Читать книгу The Price Of Desire - Сандра Мартон - Страница 12

FEAR pierced through her heart but she refused to believe the worst. ‘Is he …?’ She swallowed and rephrased. ‘How bad is it?’

Marco shoved his phone into his pocket and stalked down the hall towards the large formal sitting room. Set between two curved cast-iron balconies that overlooked the living room from the first-floor hallway, a beautifully carved, centuries-old drinks cabinet stood. Marco picked up a crystal decanter and raised an eyebrow. When she shook her head, he poured a healthy splash of cognac into a glass and threw it back in one quick swallow.

A fire had been lit in the two giant fireplaces in the room. Marco stood before one and raked a hand through his hair, throwing the dark locks into disarray. ‘He’s suffered another brain haemorrhage. They had to perform a minor operation to release the pressure. The doctors …’ He shook his head, tightly suppressed emotion making his movements jerky. ‘They can’t do any more.’

‘But the operation worked, didn’t it?’ She didn’t know where the instinct to keep talking came from. All she knew was that Marco had come looking for her.

He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘The bleeding has stopped, yes. And he’s been put into an induced coma until the swelling goes down.’

She moved closer, her heart aching at the pain he tried to hide. ‘That’s good. It’ll give him time to heal.’

His eyes grew bleaker. He looked around, as if searching for a distraction. ‘I should be there,’ he bit out. ‘But the doctors think I’m in their way.’ He huffed. ‘One even accused me of unreasonable behaviour, simply because I asked for a third opinion.’

The muttered imprecation that followed made Sasha bite her lip, feeling sorry for the unknown hapless doctor who’d dared clash with Marco.

She sucked in a breath as his gaze sharpened on her.

‘Nothing to say?’

‘He’s your brother. You love him and want the best for him. That’s why you’ve hired the best doctors to care for him. Maybe you need to leave them alone to do their jobs?’ He looked set to bite her head off. ‘And if he’s in intensive care they probably need to keep his environment as sterile as possible. Surely you don’t want anything to jeopardise his recovery?’

His scowl deepened and he looked away. ‘I see you not only wear a psychologist’s hat, you also dabble in diplomacy and being the voice of reason.’

Although Sasha did not enjoy his cynicism, she felt relieved that his voice was no longer racked with raw anguish. ‘Yeah, that’s me. Miss All-Things-To-All-People,’ she joked.

Eyes that had moments ago held pain and anguish froze into solid, implacable ice. ‘Sí. Unfortunately that aspect of your nature hasn’t worked out well for my brother, has it? Rafael needed you to be one thing to him. And you failed. Miserably.’

‘I tried to talk some sense into him …’

Rafael hadn’t taken it well when she’d pointed out the absurdity of his out-of-the-blue proposal. He’d stormed out of her hotel in Budapest the night before the race, and she’d never got the chance to talk to him before his accident.

Marco turned from the mantel and faced her. ‘Don’t tell me … You were conveniently unsuccessful?’ he mocked.

‘Because he didn’t mean it.’

He pounced. ‘Why would any man propose to a woman if he didn’t mean it?’

When she didn’t answer immediately, his scowl deepened. In the end, she said, ‘Because of … other things he’d said.’

‘What other things?’ came the harsh rejoinder.

‘Private things.’ She wasn’t about to deliver a blow-by-blow account. It wasn’t her style. ‘I thought he was reacting to his last break-up.’

He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. ‘Rafael and Nadia broke up two months ago. Are you suggesting this was a rebound?’ Marco asked derisively. ‘My brother’s bounce-back rate is normally two weeks.’

Sasha frowned. ‘Rafael’s changed, Marco. To you he may have seemed like his normal wild, irreverent self. But—’

‘Are you saying I don’t know my own brother?’ he demanded.

Slowly, Sasha shook her head. ‘I’m just saying he may not have told you everything that was going on with him.’

Her breath caught at the derisive gleam that entered Marco’s eyes.

‘His text told me everything I needed to know. By refusing him, you gave him no choice but to come after you.’

‘Of course I didn’t!’

‘Liar!’

