‘I make it a point not to credit rumours, but it seems in this instance the rumours are true, Sasha Fleming.’

The way he said her name—slowly, with a hint of his Latin intonation—made goosebumps rise on her flesh. ‘What exactly do you think you know about me?’

‘Sex is your weapon of choice.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ she squeaked as the backs of her legs touched the side of the bed. ‘Did you just say—?’

‘You need to learn to finesse your art, though. No man likes to be bludgeoned over the head with sex. No matter how … enticing the package.’

‘You’re either loopy or you’ve got me confused with someone else. I don’t bludgeon and I don’t entice.’

He kept coming. She leaned back on the bed and felt the hem of her shirt riding up her thighs.

‘For goodness’ sake, stop!’

He stopped, but his gaze didn’t. It continued its destructive course over her, leaving no part of her untouched, until Sasha felt sure she was about to combust from the heat of it.

Desperate, she darted out her tongue to lick her lips. ‘Look, I’m not who … whatever you think I am.’

‘Even though I can see the evidence for myself?’ he rasped in a low voice.

About the Author

MAYA BLAKE fell in love with the world of the alpha male and the strong, aspirational heroine when she borrowed her sister’s Mills & Boon® at age thirteen. Shortly thereafter the dream to plot a happy ending for her own characters was born. Writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon is a dream come true. Maya lives in South East England with her husband and two kids. Reading is an absolute passion, but when she isn’t lost in a book she likes to swim, cycle, travel and Tweet!

You can get in touch with her via e-mail,

at mayablake@ymail.com, or on Twitter:

www.twitter.com/mayablake

THE PRICE OF SUCCESS

is Maya’s debut book

for Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance!

The Price
of Success
Maya Blake

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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First and foremost for my dear sister, Barbara, who

gave me the book that started this wonderful journey.

For my husband, Tony, for his unwavering support

and firm belief that this dream would become reality.

For my HEART sisters—your incredible support

kept me going right from the beginning—thank you!

And finally for my darling MINXES!

You are the best cheerleaders a girl can have

and I’d be totally lost without you.

CHAPTER ONE

THE moments before the crash played out almost in slow motion. Time paused, then stretched lethargically in the Sunday sun. And even though the cars were travelling at over two hundred and twenty kilometers an hour, there seemed an almost hypnotic, ballet-like symmetry in their movement.

Sasha Fleming stared, frozen, her heart suspended mid-beat, terrified to complete its task as Rafael’s front wing clipped the rear tyre of the slower back marker. Hundreds of thousands of pounds’ worth of carbon fibre bent backwards, twisted in on itself. Ripped metal tore through the left tyre, wrenching the car into a ninety-degree turn.

The world-renowned racing car launched itself into the air. For several brief seconds it looked more like a futuristic aircraft than an asphalt-hugging machine.

Inevitably, gravity won out. The explosion was deafening as sound erupted all around her. The screech of contorting metal rang through her head, amplified by the super-sized loudspeakers all around her. In the next instant the white concrete wall just after the Turn One hairpin bend was streaked with the iconic racing green paint of Rafael’s car.

‘He’s crashed! He’s crashed! The pole sitter and current world champion, Rafael de Cervantes, has crashed his Espiritu DSII. Only this morning the papers said this car was uncrashable. How wrong were they?’

Sasha ripped off her headphones, unable to stomach the frenzied glee in the commentator’s voice or the huge roar that rose around the Hungaroring circuit.

Her heart, now making up for its sluggishness, was beating so hard and so fast it threatened to break through her ribcage. Her eyes remained glued to the bank of screens on the pit wall, and she and two dozen pit crew members watched the horrific events unfold.

‘Turn up the sound,’ someone yelled.

Curbing a wild need to negate that command, she clamped her lips together, arms folded tight around her middle. Memories of another time, another crash, played alongside the carnage unfolding on the screen. Unable to stem it, she let the memories of the event that had changed her for ever filter through to play alongside this appalling spectacle.

‘Sometimes the only way to get through pain is to immerse yourself in it. Let it eat you alive. It’ll spit you out eventually.’

How many times had her father told her that? When she’d broken her ankle learning to ride her bike. When she’d fractured her arm falling out of a tree. When she’d lost her mum when she was ten. When she’d suffered the desperate consequences of falling for the wrong guy.

She’d got through them all. Well … almost.

The secret loss she’d buried deep in her heart would always be with her. As would the loss of her father.

The commentator’s voice scythed through her thoughts. ‘There’s no movement from the car. The race has been red-flagged and the safety car is on its way. So is the ambulance. But so far we haven’t seen Rafael move. His engineer will be frantically trying to speak to him, no doubt. I must say, though, it’s not looking good …’

Sasha forced in a breath, her fingers moving convulsively to loosen the Velcro securing her constricting race suit. A shudder raked her frame, followed closely by another. She tried to swallow but she couldn’t get her throat to work.

Alongside the thoughts zipping through her head, her last conversation with Rafael filtered through.

He’d been so angry with her. And the accusations he’d flung at her when she’d only been trying to help …

Ice clutched her soul. Was this her fault? Had she played a part in this carnage?

