'You were in hospital? And the father you claim loved you unconditionally wasn't there for you?'
Hazel eyes now devoid of passion taunted her.
Tears prickled her eyes but she refused to let them fall. In her darkest, most painful moments after losing her baby she'd asked herself the same question.
Blinking fiercely, she raised her chin. 'Whatever point you're trying to make, Marco, make it without being a total bastard.'
He sighed and ran a hand over his chin.
She stayed at the other end of the cabana, her arms curved around her middle.
'Did you hire another lawyer to appeal?'
'Of course we did. He... Dad died before the second trial.'
His gaze softened a touch. 'How did he die?'
'He drove his car off a bridge near our cottage.' Pain coated her words. 'Everyone thinks he did it because he was guilty. He was just...devastated.'
'And you feel guilty for this?'
She plucked at the hem of her kaftan. 'If I hadn't got involved with Derek I'd have won a championship earlier. Maybe that would've saved my father...'
Marco's hand slashed through her words. 'Your life is your own. You can't live it for someone else. Not even your father.'
'Who's got their psychoanalysing hat on now?'
His brow lifted. 'You can dish it out but you can't take it?'
Sasha tried to stem the wave of guilt that rose within her. After his trial she'd suggested her father not come to her races, because she'd watched him slide deeper into depression after attending every one.
'Whatever he was, he wasn't a cheat. And I intend to honour his memory.'
Marco rose from the lounger, completely oblivious to his sheer masculine beauty and the effect it had on her tangled emotions. Sasha wanted to burrow into him, to return to the warm cocoon of his arms. But she forced herself to stay where she was.
'Come here.'
She shook her head. 'No. I don't like you very much right now.'
His smile made a mockery of her words as he strolled towards her. 'That's not true. You can't keep your eyes off me. Just like I can't take mine off you.'
'Marco...'
He cupped her jaw and lifted her face to his. Her heart stuttered, then thundered. 'You made your promise out of guilt-'
'No, I want to win the Championship.'
'Sometimes the best deal is to walk away.'
'I don't intend to. So don't stand in my way.'
He brought his mouth within a whisper of hers. Sasha swayed towards him, her willpower depleting rapidly.
'Determination is a quality I admire, querida. But remember I won't tolerate anything that stands in the way of my desires.'
Tugging her firmly into his arms, he proceeded to make her forget everything but him. Including the fact that he'd never believed her father's innocence.
* * *
Marco attended the next two races, flying back each time from Spain, where Rafael was still in a coma. When she won in Japan he took the whole team to celebrate, after which he took Sasha to his penthouse for a private celebration of their own.
After a tricky, hair-raising start, Korea secured her yet another victory. But one look at Marco's taut expression when she emerged from the press conference told her there would be no team celebrations this time.
'Marco?'
'We're leaving. Now.'
He whisked her away from the Yeongam Circuit in his helicopter, his possessive fingers tense around hers all through the flight to a stunning beach house on the outskirts of Seoul City, where he proceeded to strip off her race suit and her underclothes.
'You know that by dragging me away like that in front of the team you've blown this thing between us wide open, don't you?' she asked, in the aftermath of another pulse-melting session in his bed.
His lovemaking had been especially intense, with an edge that had bordered on the frenzied. And, as much as she'd loved it, he'd left her struggling for breath, in danger of being swept away by the force of his passion.
He brushed a damp curl from her cheek and studied her face. 'Does it bother you?'
She gave the matter brief thought. 'There was speculation even before we were together. Paddock gossip can make the tabloid press look like amateurs.'
He pulled back slightly, his earlier tension returning. 'That doesn't answer my question.'
'They knew I was a good driver before I started sleeping with you. They just didn't want to acknowledge it because of who I am. I only care about what they think of me as a driver. What they think of me personally doesn't matter. It never has.'
'You're a fighter,' he said, his expression reflective.
'I've had to fight for what I've achieved.' She cast him a droll look. 'As you well know.'
When he didn't smile back, a cloud appeared on the horizon of her happy haze. 'It bothers you that I don't care what other people think about me?'