‘That’s the second time you’ve called me a liar, Marco. For your own sake I hope there isn’t a third. Or I’ll take great pleasure in slapping your face. Contract or no bloody contract. Whatever Rafael led you to believe, I didn’t set out to ensnare him, or encourage him to fall for me—which I don’t think he did, by the way. And I certainly didn’t get him riled up enough to cause his accident. Whatever demons Rafael’s been battling, they finally caught up with him. I’m tired of defending myself. I was just being his friend. Nothing else.’

Heart hammering, she took a seat on one of the extremely delicate-looking twin cream and gold striped sofas and pulled in a deep breath to steady the turbulent emotions coursing through her. Emotions she’d thought buckled down tight, but which Marco had seemed to spark to life so very easily.

‘I find it hard to believe your actions have taken you down the same path twice in your life.’

‘An unfortunate coincidence, but that’s all it is. I have to live with it. However, I refuse to let you or anyone else label me some sort of femme fatale. All I want is to do my job.’

He sat down opposite her. When his gaze drifted down her body, she struggled to fight the pinpricks of awareness he ignited along the way.

‘You’re a fighter. I admire that in you. There’s also something about you …’

His pure Latin shrug held a wealth of expression that made her silently shake her head in awe.

‘An unknown quality I find difficult to pinpoint. You’re hardly a femme fatale, as you say. The uncaring way you dress, your brashness, all point to a lack of femininity—’

Pure feminine affront sparked a flame inside her. ‘Thanks very much.’

‘And normally I wouldn’t even class you as Rafael’s type. Yet on the night before his accident he was fiercely adamant that you were the one. Don’t get me wrong, he’s said that a few times in the past, but this time I knew something wasn’t quite right.’

Despite his accusation, sympathy welled inside her. ‘Did you two fight? Was that why you didn’t come to Friday’s practice?’

His nod held regret. ‘I lost it when he asked for the ring.’

‘You had it?’

He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply. ‘Yes. It belonged to our mother. She didn’t leave it specifically to either of us; she just wanted the first one of us to get married to give it to his bride.’ He shook his head once. ‘I always knew it would go to Rafael since I never intend—’ He stopped and drew in a breath. ‘Rafael has claimed to be in love with many girls, but this was the first time he’d asked for the ring.’

‘And you were angry because it was me?’

His jaw clenched. ‘You could have waited until the race was over,’ he accused, his voice rough with emotion.

‘Marco—’

‘He’d have had the August hiatus to get over you; he would’ve mended his broken heart in the usual way—ensconced on a yacht in St Tropez or chasing after some Hollywood starlet in LA. Either way, he would’ve arrived back on the circuit, smiled at you, and called you pequeña because he’d forgotten your name. Instead he’s in a hospital bed, fighting for his life!’

‘But I couldn’t lie,’ she shot back. ‘He didn’t want me—not really. And I’m not on the market for a relationship. Certainly not after—’ She pulled herself up short, but it was too late.

He stood and pulled her up, caught her shoulders in a firm grip. ‘After what?’

‘Not after my poor track record.’

‘You mean what happened with your previous lover?’

She nodded reluctantly. ‘Derek proposed just before I broke up with him. I’d known for some time that it wasn’t working, but I convinced myself things would work out. When I declined his proposal a week later he accused me of leading him on. He said I was only refusing him because I wanted to sell myself to the highest bidder.’

Derek had repeated that assertion to every newspaper and team boss who would listen, and Sasha’s career had almost ended because of it. She pushed the painful memories away.

‘Rafael knew there was no way I’d get involved with him romantically.’

Marco’s grip tightened, his gaze scouring her face as if he wanted to dig out the truth. Sasha forced herself to remain still, even though the touch of his hands on her branded her—so hot she wanted to scream with the incredibly forceful sensation of it.

‘Do you know the last thing I said to him?’ he rasped.

Her heart aching for him, she shook her head.

‘I told him to stop messing around and grow up. That he was dishonouring our mother’s memory by treating life like his own personal playground.’ His eyelids veiled his gaze for several seconds and his jaw clenched, his emotions riding very near the surface. ‘If anything happens to him—’

‘It won’t.’

Without thought, she placed her hand on his arm. Hard muscles flexed beneath her fingers. His eyes returned to her face, then dropped to her mouth. Sharp sensation shot through her belly, making her breath catch.

