His Ultimate Prize Page 30

  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 driver 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 out of 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?’

  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 t
hat 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 entirely 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—