‘The ambulance is there now. And there’s Rafael’s brother, Marco, the owner of Team Espiritu. He’s on his way to the crash site … hopefully we’ll get a progress report soon.’

Marco. Another fist of shock punched through her flailing senses. She hadn’t even been aware he’d finally arrived in Hungary. In her two years as reserve driver for Team Espiritu, Marco de Cervantes hadn’t missed a single race—until this weekend.

The whole paddock had been abuzz with his absence, the celebrities and royalty who jetted in from all over the world specifically to experience the de Cervantes lifestyle, visibly disappointed. From Rafael’s terse response when she’d asked of his brother’s whereabouts, Sasha had concluded the brothers had fallen out.

Her heart twisted tighter in her chest at the thought that Marco had finally arrived only to witness his brother’s crash.

A daring cameraman broke through the flanking bodyguards and caught up with Marco. Tight-jawed, his olive skin showing only the barest hint of paleness, he kept his gaze fixed ahead, his set expression not revealing the slightest hint of his emotional state as he strode towards the courtesy car waiting a few feet away.

Just before he got into the car he turned his head. Deep hazel eyes stared straight into the camera.

Sasha’s breath stilled. Icy dread flooded her veins at the banked fury in their depths. His features were pinched, his mouth a taut line, the lines bracketing his mouth deep and austere. Everything about him indicated he was reining in tight emotion. Not surprising, given the circumstances.

But, eerily, Sasha knew his emotion extended beyond the events unfolding now. Whatever emotion Marco was holding in, it went far beyond his reaction to his brother’s horrific accident.

Another shiver raked through her. She turned away from the screen, searching blindly for an escape. The back of the garage where the tyres were stacked offered a temporary sanctuary.

She’d taken one single step towards the opening when her heart sank. Tom Brooks, her personal press officer, broke away from the crew and made a beeline for her.

‘We need to prep for an interview,’ he clipped out, fingers flying over his iPad.

Nausea rose to join all the other sensations percolating inside her. ‘Already? We don’t even know how Rafael is.’ Or even if he was still alive.

‘Exactly. The eyes of the world will be on this team. Now’s not the time to bungle our way through another disastrous soundbite,’ he said unsympathetically.

Sasha bit her lip. Her heated denial of a relationship with Rafael only a week ago had fuelled media speculation, and brought unwanted focus on the team.

‘Surely it’s better to be well informed before the interview than to go on air half-cocked?’

His face darkened. ‘Do you want to be a reserve driver for ever?’

Sasha frowned. ‘Of course not—’

‘Good, because I don’t want to play press officer to a reserve driver for the rest of my career. You want to be one of the boys? Here’s your chance to prove it.’

A wave of anger rose inside her. ‘I don’t need to be heartless to prove myself, Tom.’

‘Oh, but you do. Do you think any of the other drivers would hesitate at the chance that’s been presented?’

‘What chance? We don’t even know how Rafael is doing yet!’

‘Well, you can sit on your hands until the moment’s snatched from you. The handful of female X1 Premier Racing drivers who’ve gone before you barely made an impact. You can choose to become a meaningless statistic, or you can put yourself in the driver’s seat—literally—and lay the paddock rumours to rest.’

She didn’t need to ask what he meant. A wave of pain rolled through her. Pushing it back, she straightened her shoulders. ‘I don’t care about rumours. I’m a good driver—’

‘You’re also Jack Fleming’s daughter and Derek Mahoney’s ex. If you want to be taken seriously you need to step out of their shadows. Do the interview. Stake your claim.’

As his fingers resumed their busy course over his iPad, unease rose inside Sasha. As much as she disliked Tom’s acerbic attitude, a part of her knew he was right. The move from reserve to full-time driver for Team Espiritu was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity she couldn’t afford to squander—not if she wanted to achieve her goals.

‘I have a reporter ready to meet—’

‘No.’ Her gaze flicked to the screen and her resolve strengthened. ‘I won’t give an interview until I hear how Rafael is.’

Two ambulances and three fire engines now surrounded the mangled car. Sparks flew as the fire crew cut away the chassis.

Marco de Cervantes stood scant feet away, ignoring everyone, his impressive physique firmly planted, hands balled into fists, his unwavering gaze fixed on his brother’s still form. Sasha’s heart squeezed tighter.

Please be alive, Rafael. Don’t you dare die on me …

Tom’s stern look mellowed slightly as he followed her gaze. ‘I’ll prepare something while we wait. Find a quiet place. Get yourself together.’ He glanced around, made sure he wasn’t overheard and leaned in closer. ‘This is the chance you’ve been waiting for, Sasha. Don’t blow it.’

Marco de Cervantes stepped into the private hospital room in Budapest, sick dread churning through his stomach. He clenched his fists to stop the shaking in his hands and forced himself to walk to his brother’s bedside. With each step the accident replayed in his mind’s eye, a vivid, gruesome nightmare that wouldn’t stop. There’d been so much blood at the crash site … so much blood …

His chest tightened as he saw the white sheet pulled over his brother’s chest.

Absently, he made a note to have the staff replace the sheets with another colour—green, perhaps, Rafael’s favourite colour. White hospital sheets looked … smelled … too much like death.

