Читать книгу The Price Of Desire: The Price of Success / The Cost of Her Innocence / Not For Sale - Майя Блейк, JACQUELINE BAIRD - Страница 12

‘THIS way, Sasha!’

‘Over here!’

‘Smile!’

The Children of Bravery awards took place every August at one of the plushest hotels in Mayfair. Last year Sasha had arrived in a cab with Tom, who had then gone on to ignore her for the rest of the night.

Tonight flashbulbs went off in her face the moment Marco helped her out of the back of his stunning silver Rolls-Royce onto the red carpet.

Blinking several times to help her eyes adjust, she found Tom had materialised beside her. Before he could speak, Marco stepped in front of him.

‘Miss Fleming won’t be needing you tonight. Enjoy your evening.’

The dismissal was softly spoken, wrapped in steel. With a hasty nod, a slightly pale Tom dissolved back into the crowd.

‘That wasn’t very nice,’ she murmured, although secretly she was pleased. Her nerves, already wound tight at the thought of the evening ahead, didn’t need further negative stimulus in the form of Tom. ‘But thank you.’

‘De nada,’ he murmured in that smooth deep voice of his, and her nerves stretched a little tighter.

When he took her arm the feeling intensified, then morphed into a different kind of warmth as another sensation altogether enveloped her—one of feeling protected, cherished …

She applied mental brakes as her brain threatened to go into meltdown. Forcing herself away from thoughts she had no business thinking, she drew in a shaky breath and tried to project a calm, poised demeanour.

‘For once I agree with the paparazzi. Smile. Your face looks frozen,’ Marco drawled, completely at ease with being the subject of intense scrutiny.

He seemed perfectly okay with hundreds of adoring female fans screaming his name from behind the barriers, while she could only think about the ceremony ahead and the memories it would resurrect.

Pushing back her pain, she forced her lips apart. ‘That’s probably because it is. Besides, you’re one to talk. I don’t see you smiling.’

One tuxedo-clad shoulder lifted in a shrug. ‘I’m not the star on show.’ He peered closer at her. ‘What’s wrong with you? You didn’t say a word on the way over here and now you look pale.’

‘That’s because I don’t like being on show. I hate dressing up, and make-up makes my face feel weird.’

‘You look fine.’ His gaze swept over her. ‘More than fine. The stylist chose well.’

‘She didn’t choose this dress. I chose it myself. If I’d gone with her choice I’d be half naked with a slit up to my cro—’ She cleared her throat. ‘Why did you send me a stylist anyway?’

When she’d opened the door to Marco’s Kensington penthouse apartment to find a stylist with a rack of designer gear in tow, Sasha had been seriously miffed.

‘I didn’t want to risk you turning up here in baggy jeans and a hippy top.’

‘I’d never have—!’ She caught the gleam of amusement in his eyes and relaxed.

Another photographer screamed her name and she tensed.

‘Relax. You chose well.’ His gaze slid over her once more. ‘You look beautiful.’

Stunned, she mumbled, ‘Thank you.’

She smoothed a nervous hand over her dress, thankful her new contract had come with a lucrative remuneration package that meant she’d been able to afford the black silk and lace floor-length Zang Toi gown she wore.

The silver studs in the off-the-shoulder form-fitting design flashed as the cameras went off. But even the stylish dress, with its reams of material that trailed on the red carpet, couldn’t stem the butterflies ripping her stomach to shreds as the media screamed out for even more poses. Nor could it eliminate the wrenching reason why, on a night like this, she couldn’t summon a smile.

‘Stop fidgeting,’ he commanded.

‘That’s easy for you to say. Anyway, why are you here? I don’t need a keeper.’ Nor did she need the stupid melting sensation in her stomach every time his hand tightened around her arm.

‘I beg to differ. This event is hosting many sport personalities, including other drivers from the circuit. Your track record—pardon the pun—doesn’t stand you in good stead. The one thing you do need is a keeper.’

‘And you’re it? Don’t you have better things to do?’

When he’d pointed out after they’d landed this morning that it was more time-efficient for her to stay with him in London, than to come to the ceremony from her cottage in Kent, she hadn’t bargained on the fact that he’d appoint himself her personal escort for the evening.

His rugged good looks lit up in sharp relief, courtesy of another photographer’s flash, but he hardly noticed how avidly the media craved his attention. Nor cared.

‘The team has suffered with Rafael’s absence. It’ll be good for the sponsors to see me here.’

