a full-time racing driver is yet to be seen. Prove yoursel
f as the talented racing driver you claim to be and you’ll earn your seat. Until then I reserve my judgement.’

  ‘You reserve your judgement professionally, but you’re judge, jury and executioner when it comes to my personal life?’

  A cold gleam had entered his eyes, but even that didn’t stop her from staring into those hypnotising depths.

  ‘We agreed that you will have no personal life until your contract ends, did we not? You wouldn’t be thinking of reneging on that agreement so soon, would you?’

  Sasha just stopped herself from telling him she already had no personal life. That she hadn’t had one since Derek’s lies and the loss of her baby had put her through the wringer. Rafael had been her one and only friend until that had headed south.

  ‘Sasha.’

  The warning in the way he said her name sent a shiver dancing down her spine. She glanced up at him and bit back a gasp.

  When had he drawn so close? Within his eyes she could see the flecks of green that spiked from his irises. And the lashes that framed them were long, silky. Beautiful. He had beautiful eyes. Eyes that drew her in, wove spells around her. Tugged at emotions buried deep within her...

  Eyes that were steadily narrowing, demanding an answer.

  She sucked in a breath, her brain turning fuzzy again when his scent—lemony, with a large dose of man—hit her nostrils. ‘No, Marco. No personal life. Not even a Labradoodle to cuddle when I’m lonely.’

  A frown deepened. ‘A what?’

  ‘It’s a dog. A cross between a Labrador and a poodle. I used to have one when I was little. But it died.’

  ‘Pets have no place on the racing circuit.’

  She glared at him. ‘I wasn’t planning on bringing one to work. Anyway, it’s a moot point, since my schedule isn’t conducive to having one. I detest part-time pet owners.’

  Her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She pulled it out and activated it. Seeing the promised e-mail from Tom, she turned to leave.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he demanded.

  She faked a smile to hide the disturbing emotions roiling through her body. ‘Oh, I thought the inquisition was over. Only Tom has sent the Q&A and I want to get it done so I don’t take up valuable race testing time.’

  Her snarky tone didn’t go unmissed. His jaw clenched as he sauntered over to her. She held her breath, forcing herself not to move back.

  ‘The inquisition is over for now. But I reserve the right to pursue it at a later date.’

  ‘And I reserve the right not to participate in your little witch hunt. I read the small print and signed on the dotted line. I know exactly what’s expected of me and I intend to honour our agreement. You can either let me get on with it, or you can impede me and cause us both a lot of grief. Your choice.’

  She sailed out of the room, head held high. Just before the door swung shut Sasha suspected she heard a very low, very frustrated growl emitted by a very different bull stag from the one hanging on the wall.

  Her smile widened as she punched the air.

  * * *

  Marco didn’t come back for dinner. Even after Rosario told her he’d gone to his office in Barcelona Sasha caught herself looking towards the door, half expecting him to stride through it at any second.

  Luke had dropped off the engine testing results, which she’d pored over half a dozen times in between listening out for the sound of the helicopter.

  Catching herself doing so for the umpteenth time, she shoved away from the table, ran upstairs to her suite and changed into her gym clothes.

  Letting herself out of the side entrance, she skirted the pool and jogged along the lamplit path bordering the extensive gardens. Fragrant bougainvillaea and amaranth scented the evening air. She breathed in deeply and increased her pace until she spotted the floodlights of the race track in the distance. Excitement fizzed through her veins.

  A few hours from now she’d start her journey to clear her father’s name. To prove to the world that the Fleming name was not dirt, as so many people claimed.

  Fresh waves of sadness and anger buffeted her as she thought of her father. How his brilliant career had crumbled to dust in just a few short weeks, his hard work and sterling dedication to his team wiped away by vicious lies.

  The pain of watching him spiral into depression had been excruciating. In the end even his pride in her hadn’t been enough...

  Whirling away from her thoughts, and literally from the path, she jogged the rest of the way to the sports facility half a mile away and spent the next hour punishing herself through a strenuous routine that would have made Charlie, her physio, proud.

  Leaving the gym, Sasha wandered aimlessly, deliberately emptying her mind of sad memories. It wasn’t until she nearly stumbled into a wall that she realised she stood in front of a single-storey building. Shrouded in darkness, it sat about half a mile away from the house, at the far end of the driveway that led past the villa.

  About to enter, she jumped as the trill of her phone rang through the silent night.