'Single-mindedness has its place.'
'I smell a but in there somewhere.'
His gaze because suspiciously neutral. 'Following a single dream is risky. When it's taken from you you'll have nothing.'
'When? Not if? Are you trying to tell me something?'
'Nothing lasts for ever.'
'You must be jet-lagged again, because you've gone all cryptic on me. I'm three races away from securing the Constructors' Championship for you. Unless I don't finish another single race, and our nearest rival wins every one, it's pretty much a done deal.'
He got out of bed and pulled on his boxer shorts. For a man who embraced nudity the way Marco did, the definitive action sent a shiver of unease down her spine.
'Done deals have a way of coming undone.'
Her anxiety escalated. 'Enough with the paradoxes. What's going on, Marco?'
Marco strode to the champagne chilling in a monogrammed silver bucket, filled up a glass and brought it back to her. Returning to the cabinet, he poured a whisky for himself and downed it in one go.
He slammed the glass down and spun towards her. 'Madre di Dios, you nearly crashed today!'
Her fingers tightened around the delicate stem of her glass as the full force of his smouldering temper hit her. Her car had stalled at the start of the race, leaving her struggling to retain pole position. Her rivals hadn't hesitated in trying to take advantage of the situation. She'd touched tyres with a couple of cars and nearly lost a front wing.
'I found myself in a slightly hairy situation. I dealt with it.' She glanced at him. 'Were you worried?'
'That my lover would end up in a mangled heap of metal just like my brother did mere weeks ago? What do you think?' he ground out.
She trembled at the harshness in his tone even while a secret part of her thrilled that he'd been worried about her. 'I know what I'm doing, Marco. I've been doing it almost all my life.'
He speared a hand into her hair, tilting her face up to his. 'Rafael knew what he was doing too. Look where he ended up. You can't do it for ever. You do realise that, don't you?'
The question threw her, for Sasha had been deliberately avoiding any thoughts of the future. Even the end of the racing season didn't bear thinking about. If by some sheer stroke of bad luck she lost the Constructors' Championship then she was out of a job.
If she won her professional future would be secured for another year. But what about her personal future?
The reality was that she'd fallen into Marco's bed expecting little more than a one-night stand. But with each day that passed she was being consumed by the magic she experienced there. With no thought to the future...
'Yes,' she finally whispered. 'I realise nothing lasts for ever.'
'Bueno,' he breathed, as if her answer had satisfied him.
He shucked his boxers in one smooth move. 'Are you going to drink that? Only, after watching you nearly crash, I feel an urgent need to re-affirm life with you again. Repeatedly.'
She passed him the glass and opened her arms.
It wasn't until their breaths were gasping out in the aftermath of soul-shattering orgasms that she tensed in disbelief.
'Marco!'
'What?' He raised his head, a swathe of hair falling seductively over one eye.
'We didn't... We forgot...' Frantically she calculated dates.
He let loose a single epithet. 'Dios. Please tell me you're on the Pill?' he rasped.
His voice was a choked sound that chilled her.
Reassured with the dates, she nodded, then noticed his pallor. 'Hey, it's okay. Even if the Pill doesn't work it's the wrong time of the month.'
'Are you sure?' he demanded.
Frowning, Sasha laid a hand on his cheek, which had grown cold and clammy. 'I'm sure. Relax.'
* * *
Marco eased away from Sasha, steeling himself against her throaty protest as he left the bed. Pulling on a robe, he went into his study. His laptop was set up on his desk, his folders neatly arranged by his assistant. He bypassed it, threw himself into the leather sofa and scrubbed a hand down his face.
He hadn't meant to lose it with Sasha like that earlier.
But seeing her come within a whisker of crashing had set him on a knife-edge of fear and rage he hadn't been able to completely dismiss. Now his loss of control had made him forget his one cardinal rule-contraception. Always.
He hadn't slipped once in ten years. Until tonight. Thank goodness Sasha was as against accidentally conceiving a child as he was...