The warmth she’d experienced moments ago disappeared. She felt his sharp gaze as she eased her arm from his grasp.

‘How long do we have to stay out here?’ The limelight was definitely a place she wasn’t comfortable in. However irrational, she always feared her deepest secret would be exposed.

‘Until a problem with the seating is sorted out.’

She swivelled towards him. ‘What problem with the seating?’

Relief poured through her as he steered her away from the cameras and down the red carpet into the huge marble-floored foyer of the five-star hotel.

The crowd seemed to pause, both men and women alike staring avidly as they entered.

Oblivious to the reaction, Marco snagged two glasses of champagne and handed one to her. ‘Some wires got crossed along the line.’

Sasha should have been used to it by now, but a hard lump formed in her throat nonetheless. ‘You mean I was downgraded to nobody-class because my surname is Fleming and not de Cervantes?’

He gave her a puzzled look. ‘Why should your name matter?’

‘Come on. I may have missed school the day rocket science was taught, but I know how this works.’ Even when the words weren’t said, Sasha knew she was being judged by her father’s dishonour.

‘Your surname has nothing to do with it,’ Marco answered, nodding greetings to several people who tried to catch his eye. ‘When the awards committee learned I would be attending, they naturally assumed that I would be bringing a plus one.’

A sensation she intensely disliked wormed its way into her heart. ‘Oh, so I was bumped to make room for your date. Not because …?’

He raised a brow. ‘Because?’

Shaking her head, Sasha took a hasty sip of her bubbly. ‘So why didn’t you? Bring a date, I mean?’ When his brow rose in mocking query, she hurried on. ‘I know it’s certainly not for the lack of willing companions. I mean, a man like you …’ She stumbled to a halt.

‘A man like me? You mean The Ass?’ he asked mockingly.

Heat climbed into her cheeks but she refused to be cowed. ‘No, I didn’t mean that. The other you—the impossibly rich, successful one, who’s a bit decent to look at….’ Cursing her runaway tongue, she clamped her mouth shut.

‘Gracias … I think.’

‘You know what I mean. Women scale skylights, risk life and limb to be with you, for goodness’ sake.’

‘Skylight-scaling is a bit too OTT for me. I prefer my women to use the front door. With my invitation.’ His gaze connected with hers.

Heat blazed through her, lighting fires that had no business being lit. His broad shoulders loomed before her as he bent his head. As if to … As if to … Her gaze dropped to his lips. She swallowed.

Chilled champagne went down the wrong way.

She coughed, cleared her throat and tried desperately to find something to say to dispel the suddenly charged atmosphere. His eyelids descended, but not before she caught a flash of anguish. Stunned, she stared at him, but when he looked back up his expression was clear.

‘To answer your question, this is a special event to honour children. It’s not an event to bring a date who’ll spend all evening checking out other women’s jewellery or celebrity-spotting.’

‘How incredibly shallow! Oh, I don’t mean you date shallow women—I mean … Hell, I’ve put my foot in it, haven’t I?’

The smile she’d glimpsed once before threatened to break the surface of his rigid demeanour. ‘Your diplomatic hat is slipping, Sasha. I think we should go in before you insult me some more and completely shatter my ego.’

‘I don’t think that’s possible,’ she murmured under her breath. ‘Seriously, though, you should smile more. You look almost human when you do.’

The return of his low, deep laugh sang deliciously along her skin, then wormed its way into her heart. When his hand arrived in the small of her back to steer her into the ballroom a whole heap of pleasure stole through her, almost convincing her the butterflies had been vanquished.

The feeling was pathetically short-lived. The pictures of children hanging from the ceiling of the chandeliered ballroom punched a hole through the euphoric warmth she’d dared to bask in. Her breath caught as pain ripped through her. If her baby had lived she would have been four by now.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Marco demanded in a low undertone.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

Unwilling to risk his incisive gaze, she hurried to their table and greeted an ex-footballer who’d recently been knighted for his work with children.

Breathing through her pain, it took a moment for her to realise she was the subject of daggered looks and whispered sniggers from the other two occupants of the table.

Feeling her insides congeal with familiar anger, she summoned a smile and pasted it on her face as the ex-footballer’s trophy wife leaned forward, exposing enough cleavage to sink a battleship.

‘Hi, I’m Lisa. This is my sister, Sophia,’ she said.

Marco nodded in greeting and introduced Sasha.

Sophia flashed Marco a man-gobbling smile, barely sparing Sasha a glance.