Sasha felt an electric current of awareness zing up her arm—a deeper manifestation of the intense awareness she felt whenever he was near. Comfort, she assured herself. I’m offering him comfort. That’s all. This need to keep touching him was just a silly passing reaction.

‘He’ll wake up and he’ll get better. You’ll see.’

Face taut and eyes bleak, he slowly dropped his hands. ‘I have to go,’ he said.

She stepped back, her hands clenching into fists behind her back to conceal their trembling. ‘You’re returning to the hospital?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m going to Madrid.’

Her belly clenched with the acute sense of loss. ‘For how long?’ she asked lightly.

‘For however long it takes to reassure my father that his precious son isn’t dying.’

The state-of-the-art crash helmet was no match for the baking North Spanish sun. Sasha sat in the cockpit of the Espiritu DSI, the car that had won Rafael the championship the year before. Eyes shut, she retraced the outline of the Belgian race track, anticipation straining through her.

Sweat trickled down her neck, despite the chute pumping cold air into the car. When she’d mentally completed a full circuit she opened her eyes.

They burned from lack of sleep, and she blinked several times to clear them. She’d been up since before dawn, the start of her restless night having oddly coincided with the moment Marco’s helicopter had lifted off the helipad. For hours she’d lain tangled up in satin sheets, unable to dismiss the look on Marcus’s anguished face from her mind. Or the heat of his touch on her body.

Firming her lips, she forcibly cleared her mind.

She wrapped fireproof gloved hands around the wheel and pictured the Double S bends at Eau Rouge, and the exact breaking point at La Source. Keeping her breathing steady, she finally achieved the mental calm she needed to block out the background noise of the mechanics and the garage. She emptied every thought from her mind, the turmoil of the past few days reduced to a small blot. She welcomed the relief of not having to dwell on anything except the promise of the fast track in front of her.

Her eyes remained steady on the mechanic’s STOP/GO sign, her foot a whisper off the accelerator.

When the sign went up, she launched out of the garage onto the track. Adrenalin coursed through her veins as the powerful car vibrated beneath her. Braking into the first corner, she felt G-forces wrench her head to the left and smiled. This battle with the laws of physics lent an extra thrill as she flew along the track, the sense of freedom making her oblivious to the stress on her body as lap after lap whizzed by.

‘You’re being too hard on your tyres, Sasha.’

Luke’s voice piped into her earphones and she immediately adjusted the balance of the car, her grip loosening a touch to help manoeuvre the curves better.

‘That’s better. In race conditions you’ll need them to go for at least fifteen laps. You can’t afford to wear them out in just eight. It’s early days yet, but things look good.’

Sasha blinked at the grudging respect in Luke’s voice.

‘How does the car feel?’

‘Er … great. It feels great.’

‘Good. Come in and we’ll take a look at the lap times together.’

She drove back into the garage and parked. Keeping her focus on Luke as he approached her, she got out and set her helmet aside.

He showed her the printout. ‘We can’t compare it with the performance of the DSII, but from these figures things are looking very good for Spa in three weeks’ time.’

Reading through the data, Sasha felt a buzz of excitement. ‘The DSII is great at slow corners, so I should be able to go even faster.’

Luke grinned. ‘When you have the world’s best aerodynamicist as your boss, you have a starting advantage. We’ll have a battle on the straight sections, but if you keep up this performance we should cope well enough to keep ourselves ahead.’

Again she caught the changed note in his voice.

Although she’d tried not to dwell on it, throughout the day, and over the following days during testing, Sasha slowly felt the changing attitude of her small team. They spoke to her with less condescension; some even bothered to engage her in conversation before and after her practice sessions.

And the first time Luke asked her opinion on how to avoid the under steering problem that had cropped up, Sasha forced herself to blink back the stupid tears that threatened.

Marco heard the car drive away as he came down the stairs. He curbed the strong urge to yank the door open and forced himself to wait. When he reached the bottom step he sat down and rested his elbows on his knees, his BlackBerry dangling from his fingers.

Light footsteps sounded seconds before the front door opened.

Sasha stood silhouetted against the lights flooding the outer courtyard, the outline of her body in tight dark trousers and top making sparks of desire shoot through his belly.

