by the time my brother wakes up any memory he has of you will be wiped clean from his mind.’
She gasped, the chill from his voice washing over her. ‘I’m not sure exactly what Rafael told you, but you’ve really got this wrong.’
Marco shrugged. ‘And you’re still fired. Goodbye, Miss Fleming.’
‘On what grounds?’ she challenged, hoping this time her voice would emerge with more conviction.
‘I’m sure my lawyers can find something. Inappropriate enthusiasm?’
‘That’s a reason you should be keeping me on—not a reason to fire me.’
‘You’ve just proved my point. Most people know where to draw the line. It seems you don’t.’
‘I do,’ she stressed, her voice rising right along with the tight knot in her chest.
‘This conversation is over.’ He glanced pointedly at the door.
She stepped into the corridor, reeling from the impact of his words. Her contract was airtight. She was sure of it. But she’d seen too many teams discard perfectly fit and able drivers for reasons far flimsier than the one Marco had just given her. X1 Premier Racing was notorious for its court battles between team owners and drivers.
The thought that she could lose everything she’d fought for made her mouth dry. She’d battled hard to hold onto her seat in the most successful team in the history of the sport, when every punter with a blog or a social media account had taken potshots at her talent. One particularly harsh critic had even gone as far as to debate her sexual preferences.
She’d sacrificed too much for too long. Somehow she had to convince Marco de Cervantes to keep her on.
She turned to confront him—only to find a short man wearing a suit and a fawning expression hurrying towards them. He handed Marco a small wooden box and launched into a rapid volley of French. Whatever the man—whose discreet badge announced him as Administrator—was saying, it wasn’t having any effect on Marco.
Marco’s response was clipped. When the administrator started in surprise and glanced towards the reception area, Sasha followed his gaze. The nurse who had let her in stood behind the counter.
The administrator launched into another obsequious torrent. Marco cut him off with an incisive slash of his hand and headed for the lifts.
Sasha hurried after him. As she passed the reception area, she glimpsed the naked distress in the nurse’s eyes. Another wave of icy dread slammed into her, lending her more impetus as she rushed after Marco.
‘Wait!’
He pressed the button for the lift as she screeched to a halt beside him.
Away from the low lights of the hospital room Sasha saw him—really saw him—for the first time. Up close and personal, Marco de Cervantes was stunning. If you liked your men tall, imposing and bristling with tons of masculinity. Through the gap in his grey cotton shirt she caught a glimpse of dark hair and a strong, golden chest that had her glancing away in a hurry.
Focus!
‘Can we talk—please?’ she injected into the silence.
He ignored her, his stern, closed face forbidding any conversation. The lift arrived and he stepped in. Sasha rushed in after him. As the doors closed she saw the nurse burst into tears.
Outraged, she rounded on him. ‘My God. You got that nurse sacked, didn’t you?’
Anger dissolved the last of her instinctive self-preservation and washed away the strangely compelling sensation she refused to acknowledge was attraction.
‘I lodged a complaint.’
‘Which, coming from you, was as good as ordering that administrator to sack her!’
Guilt attacked her insides.
‘She must live with the consequences of her actions.’
‘So there’s no in-between? No showing mercy? Just straight to the gallows?’
Deep hazel eyes pinned her where she stood. ‘You weren’t on the list of approved visitors. She knew this and disregarded it. You could’ve been a tabloid hack. Anybody.’
His eyes narrowed and Sasha forced her expression to remain neutral.
‘Or maybe she knew exactly who you were?’
She lowered her lids as a wave of guilty heat washed over her face.
‘Of course,’ he taunted softly. ‘What did you offer her? Free tickets to the next race?’
Deciding silence was the best policy, she clamped her lips together.
‘A personal tour of the paddock and a photo op with you once you became lead driver, perhaps?’
His scathing tone grated on her nerves.
Raising her head she met his gaze, anger at his highhandedness loosening her tongue. ‘You know, just because your brother is gravely ill, it doesn’t give you the right to destroy other people’s lives.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ he bit out.
‘Right now you’re in pain and lashing out, wanting anyone and everyone to pay for what you’re going through. It’s understandable, but it’s not fair. That poor woman is now jobless just because you’re angry.’
‘That poor woman abused her position and broke the hospital’s policy for personal gain. She deserves everything she gets.’
‘It wasn’t for personal gain. She did it for her nephew. He’s a fan. She wanted to do something nice for him.’
‘My heart bleeds.’
‘You do the same, and more, for thousands of race fans every year. What’s so different about this?’
Dark brows clamped together, and his jaw tightened in that barely civilised way that sent another wave of apprehension through her. Again she glimpsed the dark fury riding just below his outward control.
‘The difference, Miss Fleming, is that I don’t compromise my integrity to do so. And I don’t put those I care about in harm’s way just to get what I want.’
‘What about compassion?’
His brows cleared, but the volatile tinge in the air remained. ‘I’m fresh out.’
‘You know, you’ll wake up one morning not long from now and regret your actions today.’
The lift doors glided open to reveal the underground car park. A few feet away was a gleaming black chrome-trimmed Bentley Continental. Beside it, a driver and a heavily muscled man whose presence shrieked bodyguard waited. The driver held the back door open, but Marco made no move towards it. Instead he glanced down at her, his expression hauntingly bleak.
‘I regret a lot that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours—not least watching my brother mangle himself and his car on the race track because he believed himself to be heartbroken. One more thing doesn’t make a difference.’
‘Your emotions are overwhelming you right now. All I’m saying is don’t let them overrule your better judgement.’
A cold smile lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘My emotions? I didn’t know you practised on the side as the team’s psychologist. I thought you’d ridden down with me to beg for your job back, not to practise the elevator pitch version of pop psychology. You had me as your captive audience for a full thirty seconds. Shame you chose to waste it.’
‘Mock me all you want. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re acting like—’ She bit her lip, common sense momentarily overriding her anger.
‘Go on,’ he encouraged softly. Tauntingly. ‘Acting like what?’
She