A different form of sickness assailed Sasha as she watched the women melt under Marco’s dazzling charisma. Eager eyes took in his commanding physique, the hard beauty of his face, the sensual mouth and the air of authority and power that cloaked him.

He murmured something that made Sophia giggle with delight. When her gaze met Sasha’s, it held a touch of triumph that made Sasha want to reach out and pull out her fake hair extensions. Instead she kept her smile and turned towards the older man.

If fake boobs and faker lashes were his thing, Marco was welcome to them.

Marco clenched his fist on his thigh and forced himself to calm down. He’d never been so thoroughly and utterly ignored by a date in his life.

So Sasha wasn’t technically his date. So what? She’d arrived with him. She would leave with him. Would it hurt her to try and make conversation with him instead of engaging in an in-depth discussion of the current Premier League?

Slowly unclenching his fist, he picked up his wine glass.

Sasha laughed. The whole table seemed to pause to drink it in—even the two women who had so rudely ignored her so far.

By the time the tables were cleared of their dinner plates he’d had enough.

‘Sasha.’

She smiled an excuse at the older man before turning to him.

‘Yes?’

At the sight of her wide, genuine smile—the same one she’d worn when she’d offered her friendship at Casa de Leon—something in his chest contracted. He forced himself to remember the reason Sasha Fleming was here beside him. Why she was in his life at all.

Rafael. The baby brother he’d always taken care of.

But he isn’t a child any more …

Marco suppressed the unsettling voice. ‘The ceremony’s about to start. You’re presenting the second award.’

Her eyes widened a fraction, then anxiety darkened their depths.

‘Yes, of course. I … I have my speech ready. I’d better read it over one more time, just in case …’ Her hands shook as she plucked a tiny piece of paper from her bag.

Without thinking, he covered her hand with his. ‘Take a deep breath. You’ll be fine.’

Eyes locked onto his, she slowly nodded. ‘I … Thanks.’

The MC took to the stage and announced the first award-giver. Sasha smiled and clapped but, watching her closely, Marco caught a glimpse of the pain in her eyes. Forcing himself to concentrate on the speech, he listened to the story of a four-year-old who’d saved her mother’s life by ringing for an ambulance and giving clear, accurate directions after her mother had fallen down a ravine.

The ice-cold tightening his chest since he’d stepped from the car increased as he watched the little girl bound onto the stage in a bright blue outfit, her face wreathed in smiles. Forcing himself not to go there, not to dwell in the past, he turned to gauge Sasha’s reaction.

She was frozen, her whole body held taut.

Frowning, he leaned towards her. ‘This is ridiculous. Tell me what’s wrong. Now.’

She jumped, her eyes wide, darkly haunted with unshed tears. Her smile flashed, only this time it lacked warmth or substance.

‘I told you, I’m fine. Or I would if I’d remembered to bring a tissue.’

Wordlessly, he reached into his tuxedo jacket and handed her his handkerchief, a million questions firing in his mind.

Accepting it, she dabbed at her eyes. ‘If I look a horror, don’t tell me until I come back from the stage, okay?’ she implored.

It was on the tip of his tongue to trip out the usual platitudes he gave to his dates. Instead he nodded. ‘Agreed.’

Marco watched her gather herself together. A subtle roll of her shoulders and a look of determination settled over her features. By the time she rose to present the award her smile was fixed in place.

Watching the lights play over her dark hair, illuminate her beautiful features and the generous curve of her breasts, Marco felt the familiar tightening in his groin and bit back a growl of frustration.

‘As most of you know, Rafael de Cervantes was supposed to present this award to Toby this evening. Instead he’s skiving off somewhere in sunny Spain.’

Laughter echoed through the room.

‘No, seriously, just as Toby said a prayer before rushing into his burning home to save his little sister and brother, so we should all take a moment to say a prayer for Rafael’s speedy recovery. Toby fought for his family to live. Not once did he give up. Even when the rescuers told him there was no hope for his little brother he ignored them and rescued him. Why? Because he’d promised his mother he’d take care of his siblings. And he never once wavered from that promise. There are lessons for all of us in Toby’s story. And that’s never to give up. No matter how small or big your dreams, no matter how tough or impossible the way forward seems, never give up. I’m delighted to present this award to Toby Latham, for his outstanding bravery against all odds.’

Sasha’s voice broke on the last words. Although she tried to hide it, Marco caught the strain in her face and the pain behind her smile even as thunderous applause broke out in the ballroom.

