The Price of Success

‘Come out. And lose the glasses and the scarf. No one cares who you are here.’

She hesitated. ‘Can’t we just talk in the car?’ she ventured.

He held out a commanding hand. ‘No, we can’t. We both know you’re not shy, so stop wasting my time.’

She could argue, defend her personal reputation against the label Marco had decided to pin on her, but Sasha doubted it would make a difference. He, like the rest of the world, believed she was soiled goods because of her past and because she was a Fleming.

What good would protesting do?

The only weapon she had to fight with was her talent behind the steering wheel.

Her father’s time had been cruelly cut short, stamped out by vicious lies that had destroyed him and robbed her of the one person who had truly loved and believed in her.

Sasha was damned if she would let history repeat itself. Damned if she would give up her only chance to prove everyone wrong.

Gritting her teeth, she ignored his hand and stepped out of the car.

Marco strode across the marble foyer, the box clutched firmly in his grip. Its contents were a vivid reminder, stamped onto his brain.

Behind him he heard the hurried click of booted heels as Sasha Fleming struggled to keep up with him.

He didn’t slow down. In fact he sped up. He wanted this meeting over with so he could return to the hospital.

For a single moment Marco thanked God his mother wasn’t alive. She couldn’t have borne to see her darling son, the miracle child she’d thought she’d never have, lying battered and bruised in a coma.

It was bad enough that she’d had to live through the pain and suffering Marco had brought her ten years ago. Bad enough that those horrendous three weeks before and after his own crash had caused a rift he’d never quite managed to heal, despite his mother’s reassurances that all was well.

Marco knew all hadn’t been well because he had never been the same since that time.

Deep shame and regret raked through him at how utterly he’d let his mother down. At how utterly he’d lost his grip on reality back then. Foolishly and selfishly he’d thought himself in love. The practised smile of a skilful manipulator had blinded him into throwing all caution to the wind and he’d damaged his family in the process.

His mother was gone, her death yet another heavy weight on his conscience, but Rafael was alive—and Marco intended to make sure lightning didn’t strike twice. For that to happen he had to keep it together. He would keep it together.

‘Um, the sign for the bar points the other way.’

Sasha Fleming’s husky voice broke into his unwelcome thoughts.

He stopped so suddenly she bumped into him. Marco frowned at the momentary sensation of her breasts against his back and the unsuspecting heat that surged into his groin. His whole body tightened in furious rejection and he rounded on her.

‘I don’t conduct my business in bars. And I seriously doubt you want our conversation to be overheard by anyone else.’

Turning on his heel, he stalked to the lift. His personal porter pushed the button and waited for Marco to enter the express lift that serviced the presidential suite.

Sasha shot him a wary look and he bit back the urge to let a feral smile loose. Ever since Rafael’s crash he’d been pushing back the blackness, fighting memories that had no place here within this chaos.

Really, Sasha Fleming had chosen the worst possible time to make herself his enemy. His hands tightened around the box and his gaze rested on her.

Run, he silently warned her. While you have the chance.

Her eyes searched every corner of the mirrored lift as if danger lurked within the gold-filigree-trimmed interior. Finally she rolled her shoulders. The subtle movement was almost the equivalent of cracking one’s knuckles before a fight, and it intrigued him far more than he wanted to admit.

‘We’re going to your suite? Okay …’

She stepped into the lift. Behind her, Marco saw the porter’s gaze drop to linger on her backside. Irritation rose to mingle with the already toxic cauldron of emotions swirling through him. With an impatient finger he stabbed at the button.

‘I see the thought of it doesn’t disturb you too much.’ He didn’t bother to conceal the slur in his comment. The urge to attack, to wound, ran rampage within him.

Silently he conceded she was right. As long as Rafael was fighting for his life he couldn’t think straight. The impulse to make someone pay seethed just beneath the surface of his calm.

And Sasha Fleming had placed herself front and centre in his sights.

He expected her to flinch. To show that his words had hit a mark.

He wasn’t prepared for her careless shrug. ‘You’re right. I don’t really want our conversation to feed tomorrow’s headlines. I’m pretty sure by now most of the media know you’re staying here.’

‘So you’re not afraid to enter a strange man’s suite?’

‘Are you strange? I thought you were merely the engineering genius who designed the Espiritu DSII and the Cervantes Conquistador.’

‘I’m immune to flattery, Miss Fleming, and any other form of coercion running through your pretty little head.’

‘Shame. I was about to spout some seriously nerd-tastic info guaranteed to make you like me.’

‘You’d be wasting your time. I have a team specially selected to deal with sycophants.’

His barb finally struck home. She inhaled sharply and lowered her gaze.

Marco caught himself examining the determined angle of her chin, the sensual line of her full lips. At the base of her neck her pulse fluttered under satin-smooth skin. Against his will, another wave of heat surged through him. He threw a mental bucket of cold water over it.