Rafael wasn’t dead. And if Marco had anything to do with it this would be his last senseless brush with death. Enough was enough.

He drew level with the bed and stared down into his brother’s pale, still face. At the tube inserted into his mouth to help him breathe.

Enough was enough.

Marco’s throat closed up. He’d chosen to give Rafael time to come to his senses instead of forcing him to listen to reason. And by doing so he’d allowed his brother to take the wheel behind the world’s most powerful car while still reeling from emotional rejection.

Unlike him, his brother had never been able to compartmentalise his life, to suppress superfluous emotions that led to unnecessarily clouded judgement. Rafael coalesced happiness, sadness, triumph and loss into one hot, sticky mess. Add the lethal mix of a seven hundred and fifty horsepower racing car, and once again he was left picking up the pieces.

His breath shuddered. Reaching out, he took Rafael’s unmoving hand, leaned down until his lips hovered an inch from his brother’s ear.

‘You live—you hear me? I swear on all things holy, if you die on me I’ll track you to hell and kick your ass,’ he grated out, then swallowed the thickness in his throat. ‘And I know you’ll be in hell, because you sure as heck won’t get into heaven with those looks.’

His voice caught and he forced back his tears.

Rafael’s hand remained immobile, barely warm. Marco held on tighter, desperately infusing his brother with his own life force, desperately trying to block out the doctor’s words … his brain is swelling … there’s internal bleeding … nothing to do but wait …

With a stifled curse, he whirled away from the bed. The window of the ultra-private, ultra-exclusive, state-of-the-art hospital looked out onto a serene courtyard, with discreet fountains and carefully clipped flowers meant to soothe the troubled patient. Beyond the grounds, forests stretched as far as the eye could see.

Marco found no solace in the picturesque view. He found even less to smile about when his eyes lit on the paparazzi waiting beyond the hospital’s boundaries, powerful lenses trained, ready to pounce.

Shoving a hand through his hair, he turned back to the bed.

A flash of green caught the corner of his eye. He focused on the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall and watched Rafael’s accident replayed again in slow motion.

Bile rose to his throat. Reaching blindly for the remote, he aimed it at the screen—only to stop when another picture shifted into focus.

Anger escalated through him. Five minutes later he stabbed the ‘off’ button and calmly replaced the control.

Returning to Rafael’s bedside, his sank onto the side of the bed. ‘I know you’d probably argue with me, mi hermano, but you’ve had a lucky escape. In more ways than one.’

Jaw clenching, he thanked heaven his brother hadn’t heard the interview just played on TV. Marco had first-hand knowledge of what people would sacrifice in their quest for fame and power, and the look of naked ambition in Sasha Fleming’s eyes made his chest burn with fury and his skin crawl.

His fist tightened on the bed next to his brother’s unmoving body.

If she wanted a taste of power he would give it to her. Let her acquire a taste for it the way she’d given Rafael a taste of herself.

Then, just as she’d callously shoved Rafael aside, Marco would take utter satisfaction in wrenching away everything she’d ever dreamed of.

‘Excuse me, can you tell me which room Rafael de Cervantes is in?’ Sasha infused her voice with as much authority as possible, despite the glaring knowledge that she wasn’t supposed to be here.

The nurse dressed in a crisp white uniform looked up. The crease already forming on her brow caused Sasha’s heart to sink.

‘Are you a member of the family?’

‘No, but I wanted to see how he was. He was … is my team mate.’ The moment the words left her lips she winced. Way to go, Sasha.

True to form, the nurse’s frown dissolved as realisation dawned. ‘His team mate …? You’re Sasha Fleming!’

Sasha summoned her practised camera smile—the one that held the right amount of interest without screaming look at me, and lifted the oversized sunglasses. ‘Yes,’ she murmured.

‘My nephew loves you!’ The nurse gushed. ‘He pretends not to, but I know he thinks you rock. Every time he sees you during Friday Practice his face lights up. He’ll be thrilled when I tell him I met you.’

The tension clamping Sasha’s nape eased a little. ‘Thanks. So can I see Rafael?’ she asked again. When the frown threatened to make a comeback, Sasha rushed on. ‘I’ll only be a moment, I promise.’

‘I’m sorry, Miss Fleming. You’re not on my list of approved visitors.’

Steeling herself against the nerves dragging through her, Sasha cleared her throat. ‘Is Marco de Cervantes here? Maybe I can ask him?’

She pushed the mental picture of Marco’s cold, unforgiving features to the back of her mind. She was here for Rafael. Surely, as his team mate, his brother wouldn’t bar her from seeing him?

‘No, he left half an hour ago.’

Shock slammed into her. ‘He left?’

The nurse nodded. ‘He didn’t seem too happy, but considering the circumstances I guess it’s to be expected.’

For a moment Sasha debated asking if the nurse would make an exception. Break the rules for her. But she dismissed it. Breaking her own rules, getting friendly with Rafael, was probably the reason he’d ended up in this situation. She refused to exacerbate it.