Automatically Marco followed suit, but inside ice clenched his heart, squeezing until he couldn’t breathe. It was always like this when he allowed himself to remember what Angelique had taken from him. What his weakness had cost him. He’d failed to take care of his own.

Never again, he vowed silently.

Sasha stepped down from the stage and made her way back to her seat. Despite the rushing surge of memories, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. In fact he wanted to jump up, grab her hand and lead her away from the ballroom.

She reached the table and smiled at him. ‘Thank God I didn’t fall on my face.’

Sliding gracefully into the seat, she tucked her hair behind one ear. In that moment Marco, struggling to breathe and damning himself to hell, knew he craved her.

Impossibly. Desperately.

Sasha caught the expression on Marco’s face and her heart stopped.

‘What’s the matter? Oh, my God, if you tell me I have food caught in my teeth I’ll kill you!’ she vowed feverishly.

Desperately blinking back the threatening tears, she tried to stem the painful memories that looking into Toby Latham’s face had brought. She couldn’t afford to let Marco see her pain. The pain she’d let eat her alive, consume her for years, but had never been able to put to rest.

She heard sniggers from across the table but ignored them, her attention held hostage by the savagely intense look in Marco’s eyes.

‘Your teeth are fine,’ he replied in a deep, rough voice.

‘Then what? Was my speech that bad?’ Caught in the traumatising resurgence of painful memories, she’d discarded her carefully prepared notes and winged it.

‘No. Your speech was … perfecto.’

Her heart lurched at his small pause. Before she could question him about it the MC introduced the next guest. With no choice but to maintain a respectful silence, she folded her shaking hands in her lap.

Frantically, she tried to recall her speech word for word. Marco was obviously reacting to something she’d said. Had she been wrong to mention Rafael? Had her joke been too crass? A wave of shame engulfed her at the thought.

She waited until the next award had been presented, then leaned over. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered into his ear.

His head swivelled towards her. His jaw brushed her cheek, sending a thousand tiny electric currents racing through her.

‘What for?’ he asked.

‘I shouldn’t have made that crack about Rafael skiving off. It was tasteless—’

‘And exactly what Rafael himself would’ve done had the situation been reversed. Everyone’s been skirting around the subject, either pretending it’s not happening or treating it with kid gloves. You gave people the freedom to acknowledge what had happened and set them at ease. I’m no longer the object of pitying glances and whispered speculation. It is I who should be thanking you.’

‘Really?’

‘Sí,’ he affirmed, his gaze dropping to her mouth.

‘Then why did you look so … off?’

His eyes darkened. ‘Your words were powerful. I was touched. I’m not made of stone, Sasha, contrary to what you might think.’

The reproach in his voice shamed her.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just … I thought …’

‘Forget it.’

He gave a tight smile, turned away and addressed Sophia, who flashed even more of her cleavage in triumph.

As soon as the last award was given, Sophia turned to Marco. ‘We’re going clubbing.’ She named an exclusive club frequented by young royals. ‘We’d love you to join us, Marco,’ she gushed.

Sasha gritted her teeth but stayed silent. If Marco wanted to party with the Fake Sisters it was his choice. All the same, Sasha held her breath as she waited for his answer, hating herself as she did so.

‘Clubbing isn’t my scene, but thanks for the offer.’

‘Oh, we don’t have to go clubbing. Maybe we can do something … else?’

Sasha stood and walked away before she could hear Marco’s response.

She’d almost reached the ballroom doors when she felt his presence beside her. The wave of relief that flooded her body threatened to weaken her knees. Sternly, she reminded herself that Marco’s presence had nothing to do with her personally. He was here for the team’s sake.

‘Are you sure you’d rather not be out with the Fa … Sophia? She seemed very eager to show you a good time. Seriously, I can take a taxi back.’

His limo pulled up. He handed her inside, then slid in beside her. ‘I prefer to end my evening silicone-free, gracias.’

She laughed. ‘Picky, picky! Most men wouldn’t mind.’

Perfect teeth gleamed in the semi-darkness of the limo. ‘I am not most men. No doubt you’ll add that to my list of flaws?’

His eyes dropped to her chest, abruptly cutting off her laughter.

‘You had better not be examining me for silicone. I’ll have you know these babies are natural.’

‘Trust me, I can tell the difference,’ he said, in a low, intense voice.

She swallowed hard. The thought that she was suddenly treading unsafe waters descended on her. Frantically, she cast her mind around for a safe subject.

