Deep hazel eyes pinned her where she stood. ‘You weren’t on the list of approved visitors. She knew this and disregarde
d 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 shrugged. ‘Like … well, like an ass.’
His eyes narrowed until they were mere icy slits. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Sorry. You asked.’