Plucking her sunglasses off her head, she slid them down to cover her eyes. In her jeans and long-sleeved cotton top, with a multi-coloured cheesecloth satchel slung across her body, she looked like every other summer tourist in the city. Her disguise had helped her evade the paparazzi on her way in. She prayed it would hold up on her way out.

With a heavy heart she turned towards the elevator doors, which stood open as if to usher her away from here as fast as possible.

‘Wait.’ The nurse beckoned with a quick hand movement and leaned forward as Sasha approached the desk. ‘Maybe I can sneak you in for a few minutes,’ she whispered.

Relief washed over Sasha. ‘Oh, thank you so much!’

‘If you don’t mind signing an autograph for my nephew?’

A tinge of guilt arrowed through her, but the need to see Rafael overcame the feeling. With a grateful smile, Sasha took the proffered pen.

‘What the hell are you doing in here?’

Sasha spun round at the harsh voice, and gasped at the dark figure framed in the doorway. A few minutes, the nurse had said. A quick glance at her watch confirmed her sickening suspicion. She’d been here almost an hour!

‘I asked you a question.’

‘I came to see Rafael. There was no one here—’

‘So you thought you’d just sneak in?’

‘Hardly! The nurse—’ Sasha gulped back her words, realising she could be putting the nurse’s job in jeopardy.

‘The nurse what?’

Marco advanced into the room, his formidable presence shrinking the space. She scrambled to her feet, but she still had to tilt her head to see his face.

His cold-as-steel expression dried her mouth further.

She shook her head. ‘I just wanted to see how he was.’ She stopped speaking as he drew level with her, his hard eyes boring into her.

‘How long have you been here?’

She risked another glance at her watch and cringed inwardly. Dared she tell him the truth or blag her way through? ‘Does it really matter?’

‘How long?’ he gritted, his gaze sliding over his brother as if assessing any further damage.

‘Why are you checking him over like that? Do you think I’ve harmed him in some way?’ she challenged.

Hazel eyes slammed back to her. His contempt was evident as his gaze raked her face. ‘I don’t think! I know you’ve already harmed my brother.’

His tone was so scathing Sasha was surprised her flesh wasn’t falling from her skin.

‘Rafael told you about our fight?’

‘Yes, he did. I can only conclude that your presence here is another media stunt, not out of concern for my brother?’

‘Of course it isn’t!’

‘Is that why the media presence at the hospital gates has doubled in the last hour?’

Her gaze drifted to the window. The blinds were drawn against the late-afternoon sun, but not closed completely. She’d taken a step to look for herself when steely fingers closed on her wrist. Heat shot up her arm, the reaction so unfamiliar she froze.

‘If you think I’m going to let you use my brother to further your own ends, you’re sorely mistaken.’

Alarmed, she stared up at him. ‘Why would you think I’d do that?’

A mirthless smile bared his teeth, displaying a look so frightening she shivered.

‘That press conference you gave? About how much you cared for him? How your thoughts were with him and his family? About how you’re willing to step into his shoes as soon as possible so you don’t let the team down? What were your exact words? “I’ve earned the chance at a full-time seat. I’ve proven that I have what it takes.”‘

Sasha swallowed, unable to look away from the chilling but oddly hypnotic pull of his gaze. ‘I … I shouldn’t have….’ The echo of unease she’d felt before and during the interview returned. ‘I didn’t mean it like that—’

‘How did you mean it, then? How exactly have you, a mere reserve driver, earned your place on the team? Why do you deserve Rafael’s seat and not one of the other dozen top drivers out there?’

‘Because it’s my time! I deserve the chance.’ She wrenched at her captured arm. His hand tightened, sending another bolt of heat through her body.

Straight black brows clamped together. His arresting features were seriously eroding her thought processes. Even livid to the point where she could imagine heat striations coming off his body he oozed enough sex appeal to make her finally understand why his bodyguards were forever turning away paddock groupies from his luxury hospitality suite. Rumour had it that one particularly eager groupie had scaled the mobile suite and slipped into his bedroom via the skylight.

‘Your time? Why?’ he challenged again, stepping closer, invading her body space and her ability to breathe. ‘What’s so special about you, Sasha Fleming?’

‘I didn’t say I was special.’

‘That’s not what I got from the press junket. In fact I deduced something along the lines that the team would be making a huge mistake if you weren’t given Rafael’s seat. Was there even the veiled threat of a lawsuit thrown in there?’

The thought that this might be her only chance to find a decent seat had resonated in the back of her mind even as she’d felt sickened at the thought of how wrong the timing was.

‘Nothing to say?’ came the soft taunt.

She finally managed to wrench her wrist from his grasp and stepped back. ‘Mr de Cervantes, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss this.’

Her glance slid to Rafael, her throat closing in distress at the tubes and the horrid beeping of the machines keeping him alive.

Marco followed her gaze and froze, as if just realising where he was. When his gaze sliced back to hers she glimpsed a well of anguish within the hazel depths and felt something soften inside her. Marco de Cervantes, despite his chilling words and seriously imposing presence, was hurting. The fear of the unknown, of wondering if the precious life of someone you held dear would pull through was one she was agonisingly familiar with.

Any thought of her job flew out of her head as she watched him wrestle with his pain. The urge to comfort, one human being to another, momentarily overcame her instinct for self-preservation.