‘So you don’t like clubbing?’

‘It’s not how I choose to spend an evening, no.’

‘Let me guess—you’re the starchy opera type?’

‘Wrong again.’

She snapped her fingers. ‘I know—you like to stay indoors and watch game shows.’

Low laughter greeted her announcement. Deep inside, a tiny part of Sasha performed a freakishly disturbing happy dance.

Encouraged, she pressed on. ‘Telemetry reports and aerodynamic calculations?’

‘Now you’re getting warm.’

‘Ha! I knew you were a closet nerd!’

He cast her a wry glance. ‘I prefer to call it passion.’

She shrugged. ‘A passionate nerd who surrounds himself with a crowd but keeps his distance.’

He stiffened. ‘You’re psychoanalysing me again.’

‘You make it easy.’

‘And you make baseless assumptions.’

‘Good try, but you can’t freeze me out with that tone. You’re single-minded to the point of obsession. I wiki-ed you. You have more money than you could ever spend in ten lifetimes and yet you don’t let anyone close. You have the odd liaison, but nothing that lasts more than a few weeks. According to your girlfriends, you never stay over. And there’s a time limit on every relationship.’

‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read—especially in the tabloid press.’

‘Tell me which part is false,’ she challenged.

His gaze hardened. ‘I’ll tell you which part is right—every relationship ends. For ever is a concept made up to sell romance novels.’

‘Didn’t you have a long liaison once, when you were still racing? What was her name …? Angela? Ange—?’

‘Angelique,’ he bit out, his face frozen as if hewn from rock. ‘And she wasn’t a liaison. We were engaged.’

‘She must be the reason, then.’

Cold eyes slammed into her. ‘The reason?’

‘For the way you are?’

‘Did Derek Mahoney turn you into the intrusive woman you are today?’ he fired back, his tone rougher than sandpaper. ‘Because I’d like to find him and throttle the life out of him.’

Sasha knew she should let it go. But somehow she couldn’t.

‘Yes. No.’ She sighed and looked out of the window at Kensington’s nightlife. ‘Damn, I wish I smoked.’

An astounded breath whistled from his lips. ‘Why would you wish that?’

‘Because trying to have a conversation with you is exhausting enough to drive anyone to drink. But since I have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow, and I’ve reached my one-glass drink limit, smoking would be the other choice—if I smoked.’ Abandoning the view, she turned back to him. ‘Where was I?’

A mirthless smile lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘You were dissecting my life and finding it severely deficient.’

‘Mockery? Is that your default setting?’

He lowered his gaze to her lips and her insides clenched so hard she feared she’d break in half. The limo turned a sharp corner. She grabbed the armrest to steady herself. Too late she realised the action had thrust her breasts out. Marco’s gaze dropped lower. Heat pooled in her belly. Her breasts ached, feeling fuller than they’d ever felt.

He leaned closer. Her heart thundered.

‘No, Sasha,’ he said hoarsely. ‘This is my default setting.’

Strong hands cupped her cheeks, held her steady. Heat-filled eyes stared into hers, their shocking intensity igniting a fire deep inside her.

Sasha held her breath, almost afraid to move in case … in case …

He fastened his mouth to hers, tumbling her into a none-too-gentle kiss that sent the blood racing through her veins. He tasted of heat and wine, of tensile strength and fiery Latin willpower. Of red-blooded passion and intoxicating pleasure. And he went straight to her head.

Sasha felt a groan rise in her throat and abruptly shut it off. She wasn’t that easy. Although right now, with Marco’s mouth wreaking insane havoc on her blood pressure, easy was deliciously tempting.

His tongue caressed hers and the groan slipped through, echoing in the dim cavern of the moving car. One hand slipped to her nape, angling her head. Although he didn’t need to. She was willingly tilting her head, all the better to deepen the pressure and pleasure of his kiss. Her mouth opened, boldly inviting him in.

His moan made her triumphant and weak at the same time. Then she lost all thought but of the bliss of the kiss.

Lost all sense of time.

Until she heard the thud of a door.

Their lips parted with a loud, sucking noise that arrowed straight to the furnace-hot apex of her thighs.

Marco stared down at her, his breath shaking out of his chest. ‘Dios,’ he muttered after several tense, disbelieving seconds.

You can say that again. Thankfully, the words didn’t materialise on her lips. Her eyes fell to his mouth, still wet from their kiss, and the heat between her legs increased a thousandfold.

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.