This woman belonged to his brother.

The lift opened directly onto the living room—a white and silver design that flowed outside onto the balcony overlooking the Danube. Marco bypassed the sweeping floor-to-ceiling windows, strode to the antique desk set against the velvet wall and put the box down.

Recalling its contents, he felt anger coalesce once more within him.

He turned to find Sasha Fleming at the window, a look of total awe on her face as she gazed at the stunning views of the Buda Hills and the Chain Bridge. He took a moment to study her.

Hers wasn’t a classical beauty. In fact there was more of the rangy tomboy about her than a woman who was aware of her 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 or the spontaneous trip to Paris last month as innocent gestures of a mere friend?’

Another stab of surprise went through her at the depth of Marco’s knowledge. ‘I went to dinner with him because Rav … his date stood him up.’

‘And Paris?’

‘He was appearing at some function and I was at a loose end. I tagged along for laughs.’

‘For laughs? And you then proceeded to dance the night away in his arms? What about the other half a dozen times you’ve been snapped together by the paparazzi?’ he demanded.

She frowned. ‘I know you two are close, but don’t you think you’re taking an alarmingly unhealthy interest in your brother’s private life?’

His head jerked as if she’d slapped him. His hazel eyes darkened and his shoulders stiffened as if he held some dark emotion inside. Again she wanted to step back. To flee from a fight for the first time in her life.

‘It’s my duty to protect my brother,’ he stated, with a finality that sharpened her interest.

‘Rafael’s a grown man. He doesn’t need protecting.’

His raised a hand and slowly unfurled his fingers from around the velvet box. ‘Then what do you call this? Why did my brother, the reigning world champion, who rarely ever makes mistakes, deliberately drive into the back of a slower car?’

Her gasp scoured her throat. ‘The accident wasn’t deliberate.’ She refused to believe Rafael would have acted so recklessly. ‘Rafael wouldn’t put himself or another driver in such danger.’

‘I’ve watched my brother race since he was six years old. His skill is legendary. He would never have put himself into the slipstream of a slower car so close to a blind corner. Not if he’d been thinking straight.’

Sasha couldn’t refute the allegation because she’d wondered herself why Rafael had made such a dangerous move. ‘Maybe he thought he could make the move stick,’ she pursued half-heartedly.

Long bronze hands curled around the box. Features tight, Marco breathed deeply. ‘Or maybe he didn’t care. Maybe it was already too late for him when he stepped into the cockpit?’

Horror raked through her. ‘Of course it wasn’t. Why would you say that?’

‘He sent me a text an hour before the race to tell me he intended to have what he wanted. At all costs.’

Sasha’s blood ran cold. ‘I … no, he couldn’t have said that! Besides, he didn’t mean—’ She bit her lip to stop the rest of her words. Although they’d rowed, she wasn’t about to betray Rafael’s trust. ‘We’re just friends.’

‘You’re poison.’ His hand slashed through the denial she’d been about to utter. ‘Whatever thrall you hold over your fellow team mates, it ends right now.’

Sliding the box containing the engagement ring into his pocket, he returned to the desk. Several papers were spread across it. He searched through until he found what he was looking for.

‘Your contract is a rolling one, due to end next season.’

Still reeling from the force of his words, Sasha stared at him.

‘My lawyers will hammer out the finer details of a pay-off in the next few days. But as of right now your services are no longer needed by Team Espiritu.’

With the force of a bucket of cold water, she was wrenched from her numbness.

‘You’re firing me because I befriended your brother?’

The hysterical edge to her voice registered on the outer fringes of her mind, but Sasha ignored it. She’d worked too hard, fought too long for this chance to let mere hysteria stand in her way. If she had to scream like a banshee she would do so to make Marco de Cervantes listen to her. After years of withstanding vicious whispers and callous undermining, she would not be dismissed so easily. Not when her chance to see her father’s reputation restored, the chance to prove her own worth, was so close.

‘Do you want to stop for a moment and think how absurd that is? Do you really want to carry on down that road?’ she demanded, raising her chin when he turned from the desk.

‘What road?’ he asked without looking up.

‘The sexist, discriminatory road. Or are you going to fire Rafael too when he wakes up? Just to even things up?’

His gaze hardened. ‘I’ve been running this team for almost a decade and no one has ever been allowed to cause this much disruption unchecked before.’

‘What do you mean, unchecked?’

‘I warned Rafael about you three months ago,’ he delivered without an ounce of remorse. ‘I told him you were trouble. That he should stay away from you.’

Her anger blazed into an inferno. ‘How dare you?’

He merely shrugged. ‘Unfortunately, with Rafael, you only have to suggest there’s something he can’t have to make him hunger desperately for it.’