‘Rafael is strong. He’s a fighter. He’ll pull through,’ she murmured softly.

Slowly he pulled in a breath, and any hint of pain disappeared. His upper lip curled in a mocking sneer. ‘Your concern is touching, Miss Fleming. But cut the crap. There are no cameras here. No microphones to lap up your false platitudes. Unless you’ve got one hidden on your person?’ His eyes slid down her body, narrowing as they searched. ‘Will I go on the internet tomorrow and see footage of my brother in his sick bed all over it?’

‘That’s a tasteless and disgusting thing to say!’ Spinning away, she rushed to the leather sofa in the suite and picked up her satchel. Clearly it was time to make herself scarce.

Careful not to come within touching distance of Marco de Cervantes, she edged towards the door.

‘Any more tasteless than you vying for his seat even before you knew for certain whether he was alive or dead?’ came the biting query.

Sasha winced. ‘I agree. It wasn’t the perfect time to do an interview.’

A hint of surprise lightened his eyes, but his lips firmed a second later. ‘But you did it anyway.’

Blaming Tom would have been easy. And the coward’s way out. The truth was, she wanted to be lead driver.

‘I thought I was acting in the best interests of the team. And, yes, I was also putting myself forward as the most viable option. But the timing was wrong. For that, I apologise.’

That grim smile made another appearance. Her body shuddered with alarm. Even before he spoke Sasha had the strongest premonition that she wasn’t going to like the words that spilled from his lips.

‘You should’ve taken more time to think, Miss Fleming. Because, as team owner, I ultimately decide what’s in the best interests of Team Espiritu. Not you.’

He sauntered to his brother’s bedside and stood looking down at him.

Sasha glanced between the two men. This close, the resemblance between them was striking. Yet they couldn’t have been more different. Where Rafael was wild and gregarious, his brother smouldered and rumbled like the deepest, darkest underbelly of a dormant volcano. The fear that he could erupt at any moment was a very real and credible threat. One that made her throat dry and her heart race.

Finally he turned to face her. Trepidation iced its way to her toes.

‘My decision and mine alone carries. Your timing wasn’t just wrong. It was detestable.’ His voice could have frozen water in the Sahara. ‘It also makes my decision incredibly easy.’

Her heart stopped. ‘Wh—what decision?’

‘Relieving you of your job, of course.’ The smile widened. ‘Congratulations. You’re fired.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘WHAT?’

‘Get out.’

Sasha remained frozen, unable to heed Marco de Cervantes’s command. Finally she forced out a breath.

‘No. You—you can’t do that. You can’t fire me.’ Somewhere at the back of her mind she knew this to be true—something about contracts … clauses—but her brain couldn’t seem to track after the blow it had been dealt.

‘I can do anything I want. I own the team. Which means I own you.’

‘Yes, but …’ She sucked in a breath and forced herself to focus. ‘Yes, you own the team, but you don’t own me. And you can’t fire me. I haven’t done anything wrong. Sure, the press interview was a little mistimed. But that isn’t grounds to sack me.’

‘Maybe those aren’t the only grounds I have.’

Cold dread eased up her spine. ‘What are you talking about?’

Marco regarded her for several seconds. Then his gaze slid to his brother. Reaching out, he carefully smoothed back a lock of hair from Rafael’s face. The poignancy of the gesture and the momentary softening of his features made Sasha’s heart ache for him, despite his anger at her. No one deserved to watch a loved one suffer. Not even Marco de Cervantes.

When his gaze locked onto her again Sasha wasn’t prepared for the mercurial shift from familial concern to dark fury.

‘You’re right. My brother’s bedside isn’t the place to discuss this.’ He came towards her, his long-legged stride purposeful and arrestingly graceful. His broad shoulders, the strength in his lean, muscled body demanded an audience. Sasha stared, unable to look away from the perfect body packed full of angry Spanish male.

In whose path she directly stood.

At the last second her legs unfroze long enough for her to step out of his way. ‘It’s okay. I’ll leave.’

‘Running away? Scared your past is catching up with you, Miss Fleming?’

She swallowed carefully, striving to maintain a neutral expression. Marco de Cervantes didn’t know. He couldn’t.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. My past has nothing to do with my contract with your team.’

He stared into her face for so long Sasha wanted to slam on the shades dangling uselessly from her fingers.

‘Extraordinary,’ he finally murmured.

‘What?’ she croaked.

‘You lie so flawlessly. Not even an eyelash betrays you. It’s no wonder Rafael was completely taken with you. What I don’t understand is why. He offered you what you wanted—money, prestige, a privileged lifestyle millions dream about but only few achieve. Isn’t that what women like you ultimately want? The chance to live in unimaginable luxury playing mistress of a castillo?’

‘Um, I don’t know what sort of women you’ve been cavorting with, but you know nothing about me.’

Impossibly, his features grew colder. ‘I know everything I need to know. So why didn’t you just take it? What’s your angle?’ His intense gaze bored into her, as if trying to burrow beneath her skin.

It took every control-gathering technique she’d learned not to step back from him.

