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

‘Where are you going?’ he bit out.

She stopped. ‘Oh, I thought we were going by road.’

He nodded to the helipad, where a black and red chopper sat gleaming in the morning sun. ‘We’re touring by helicopter.’

It was a spectacularly beautiful machine—the latest in a long line of beautiful aircraft.

‘Any chance you’ll let me fly it?’

He flashed a mirthless grin at her. ‘I don’t see any pigs flying, do you?’

‘Wow, this is incredible! How long have you had this race track?’ Marco glanced up from the helicopter controls, then immediately wished he hadn’t. It was bad enough hearing her excitement piped directly into his headphones. The visual effects were even more disturbing.

When he’d offered her an aerial tour of the race track he hadn’t taken into account how she was dressed. In most respects, her white shorts could be described as sensible—almost boyish. He’d been out with women who wore far less on a regular basis. Her light green shirt was also plain to the point of being utilitarian.

All the same, Marco found the combination of her excitement and her proximity … aggravating. Even more aggravating were the flashbacks he kept having of her leaning back on the bed in her hotel room, her T-shirt riding up to reveal skin so tempting it had knocked his breath clean out of his lungs …

Her naked ambition and her sheer drive to succeed were living things that charged the air around her. Marco knew only too well the high cost of blind ambition, and yet knowing the depths of Sasha Fleming’s ambition and what she would do to achieve her goals didn’t stop him from imagining how it would have felt to lift her T-shirt higher … just a fraction …

He was also more than a little puzzled that she’d made no attempt to gain his attention since that episode in her room. Women flaunted themselves at him at every opportunity—used every excuse in the book to garner his interest. Some even resorted to … unconventional means. Most of the time he was happy to direct them Rafael’s way. He’d long outgrown the paddock bunny phase; had outgrown it even before Angelique, the most calculating of them all, had stepped into his orbit and turned his world upside down.

Marco sobered, seething at himself for the memories he suddenly couldn’t seem to dispel so easily. Focusing on the controls, he banked the chopper and followed the straights and curves of the race track hundreds of metres below.

‘I built it ten years ago,’ he clipped out in answer to her question.

‘After you retired?’ she asked, surprised.

‘No. Just before.’ His harsh response had the desired effect of shutting her up, but when he glanced at her again, he noted the spark of speculation in her eyes. Before he could think about why he was doing so, he found himself elaborating. ‘I thought I’d be spending more time here.’ He’d woven foolish dreams about what his life would be like, how perfect everything had seemed. He’d had the perfect car; the perfect woman.

‘What happened?’

The crushing pain of remembrance tightened around his chest. ‘I crashed.’

She gave a sad little understanding nod that made him want to growl at her. What did she know? She was as conniving as they came.

Forcing his anger under control, he flew over the track towards the mid-point hill.

Sasha pointed to six golf buggies carrying mechanics who hopped out at various points of the track. ‘What are they doing?’

‘The track hasn’t been used for a while. They’re conducting last-minute checks on the moveable parts to make sure they’re secure.’

‘I can’t believe this track can be reshaped to simulate other tracks around the circuit. I can’t wait to have a go!’

Excitement tinged her voice and Marco couldn’t help glancing over at her. Her eyes were alight with a smile that seemed to glow from within. His hands tightened around the controls.

‘The track was built before simulators became truly effective. One concrete track would’ve served only to make a driver expert at a particular track, so I designed an interchangeable track. The other advantage is experience gained in driving on tarmac, or as close to tarmac—as you can get. Wet or dry conditions can make or break a race. This way the driver gets to practise on both with the right tyres. Electronic simulators and wind tunnels have their places, but so does this track.’

The helicopter crested another small hill and cold sweat broke out over his skin. Several feet to the side of the track a mound of whitewashed stones had been piled high in a makeshift monument. Marco’s hand tightened on the lever and deftly swerved the aircraft away from the landmark he had no wish to see up close.

‘Trust me, I’m not complaining. It’s a great idea. I’m just surprised other teams haven’t copied the idea. Or sold their firstborn sons to use your track.’

‘Offers have been made in the past.’

‘And?’

He shrugged. ‘I occasionally allow them to use the track I designed. But for the whole package to come together they also need the car I designed.’

A small laugh burst from her lips. The sound was so unexpectedly pleasing he momentarily lost his train of thought, and missed her reply.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said that’s a clever strategy—considering you own the team you design for, and the only other way anyone can get their hands on a Marco de Cervantes design is by shelling out … how much does the Cervantes Conquistador cost? Two million?’

‘Three.’

She whistled—another unexpected sound that charged through his bloodstream, making him even more on edge than he’d been a handful of seconds ago.

She leaned forward into his eyeline. He’d been wrong about the shirt being functional. Her pert breasts pressed against the cotton material, her hands on her thighs as she peered down.

Marco swallowed, the hot stirrings in his abdomen increasing to uncomfortable proportions. Ruthlessly he pushed them away.

Sasha Fleming was bad news, he reminded himself.

Rafael had got involved with her to his severe detriment. Marco had no intention of following down the same road. His only interest in her was to make sure she delivered the Constructors’ Championship. Now he knew what she really wanted—the Drivers’ Championship—he had her completely at his mercy.

Control re-established, he brought the helicopter in to land, and yanked off his headphones. Sasha jumped down without his help and Marco caught the puzzled look she flashed him. Ignoring it, he strode towards Luke Green. His chief engineer had travelled ahead to supervise the initial training arrangements.

Sasha drew closer and her scent reached his nostrils. Marco’s insides clenched in rejection even as he breathed her in. His awareness of her was becoming intolerable. Even her voice as she greeted Luke bit into his psyche.

‘Is everything in order?’ he asked.

Luke nodded. ‘We’re just about to offload the engine. The mechanics will check it over and make sure it hasn’t been damaged during the flight.’

‘It takes three hours max to assemble the car, so it should be ready for me to test this afternoon, shouldn’t it?’ Sasha asked, her attention so intent on the tarpaulin-covered engine Marco almost enquired if she yearned to caress it.

‘No. You’ll begin training tomorrow morning,’ he all but growled.

Her head snapped towards him, her expression crestfallen. ‘Oh, but if the car’s here …’

‘The mechanics have been working on getting things ready since dawn. This engine hasn’t been used since last December. It’ll have to go through rigorous testing before it’s race-ready. That’ll take most of the day—at least until sundown.’

He turned back to Luke. ‘I want to see hourly engine readouts and a final telemetry report when you’re done testing.’

‘Sure thing, boss.’

Grabbing Sasha’s arm, he steered her away from the garage. Several eyes followed them, but he didn’t care. He was nothing like his brother. He had no intention of ever making a fool of himself over a woman again.

Opening the passenger door to his Conquistador, he thrust her into the bucket seat. Rounding the hood, he slid behind the wheel.