Clenching his teeth against the intensity of it, he forced himself to remain seated, knowing she hadn’t yet spotted him in the darkened hallway. Her light wrap slipped as she turned to shut the door, and he caught a glimpse of one smooth shoulder and arm. Her dark silky hair was tied in a careless knot on top of her head, giving her neck a long, smooth, elegant line that he couldn’t help but follow.

He found himself tracing the lines of her body, wondering how he’d ever thought her boyish. She was tall, her figure lithe, but there were curves he hadn’t noticed before—right down to the shapely denim-clad legs.

Shutting the door, she tugged off her boots and kicked them into a corner.

She turned and stumbled to a halt, her breath squeaking out in alarm. ‘Marco! Damn it, you really need to stop skulking in dark hallways. You nearly scared me to death!’

‘I wasn’t skulking.’ He heard the irritation in his voice and forced himself to calm down. ‘Where have you been? I called you several times.’

She pulled the wrap tighter around her shoulders, her chin tilting up in silent challenge. ‘I went for a drink with the team.

They’re all flying out tomorrow morning and I wanted to say goodbye. I know that wasn’t part of the deal—me socialising with the team—but they kept asking and it would have been surly to refuse.’

Annoyance rattled through him. The last thing he wanted to discuss was his team, or the deal he’d made with Sasha Fleming. Dios, he wasn’t even sure why he’d come back here. He should be by his brother’s bedside—even if the doctors intended to keep him in his induced coma until the swelling on his brain reduced.

‘And you were having such a great time you decided not to answer your phone?’

‘I think it’s died.’

‘You think?’

‘You’re annoyed with me. Why?’

Sasha asked the question in that direct way he’d come to expect from her. No one in his vast global organisation would dare to speak to him that way. And yet … he found he liked it.

Rising, he walked towards her. A few steps away, the scent of her perfume hit his nostrils. Marco found himself craving more of it, wanting to draw even closer. ‘Why bother with a phone if you can’t ensure it works?’

‘Because no one calls me.’

Her words stopped him in his tracks. For a man who commanded his multi-billion-euro empire using his BlackBerry, Marco found her remark astonishing in the extreme. ‘No one calls you?’

‘My phone never rings. I think you were the last person to call me. I get the occasional text from Tom, or Charlie, my physio, but other than that … zilch.’

Marco’s puzzlement grew. ‘You don’t have any friends?’

‘Obviously none who care enough to call. And, before you go feeling sorry for me, I’m fine with it.’

‘You’re fine with being lonely?’

‘With being alone. There’s a difference. So, is there another reason you’re annoyed with me?’

She raised her chin in that defiant way that drew his gaze to her throat.

He shoved his phone into his pocket. ‘I’m not annoyed. I’m tired. And hungry. Rosario had gone to bed when I arrived.’

‘Oh, well, that’s good. Not the tired and hungry part. The not annoyed part.’ She bit her lip, her eyes wide on his as he moved even closer. ‘And about Rosario … I hope you don’t mind, but I told her not to wait up for me.’

Marco shook his head. ‘So where did you go for this drink?’ He strove to keep his voice casual.

‘A bodega just off Plaza Mayor in Salamanca.’

He nodded, itching to brush back the stray hair that had fallen against her temple. ‘And did you enjoy your evening out?’

Her shrug drew his eyes to her bare shoulder. ‘Leon is beautiful. And I was glad to get out of the villa.’

Her 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.’

Marco uncorked the wine, thinking perhaps Charlie needed his eyes examined. ‘How long is your daily regime?’

‘Technically three hours, but Charlie keeps me at it until I’m either screaming in agony or about to pass out. He normally stops once I’m thoroughly dripping in sweat.’

His whole body froze, arrested by the image of a sweat-soaked Sasha, with sunshine glinting off her toned body.

Dios, this was getting ridiculous. He should not be feeling like this—especially not towards the woman who was the every epitome of Angelique: ruthlessly ambitious, uncaring of anything that got in her way. Sasha had nearly destroyed his brother the way Angelique had destroyed Marco’s desire ever to forge a lasting relationship.

And yet in Barcelona he’d found himself thinking of Sasha … admitting to himself that his sudden preoccupation with her had nothing to do with work. And everything to do with the woman herself. The attraction he’d felt in Budapest was still present … and escalating.

Which was totally unacceptable.

He took a deep breath and wrenched control back into his body. While his brother was lying in a coma, the only thing he needed to focus on was winning the Constructors’ Championship. And teaching Sasha Fleming a lesson.