‘I have no angle—’

‘Enough of your lies. Get out.’ He wrenched the door open, fully expecting her to comply.

Her eyes flicked to Rafael’s still form. Sasha doubted she’d see him again before the team’s month-long August break. ‘Will you tell him I came to see him when he wakes up—please?’ she asked.

Marco exhaled in disbelief. ‘With any luck, by the time my brother wakes up any memory he has of you will be wiped clean from his mind.’

She gasped, the chill from his voice washing over her. ‘I’m not sure exactly what Rafael told you, but you’ve really got this wrong.’

Marco shrugged. ‘And you’re still fired. Goodbye, Miss Fleming.’

‘On what grounds?’ she challenged, hoping this time her voice would emerge with more conviction.

‘I’m sure my lawyers can find something. Inappropriate enthusiasm?’

‘That’s a reason you should be keeping me on—not a reason to fire me.’

‘You’ve just proved my point. Most people know where to draw the line. It seems you don’t.’

‘I do,’ she stressed, her voice rising right along with the tight knot in her chest.

‘This conversation is over.’ He glanced pointedly at the door.

She stepped into the corridor, reeling from the impact of his words. Her contract was airtight. She was sure of it. But she’d seen too many teams discard perfectly fit and able drivers for reasons far flimsier than the one Marco had just given her. X1 Premier Racing was notorious for its court battles between team owners and drivers.

The thought that she could lose everything she’d fought for made her mouth dry. She’d battled hard to hold onto her seat in the most successful team in the history of the sport, when every punter with a blog or a social media account had taken potshots at her talent. One particularly harsh critic had even gone as far as to debate her sexual preferences.

She’d sacrificed too much for too long. Somehow she had to convince Marco de Cervantes to keep her on.

She turned to confront him—only to find a short man wearing a suit and a fawning expression hurrying towards them. He handed Marco a small wooden box and launched into a rapid volley of French. Whatever the man—whose discreet badge announced him as Administrator—was saying, it wasn’t having any effect on Marco.

Marco’s response was clipped. When the administrator started in surprise and glanced towards the reception area, Sasha followed his gaze. The nurse who had let her in stood behind the counter.

The administrator launched into another obsequious torrent. Marco cut him off with an incisive slash of his hand and headed for the lifts.

Sasha hurried after him. As she passed the reception area, she glimpsed the naked distress in the nurse’s eyes. Another wave of icy dread slammed into her, lending her more impetus as she rushed after Marco.

‘Wait!’

He pressed the button for the lift as she screeched to a halt beside him.

Away from the low lights of the hospital room Sasha saw him—really saw him—for the first time. Up close and personal, Marco de Cervantes was stunning. If you liked your men tall, imposing and bristling with tons of masculinity. Through the gap in his grey cotton shirt she caught a glimpse of dark hair and a strong, golden chest that had her glancing away in a hurry.

Focus!

‘Can we talk—please?’ she injected into the silence.

He ignored her, his stern, closed face forbidding any conversation. The lift arrived and he stepped in. Sasha rushed in after him. As the doors closed she saw the nurse burst into tears.

Outraged, she rounded on him. ‘My God. You got that nurse sacked, didn’t you?’

Anger dissolved the last of her instinctive self-preservation and washed away the strangely compelling sensation she refused to acknowledge was attraction.

‘I lodged a complaint.’

‘Which, coming from you, was as good as ordering that administrator to sack her!’

Guilt attacked her insides.

‘She must live with the consequences of her actions.’

‘So there’s no in-between? No showing mercy? Just straight to the gallows?’

Deep hazel eyes pinned her where she stood. ‘You weren’t on the list of approved visitors. She knew this and disregarded it. You could’ve been a tabloid hack. Anybody.’

His eyes narrowed and Sasha forced her expression to remain neutral.

‘Or maybe she knew exactly who you were?’

She lowered her lids as a wave of guilty heat washed over her face.

‘Of course,’ he taunted softly. ‘What did you offer her? Free tickets to the next race?’

Deciding silence was the best policy, she clamped her lips together.

‘A personal tour of the paddock and a photo op with you once you became lead driver, perhaps?’

His scathing tone grated on her nerves.

Raising her head she met his gaze, anger at his highhandedness loosening her tongue. ‘You know, just because your brother is gravely ill, it doesn’t give you the right to destroy other people’s lives.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ he bit out.

‘Right now you’re in pain and lashing out, wanting anyone and everyone to pay for what you’re going through. It’s understandable, but it’s not fair. That poor woman is now jobless just because you’re angry.’

‘That poor woman abused her position and broke the hospital’s policy for personal gain. She deserves everything she gets.’

‘It wasn’t for personal gain. She did it for her nephew. He’s a fan. She wanted to do something nice for him.’

‘My heart bleeds.’

‘You do the same, and more, for thousands of race fans every year. What’s so different about this?’

Dark brows clamped together, and his jaw tightened in that barely civilised way that sent another wave of apprehension through her. Again she glimpsed the dark fury riding just below his outward control.

‘The difference, Miss Fleming, is that I don’t compromise my integrity to do so. And I don’t put those I care about in harm’s way just to get what I want.’

‘What about compassion?’

