The Price Of Desire. Sandra Marton
response struck a strangely discordant chord within him. ‘You don’t like it here?’
‘I don’t mind the proximity to the track, but I was tired of knocking about in this place all by myself.’
Marco stiffened. ‘Do you want to move to the hotel with the rest of the team?’
She thought about it. Then, ‘No. The crew and I seem to be gelling, but I don’t want to become overly familiar with them.’
Marco found himself breathing again. ‘Wise decision. Sometimes maintaining distance is the only way to get ahead.’
‘You obviously don’t practise that dogma. You’re always surrounded by an adoring crowd.’
‘X1 Premier Racing is a multi-million-spectator sport. I can’t exist in a vacuum.’
‘Okay. Um … do you think we can turn the lights on in here? Only we seem to be making a habit of having conversations in the dark.’
‘Sometimes comfort can be found in darkness.’
Facing up to reality’s harsh light after his own crash ten years ago had made him wish he’d stayed unconscious. Angelique’s smug expression as she’d dropped her bombshell had certainly made him wish for the oblivion of darkness.
Sasha gave a light, musical laugh. The sound sent tingles of pleasure down his spine even as heat pooled in his groin. His eyes fell to her lips and Marco experienced the supreme urge to kiss her. Or to keep enjoying the sound of her laughter.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asked as she reached over his shoulder and flipped on the light switch.
‘I was thinking either you’re very hungry or you’re very tired, because you’ve gone all cryptic on me.’
He was hungry. And not just for food. A hunger—clawing and extremely ravenous—had taken hold inside him.
Pushing aside the need to examine it, he followed her as she headed towards the kitchen. The sight of her bare feet on the cool stones made his blood thrum faster as he studied her walk, the curve of her full, rounded bottom.
‘I could do with a snack myself. Do you want me to fix you something?’
Walking on the balls of her feet made the sway of her hips different, sexier. He tried to stop himself staring. He failed.
‘You cook?’ he asked past the strain in his throat.
‘Yep. Living on my own meant I had to learn, starve or live on takeaways. Starving was a bore, and Charlie would’ve had conniptions if he’d seen me within a mile of a takeaway joint. So I took an intensive cookery course two years ago.’
She folded her wrap and placed it on the counter, along with a small handbag. Only then did he see that her top was held up by the thinnest of straps.
Opening the fridge, she began to pull out ingredients. ‘Roast beef sandwich okay? Or if you want something hot I can make pasta carbonara?’ she asked over her shoulder.
Marco pulled up a seat at the counter, unable to take his eyes off her. ‘I’m fine with the sandwich.’
Her nod dislodged more silky hair from the knot on her head. ‘Okay.’ Long, luxurious tresses slipped down to caress her neck.
She moved around the kitchen, her movements quick, efficient. In less than five minutes she’d set a loaded plate and a bottle of mineral water before him. He took a bite, chewed.
‘This is really good.’
Her look of pleasure sent another bolt of heat through him.
He waited until she sat opposite him before taking another bite. ‘So, how long have you lived on your own?’
‘Since …’ She hesitated. ‘Since my father died four years ago.’
She looked away, but not before he caught shadows of pain within the blue depths.
‘And your mother? Is she not around?’
She shook her head and picked up her sandwich. ‘She died when I was ten. After that it was just Dad and me.’
The sharp pain of losing his own mother surfaced. Ruthlessly, he pushed it away.
‘The team are wondering how Rafael is,’ Sasha said, drawing him away from his disturbing thoughts.
‘Just the team?’
She shrugged. ‘We’re all concerned.’
‘Yes, I know. His condition hasn’t changed. I’ve updated Russell. He’ll pass it on to the team.’
He didn’t want to talk about his brother. Because speaking of Rafael would only remind him of why this woman who made the best sandwich he’d ever tasted was sitting in front of him.
‘How is your father holding up?’
He didn’t want to talk about his father either.
Recalling his father’s desolation, Marco shoved away his plate. ‘He watched his son crash on live TV. How do you think he’s doing?’
A flash of concern darkened her blue eyes. ‘Does he … does he know about me?’ she asked in a small voice.
‘Does he know the cause of his son’s crash is the same person taking his seat?’ He laughed. ‘Not yet.’
He wasn’t sure why he’d kept that information from his father. It certainly had nothing to do with wondering if his brother’s version of events was completely accurate, despite Rafael’s voice ringing in his head … She’s the one, Marco.
Sasha’s gaze sought his, the look into them almost imploring. ‘I didn’t cause him to crash, Marco.’
Frustrated anger seared his chest. ‘Didn’t you?’
She shook her head and the knot finally gave up its fight. Dark, silky tresses cascaded over her naked shoulders and everything inside Marco tightened. It was the first time he’d seen it down, and despite the fury rolling through him the sudden urge to sink his fingers into the glossy mass, feel its decadent luxury, surged like fire through his veins.
‘Then what did? Something must have happened to make him imagine that idiotic move would stick.’
Her lips pursed. The look in her eyes was reluctant. Then she sighed. ‘I saw him just before the race. He was arguing with Raven.’
Marco frowned. ‘Raven Blass? His physio?’
She nodded. ‘I tried to approach him but he walked away. I thought I’d leave him to cool off and talk to him again after the race.’
Marco’s muttered expletive made her brows rise, but he was past caring. He strode into the alcove that held his extensive wine collection. ‘I need a drink. White or red?’
‘I shouldn’t. I had a beer earlier.’ She tucked a silky strand behind one ear.
Watching the movement, he found several incredibly unwise ideas crowding his brain. Reaching out, he grabbed the nearest bottle. ‘I don’t like drinking alone. Have one with me.’
Her smile caused the gut-clenching knot to tighten further. ‘Is the great Marco de Cervantes admitting a flaw?’
‘He’s admitting that his brother drives him loco.’ He grabbed two crystal goblets.
‘Fine. I was going to add another twenty minutes to my workout regime to balance out the incredible tapas I had earlier. I’ll make it an even half-hour.’
Marco’s gaze glided over her. ‘You’re hardly in bad shape.’
Another sweet, feminine laugh tumbled from her lips, sparking off a frenzied yearning.
‘Charlie would disagree with you. Apparently my body mass index is way below acceptable levels.’