He poured bold red Château Neuf into one glass and set it in front of her. ‘I’ve seen the testing reports. You’ll need to find another three-tenths of a second around Eau Rouge to give yourself a decent chance or you’ll leave yourself open to overtaking. Belgium is a tough circuit.’

She took a sip and his gaze slid to the feline-like curve of her neck. Clenching fingers that itched to touch, he sat down opposite her.

‘The DSII will handle the corners better.’

His eyes flicked over her face, noting her calm. ‘You don’t seem nervous.’

Another laugh. A further tightening in his groin.

Madre di Dios. It had been a while since he’d indulged in good, old-fashioned, no-holds-barred sex. Sexual frustration had a habit of making the unsavoury tempting, but this … this yearning was insane.

Mentally, he scanned through his electronic black book and came up with several names. Just as fast he discarded every one of them, weariness at having to disentangle himself from expectation dampening his urge to revisit old ground.

Frustration built, adding another strand of displeasure to his already seething emotions.

‘Believe me, I get just as nervous as the next racer. But I don’t mind.’

‘Because winning is everything, no matter the cost?’ he bit out.

Her eyes darkened. ‘No. Because nerves serve a good purpose. They remind you you’re human; they sharpen your focus. I’d be terrified if I wasn’t nervous. But eighteen years of experience also helps. I’ve been doing this since I was seven years old. Having a supportive father who blatantly disregarded the fact that I wasn’t a boy helped with my confidence too.’

‘Not a lot of parents agree with their children racing. You were lucky.’

She smiled. ‘More like pushy. I threw a tantrum every time he threatened to leave me with my nanny. I won eventually. Although I get the feeling he was testing me to see how much I wanted it.’

‘And you passed with flying colours.’ He raised his glass to her. ‘Bravo.’

Unsettlingly perceptive blue eyes rested on him. ‘Oops, do I detect a certain cynicism there, Marco?’

He clenched his teeth as his control slipped another notch. ‘Has anyone told you it’s not nice to always go for the jugular?’

Her eyes widened. ‘Was that what I was doing? I thought we were having a get-to-know-each-other conversation. At least until you went a little weird on me.’

‘Perdón. Weird wasn’t what I was aiming for.’ He took a large gulp of his wine.

‘First an admission of a flaw. Now an apology. Wow—must be my lucky night. Are you feeling okay? Maybe it would help to talk about whatever it is that spooked you?’

Perhaps it was the mellowing effect of the wine. Perhaps it was the fact that he hadn’t had an engaging conversation like this in a while. Marco was surprised when he found himself laughing.

‘I have no memory of ever being spooked. But, just for curiosity’s sake, which hat will you be wearing for this little heart-to-heart? Diplomat or psychologist?’

Her gaze met his squarely. ‘How about friend?’ she asked.

His laughter dried up.

She wanted to be his friend.

Marco couldn’t remember the last time anyone had offered to be his friend. Betrayal had a habit of stripping the scales from one’s eyes. He’d learnt that lesson well and thoroughly.

He swallowed another gulp of wine. ‘I respectfully decline. Thanks all the same.’

A small smile curved her lip. ‘Ouch. At least you didn’t laugh in my face.’

‘That would have been cruel.’

One smooth brow rose. ‘And you don’t do cruel? You’ve come very close in the past.’

‘You were a threat to my brother.’

‘Were? You mean you’re not under that impression any more?’

Realising the slip, he started to set her straight, then paused. You can’t control what happens in life … Rafael will resent you for controlling his life … ‘I’m willing to suspend my judgement until Rafael is able to set the picture straight himself.’

Her smile faded. ‘You don’t trust me at all, do you?’

He steeled himself against his fleeting tinge of regret at the hurt in her voice.

‘Trust is earned. It comes with time. Or so I’m told.’

So far no one had withstood the test long enough for Marco to verify that belief. Sasha Fleming had already failed that test. She was only sitting across from him because of what he could give her.

She hid her calculating nature well, but he knew it was there, hiding beneath the fiercely determined light in her eyes.

‘Well, then, here’s to earning trust. And becoming friends.’

Marco didn’t respond to her toast because part of him regretted the fact that friendship between them would never be possible.