His brows cleared, but the volatile tinge in the air remained. ‘I’m fresh out.’

‘You know, you’ll wake up one morning not long from now and regret your actions today.’

The lift doors glided open to reveal the underground car park. A few feet away was a gleaming black chrome-trimmed Bentley Continental. Beside it, a driver and a heavily muscled man whose presence shrieked bodyguard waited. The driver held the back door open, but Marco made no move towards it. Instead he glanced down at her, his expression hauntingly bleak.

‘I regret a lot that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours—not least watching my brother mangle himself and his car on the race track because he believed himself to be heartbroken. One more thing doesn’t make a difference.’

‘Your emotions are overwhelming you right now. All I’m saying is don’t let them overrule your better judgement.’

A cold smile lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘My emotions? I didn’t know you practised on the side as the team’s psychologist. I thought you’d ridden down with me to beg for your job back, not to practise the elevator pitch version of pop psychology. You had me as your captive audience for a full thirty seconds. Shame you chose to waste it.’

‘Mock me all you want. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re acting like—’ She bit her lip, common sense momentarily overriding her anger.

‘Go on,’ he encouraged softly. Tauntingly. ‘Acting like what?’

She shrugged. ‘Like … well, like an ass.’

His eyes narrowed until they were mere icy slits. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Sorry. You asked.’

Anger flared in his eyes, radiated off his body. Sasha held her breath, readying herself for the explosion about to rain on her head. Instead he gave a grim smile.

‘I’ve been called worse.’ He nodded to his bodyguard, who took a step towards them. ‘Romano will escort you off the premises. Be warned—my very generous donation to this hospital is contingent on you being arrested if you set foot anywhere near my brother again. I’m sure the administrator would relish that challenge.’

Despair rose to mingle with her anger. ‘You can’t do this. If you don’t listen to me I’ll … I’ll talk to the press again. I’ll spill everything!’

‘Ah, I’m glad to finally meet the real you, Miss Fleming.’

‘Ten minutes. That’s all I want. Let me convince you to keep me on.’

‘Trust me—blackmail isn’t a great place to start.’

She bit her lip. ‘That was just a bluff. I won’t talk to the press. But I do want to drive for you. And I’m the best mid-season replacement you’ll find for Rafael.’

‘You do place a high premium on yourself, don’t you?’

Unflinching, she nodded. ‘Yes, I do. And I can back it up. Just let me prove it.’

His gaze narrowed on her face, then conducted a lazy sweep over her body. Suddenly the clothes that had served as perfect camouflage against the intrusive press felt inadequate, exposing. Beneath the thin material of her T-shirt her heart hammered, her skin tingling with an alien awareness that made her muscles tense.

As a female driver in a predominantly male sport, she was used to being the cynosure of male eyes. There were those who searched for signs of failure as a driver, ready to use any shortcomings against her. Then there were the predators who searched for weaknesses simply because she was a woman, and therefore deemed incapable. The most vicious lot were those who bided their time, ready to rip her apart because she was Jack Fleming’s daughter. Those were the ones she feared the most. And the ones she’d sworn to prove wrong.

Marco de Cervantes’s gaze held an intensity that combined all of those qualities multiplied by a thousand. And then there was something else.

Something that made her breath grow shallow in her lungs. Made her palms clammy and the hairs bristle on her nape.

Recalling the sheer intensity of the look he’d directed into the camera earlier, she felt her heartbeat accelerate.

‘Get in the car,’ he bit out, his tone bone-chilling.

Sasha glanced into the dark, luxurious interior of the limo and hesitated. The feelings this man engendered in her weren’t those of fear. Rather, she sensed an emotional risk—as if, given half a chance, he would burrow under her skin, discover her worst fears and use them against her. She couldn’t let that happen.

‘If you want me to hear you out you’ll get in the car. Now,’ he said, his tone uncompromising.

She hesitated. ‘I can’t.’

‘Can’t isn’t a word I enjoy hearing,’ he growled, his patience clearly ebbing fast.

‘My bike.’ He quirked one brow at her. ‘I’d rather not leave it here.’

His glance towards the battered green and white scooter leaning precariously against the car park wall held disbelief. ‘You came here on that?’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘You’re wearing the most revolting pair of jeans I’ve ever seen and a scarf that’s seen better days. Add that to the oversized sunglasses and I don’t need to be a genius to guess you were trying some misguided attempt to escape the paparazzi. I am right?’ At her nod, he continued. ‘And yet you travelled on the slowest mode of motorised transport known to man.’

She raised her chin. ‘But there’s the beauty—don’t you see? I managed to ride straight past the paparazzi without one single camera lens focusing on me. You, on the other hand … Tell me—how did they react when you rocked up in your huge, tinted-windowed monstrosity of a car?’

His jaw tightened and he glared at her.

‘Exactly. I’m not leaving my bike.’

‘Security here is—’

‘Inadequate, according to you. After all, I managed to get through, didn’t I?’ She threw his words back at him.

One hand gripped the door of the car. ‘Get in the car or don’t. I refuse to argue with you over a pile of junk.’

‘It’s my junk and I won’t leave it.’

With a stifled curse, Marco held out his hands. ‘Keys?’