  Hurriedly, she fished it out, but it went silent before she could answer it. Frowning, she returned it to her pocket, then rubbed her hands down her arms when the cooling breeze whispered over her skin.

  Casting another glance at the dark building, she retraced her steps back to the villa. Her footsteps echoed on the marble floors.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  Marco’s voice was amplified in the semi-darkness, drawing her to a startled halt. He stood half hidden behind one of the numerous pillars in the vast hallway.

  ‘I went to the gym, then went for a walk.’

  His huge frame loomed larger as he came towards her. ‘The next time you decide to leave the house for a long stretch have the courtesy to inform the staff of your whereabouts. That way I won’t have people combing the grounds for you.’

  There was an odd inflection in his voice that made the hairs on her neck stand up.

  ‘Has something happened?’ She stepped towards him, her heart taking a dizzying dive when he didn’t answer immediately. ‘Marco?’

  ‘Sí, something’s happened,’ he delivered in an odd, flat tone.

  He stepped into the light and Sasha bit back a gasp at the gaunt, tormented look on his face.

  ‘Rafael... It’s Rafael.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FEAR PIERCED THROUGH her heart but she refused to believe the worst. ‘Is he...?’ She swallowed and rephrased. ‘How bad is it?’

  Marco shoved his phone into his pocket and stalked down the hall towards the large formal sitting room. Set between two curved cast-iron balconies that overlooked the living room from the first-floor hallway, a beautifully carved, centuries-old drinks cabinet stood. Marco picked up a crystal decanter and raised an eyebrow. When she shook her head, he poured a healthy splash of cognac into a glass and threw it back in one quick swallow.

  A fire had been lit in the two giant fireplaces in the room. Marco stood before one and raked a hand through his hair, throwing the dark locks into disarray. ‘He’s suffered another brain haemorrhage. They had to perform a minor operation to release the pressure. The doctors...’ He shook his head, tightly suppressed emotion making his movements jerky. ‘They can’t do any more.’

  ‘But the operation worked, didn’t it?’ She didn’t know where the instinct to keep talking came from. All she knew was that Marco had come looking for her.

  He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘The bleeding has stopped, yes. And he’s been put into an induced coma until the swelling goes down.’

  She moved closer, her heart aching at the pain he tried to hide. ‘That’s good. It’ll give him time to heal.’

  His eyes grew bleaker. He looked around, as if searching for a distraction. ‘I should be there,’ he bit out. ‘But the doctor
s think I’m in their way.’ He huffed. ‘One even accused me of unreasonable behaviour, simply because I asked for a third opinion.’

  The muttered imprecation that followed made Sasha bite her lip, feeling sorry for the unknown hapless doctor who’d dared clash with Marco.

  She sucked in a breath as his gaze sharpened on her.

  ‘Nothing to say?’

  ‘He’s your brother. You love him and want the best for him. That’s why you’ve hired the best doctors to care for him. Maybe you need to leave them alone to do their jobs?’ He looked set to bite her head off. ‘And if he’s in intensive care they probably need to keep his environment as sterile as possible. Surely you don’t want anything to jeopardise his recovery?’

  His scowl deepened and he looked away. ‘I see you not only wear a psychologist’s hat, you also dabble in diplomacy and being the voice of reason.’

  Although Sasha did not enjoy his cynicism, she felt relieved that his voice was no longer racked with raw anguish. ‘Yeah, that’s me. Miss All-Things-To-All-People,’ she joked.

  Eyes that had moments ago held pain and anguish froze into solid, implacable ice. ‘Sí. Unfortunately that aspect of your nature hasn’t worked out well for my brother, has it? Rafael needed you to be one thing to him. And you failed. Miserably.’

  ‘I tried to talk some sense into him...’

  Rafael hadn’t taken it well when she’d pointed out the absurdity of his out-of-the-blue proposal. He’d stormed out of her hotel in Budapest the night before the race, and she’d never got the chance to talk to him before his accident.

  Marco turned from the mantel and faced her. ‘Don’t tell me... You were conveniently unsuccessful?’ he mocked.

  ‘Because he didn’t mean it.’

  He pounced. ‘Why would any man propose to a woman if he didn’t mean it?’

  When she didn’t answer immediately, his scowl deepened. In the end, she said, ‘Because of...other things he’d said.’

  ‘What other things?’ came the harsh rejoinder.