‘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.’