‘Why?’

‘Romano will return the scooter to your hotel.’

Sasha’s eyes widened. Romano weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle. The thought of what he’d put her poor scooter through made her wince.

‘And before you comment on Romano’s size I’d urge you to stop and think about his feelings,’ Marco added mockingly.

Touché, she conceded silently.

Digging into her satchel, she reluctantly handed over her keys. Marco lobbed them to his bodyguard, then raised an imperious eyebrow at her.

With a resigned sigh, Sasha slid past his imposing body and entered the limo.

The door shut on them, enclosing them in a silent cocoon that threatened to send her already taut nerves into a frenzied tailspin.

As the car glided out of the car park it occurred to her that she had no idea where Marco was taking her. She opened her mouth to ask, then immediately shut it when she saw his gaze fixed on the small box.

Despite his bleak expression, his profile was stunningly arresting. The sculpted contours of his face held enough shadow and intrigue to capture the attention of any red-blooded female with a pulse—a fact attested to by the regular parade of stunning women he was photographed with.

His strong jaw bore the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow, and an even stronger, taut neck slanted onto impossibly broad shoulders. Under the discreetly expensive cotton shirt those shoulders moved restlessly. She followed the movement, her gaze sliding down over his chest, past the flat stomach that showed no hint of flab. Her eyes rested in his lap. The bulge beneath his zipper made heat swirl in her belly.

‘Have you seen enough? Or would you like me to perform a slow striptease for you?’

Her cheeks burned. Her neck burned. In fact for several seconds Sasha was sure her whole body was on fire. Mortified, she hastily plucked her sunglasses from atop her head and jammed them onto her face.

‘I … You didn’t say where we were going.’

‘I’ve called a meeting with Russell and the chief engineer. I’m handing over the reins temporarily so I can concentrate on making arrangements for Rafael to be evacuated home to Spain.’

‘You’re moving him?’

‘Not yet, but the medical team is on standby. He’ll be moved the moment it’s deemed safe.’

‘I see.’

Sharp eyes bored into her. ‘Do you? You’ve talked your way into a last-chance meeting and yet you’re wasting time exhibiting false concern for my brother.’

She sucked in a breath. ‘My concern isn’t false. I’d give anything for Rafael not to be in that place.’

Sasha watched, fascinated, as his hand tightened around the box. ‘In my experience anything tends to arrive with a very heavy price tag and a carefully calculated catch. So be very careful with your choice of words.’

Sasha licked her lips, suddenly unable to breathe at the expression in his eyes. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’

The look in his eyes hardened. ‘You really should try a different profession. Your acting skills are highly commendable.’

‘Driving suits me just fine, thanks. Where are we going, exactly?’

Keeping his gaze on her, he relaxed back in his seat. ‘My hotel.’

‘Your hotel?’ she repeated dully. Her senses, still reeling after she’d been caught staring at Marco de Cervantes’s man package, threatened to go into freefall. The thought of being alone with him—truly alone—made anxiety skitter over her skin. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘You don’t have a choice. You wanted this meeting.’

Desperation lent her voice strength. ‘The rest of the team will be wondering where I am. Maybe I should let them know.’ Tom had asked where she was going after the press conference, but she’d been deliberately evasive.

‘The team will be out doing what they do after every Sunday race. Bar hopping and trying it on with the local girls.’

‘I don’t think they’ll be doing that tonight. Not with Rafael …’ She bit her lip, unable to continue as she glimpsed the flash of pain in those hazel eyes.

But he merely shrugged. ‘Call them if you want. Tell them where you’re going. And why.’

Not expecting her bluff to be called, Sasha floundered. The circumstances of her past made it impossible to make friends with anyone on her team. The constant whispers behind her back, the conversations that stopped when she walked into a room, made it hard to trust anyone.

Tom only cared as far as her actions impacted upon his career. The only one who had cared—really cared—had been Rafael. A wave of pain and regret rushed through her. Until their row last night she’d foolishly let herself believe she could finally trust another human being.

Feigning nonchalance, she shrugged. ‘I’ll tell them later.’

Unable to stomach the mockery in Marco’s eyes, she turned away.

Absently she stroked the armrest, silently apologising for calling the Bentley Continental a monstrosity. Amongst the luxury, sometimes vacuous, creations car manufacturers produced, the Bentley was one of the more ingenious styles. It had been her father’s favourite non-racing car—his pride and joy until he’d been forced to sell it to defend himself.

‘We’re here.’

They were parked beneath the pillared portico of the Four Seasons. A liveried doorman stepped forward and opened the door on Marco’s side, his bow of deference deep to the point of being obsequious.

Casting her gaze past him, Sasha felt her mouth drop open at the sheer opulence of the marbled foyer of the stunning hotel. The whole atmosphere glittered and sparkled beneath a super-sized revolving chandelier, which was throwing its adoring light on sleekly dressed patrons.

Sasha remained in her seat, super-conscious of how inappropriate her old hipster jeans and worn top were for the gold-leaf and five-star luxury spread before her. She was pretty sure she would be directed to the tradesman’s entrance the moment the doorman saw her scuffed boots.

‘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?’

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