The Price Of Desire: The Price of Success / The Cost of Her Innocence / Not For Sale. JACQUELINE BAIRD

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      A simple careful nod. ‘He retired from motor racing, yes.’

      ‘And his seat was then given to you?’

      Her eyes narrowed. ‘Your extrapolation is way off base if you think it has any bearing on what has happened with Rafael.’

      ‘Isn’t it curious that you bring chaos to every team you join? Are you an unlucky charm, Miss Fleming?’

      ‘As a former racer yourself, I’m sure you’re familiar with the facts—drivers crash on a regular basis. It’s a reality of the sport. In fact, wasn’t a crash what ended your racing career?’

      For the second time in a very short while the reminder of events of ten years ago cut through him like the sharpest knife. Forcing the memories away, he folded his arms. ‘It’s your circumstances that interest me, not statistics. You dumped this other guy just before a race. This seems to be your modus operandi.’

      Her chest lifted with her affronted breath. He struggled not to let his gaze drop. ‘I resent that. I thought you ran your team on merit and integrity, not rumour and hypothesis.’

      ‘Here’s your chance to dispel the rumours. How many other team mates have you slept with?’

      ‘I had a relationship with one. Derek and I went out for a while. Then it ended.’

      ‘But this … relationship grew quite turbulent, I believe? So much so that it eventually destroyed his career while yours flourished?’

      She snorted. ‘I wouldn’t say flourished, exactly. More like sweated and blooded.’

      ‘But you did start out being a reserve driver on his team. And you did dump him when his seat became available to you?’

      Marco watched her lips tighten, her chin angling in a way that drew his eyes to her smooth throat.

      ‘It’s obvious you’ve done your homework. But I didn’t come here to discuss my personal life with you—which, as it happens, is really none of your business.’

      ‘When it relates to my brother and my team it becomes my business. And your actions in the past three months have directly involved Rafael.’ He reached for the box on the table. ‘Do you know what’s in this box?’ he asked abruptly.

      A wary frown touched her forehead. ‘No. How would I?’

      ‘Let me enlighten you. It contains the personal effects that were found on Rafael’s person when he was pulled out of the car.’ He opened the box. The inside was smeared with blood. Rafael’s blood.

      Blood he’d spilled because of this woman.

      He lifted a gold chain with a tiny crucifix at the end of it. ‘My mother gave this to him on the day of his confirmation, when he was thirteen years old. He always wears it during a race. For good luck.’

      A look passed over her face. Sadness and a hint of guilt, perhaps? He dropped the chain back into the container, closed it and set it down. Reaching into his pocket, he produced another box—square, velvet.

      She tensed, her eyes flaring with alarm. ‘Mr de Cervantes—’

      His lips twisted. ‘You’re not quite the talented actress I took you for, after all. Because your expression tells me everything I need to know. Rafael asked the question he’d been burning to ask, didn’t he?’ he demanded.

      ‘I—’

      He cut across her words, not at all surprised when the colour fled her face. ‘My brother asked you to marry him. And you callously rejected him, knowing he would have to race directly afterwards. Didn’t you?’

       CHAPTER THREE

      SASHA clenched her fists behind her back, desperately trying to hold it together. Even from across the room she could feel Marco’s anger. It vibrated off his skin, slammed around the room like a living thing.

      Her heart thudded madly in her chest. She opened her mouth but no words emerged.

      ‘Here’s your chance to speak up, Miss Fleming,’ Marco incised, one long finger flipping open the box to reveal a large, stunning pink diamond set within a circle of smaller white diamonds.

      She’d never been one to run from a fight, and Lord knew she’d had many fights in her life. But, watching Marco advance towards her, Sasha yearned to take a step back. Several steps, in fact … right out through the door. Unfortunately she chose that moment to look into his eyes.

      The sheer force of his gaze trapped her. It held her immobile, darkly fascinating even as her panic flared higher. She’d dealt with disrespect, with disdain, even with open slurs against her.

      Seething, pain-racked Spanish males like Marco de Cervantes were a different box of frogs.

      ‘Did you refuse my brother or not?’ he demanded, and his low, dangerous voice scoured her skin.

      Suppressing a shiver, she said, ‘You’ve got it wrong. Rafael didn’t ask me—’

      ‘Liar.’ He snapped the box shut. ‘He sent me a text last night. You said no.’

      ‘Of course I said no. He didn’t mean—’

      He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘He thought you were just playing hard to get. He was going to try again this morning.’

      Sasha knew the brothers were close, but Rafael hadn’t given her any indication he was this close to his brother. In fact the reason she’d grown close to him, despite his irreverent antics with the team and his wildly flirtatious behaviour with every female he came into contact with, was because she’d glimpsed the loneliness Rafael desperately tried to hide. Loneliness she’d identified with.

      She watched Marco’s nostrils flare with ever deepening anger as he waited for her answer. She licked her lips, carefully choosing her words, because it was clear that Rafael, for his own reasons, hadn’t given Marco all the facts.

      ‘Rafael and I are just friends.’

      ‘Do you take me for a fool, Miss Fleming? You really expect me to believe that you viewed the romantic dinners for two in London or the spontaneous trip to Paris last month as innocent gestures of a mere friend?’

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

      ‘And Paris?’

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

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

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