‘You’re unbelievable—you know that? You think you can play with people’s lives!’

His face darkened. ‘Believe me, I’m not playing. Five million.’

Confused, she frowned. ‘Five million … for what?’

‘To walk away. Dollars, pounds or euros. It doesn’t really matter.’

Fire crackled inside her. ‘You want to pay me to give up my seat? To disappear like some sleazy secret simply because I became friends with your brother? Even to a wild nut-job like me that seems very drastic. What exactly are you afraid of, Mr de Cervantes?’

Strong, corded arms folded over his chest. His body was held so tense she feared he would snap a muscle at any second. ‘Let’s just say I have experience with women like you.’

‘Damn, I thought I was one of a kind. Would you care to elaborate on that stunning assertion?’

One brow winged upward. ‘And have you selling the story to the first tabloid hack you find? I’ll pass. Five million. To resign and to stay away from the sport.’

‘Go to hell.’ She added a smile just for the hell of it, because she yearned for him to feel a fraction of the anger and humiliation coursing through her. The same emotions her father had felt when he’d been thrown out of the profession that had been his life.

‘Is that your final answer?’ he asked.

‘Yes. I don’t need to phone a friend and I don’t need to ask any audience. My final answer—go to hell!’

Sasha braced herself for more of the backlash he’d been doling out solidly for the last hour. But all he did was stare at her, his gaze once again leaving her feeling exposed, as if he’d stripped back a layer of her skin.

He nodded once. Then he paced the room, seemingly lost for words. Finally he raked both hands through his hair, ruffling it until the silky strands looked unkempt in a sexy, just-got-out-of-bed look that she couldn’t help but stare at.

Puzzled by his attitude, she forced her gaze away and tried to hang on to her anger. She didn’t deserve this. All she’d tried to be was a friend to Rafael, a team mate who’d seemed to be battling demons of his own.

After her experience with Derek, and the devastating pain of losing the baby she hadn’t known she was carrying until it was too late, she’d vowed never to mix business with pleasure. Derek’s jealousy as she’d risen through the ranks of the racing world had eroded any feelings she’d had for him until there’d been nothing left.

As if sensing her withdrawal, he’d tried to hang on to her with a last-ditch proposal. When she’d turned him down he’d labelled her a bitch and started a whispering campaign against her that had undermined all her years of hard work.

Thankfully Derek had never found out the one thing he could have used against her. The one thing that could have shattered her very existence. The secret memory of her lost baby was buried deep inside, where no one could touch it or use it as a weapon against her.

Even her father hadn’t known, and after living through his pain and humiliation she’d vowed never to let her personal life interfere with her work ever again.

Rafael’s easy smile and wildly charming ways had got under her guard, making her reveal a few careful details about her past to him. His friendship had been a balm to the lonely existence she’d lived as Jack Fleming’s daughter.

The thought that Marco had poisoned him against her filled her with sadness.

‘You know, I thought it was Rafael who told you about my past. But it was the other way round, wasn’t it?’ she asked.

She waited for his answer, but his gaze was fixed on the view outside, on the picturesque towers of the Royal Castle. A stillness surrounded him that caught and held her attention.

‘For as long as I can remember I’ve been bailing Rafael out of one scrape or another.’

The words—low, intense and unexpected—jolted aside her anger.

‘He’s insanely passionate about every single aspect of his life, be it food, driving or volcano-boarding down the side of some godforsaken peak in Nicaragua,’ he continued. ‘Unfortunately the perils of this world seem to dog him. When he was eleven, he discovered mushrooms growing in a field at our vineyard in León and decided to eat them. His stomach had to be pumped or he’d have died. Two years later, he slipped away from his boarding school to run with the bulls at Pamplona. He was gored in the arm. Save for a very substantial donation to the school, and my personal guarantee of his reformation, he would’ve been thrown out immediately.’

His gaze focused on her. ‘I can list another dozen episodes that would raise your hair.’

‘He’s a risk-taker,’ Sasha murmured, wondering where the conversation was headed but deciding to go with it. ‘He has to be as a racing driver; surely you understand that?’ she argued. ‘Didn’t you scale Everest on your own five years ago, after everyone in your team turned back because of a blizzard? In my book that’s Class A recklessness.’

‘I knew what I was doing.’

‘Oh, okay. How about continuing over half the London-Dakar rally with a broken arm?’

His clear surprise made her lips twist. ‘How—?’

‘Told you I had nerd-tastic info on you. You own the most successful motor racing team in the history of the sport. I want to drive for you. I’ve done my homework.’

‘Very impressive, but risk-taking on the track is expected—within reason. But even before Rafael ever got behind the wheel of a race car he was … highly strung.’

‘If he’s so highly strung that you have to manage him, then why do you let him race? Why own the team that places him in the very sport likely to jeopardise his well-being?’