His Ultimate Prize

One corner of his mouth quirked. ‘Luckily, the women I know are kind enough to want to drop everything for me.’

She snorted. ‘Come off it. We both know kindness has nothing to do with it.’

As she’d seen first-hand at the awards ceremony, women would crawl over hot coals to be with Marco. And many more would do so regardless of his financial status or influence. With a body and face like his, he could be penniless and still attract women with a snap of his fingers. As for that lethal, rarely seen smile, and the way he kissed—

Her thoughts screeched to a halt as he stood and came towards her.

‘Maybe not,’ he conceded, with not a hint of arrogance in sight. ‘How was the shoot?’

The question wrenched her from her avid scrutiny of his body. ‘Aside from the free shoes, it was a pain in the ass,’ she replied.

‘Of course,’ he agreed gravely. Then without warning he reached out and plucked the pictures from her fingers. ‘Maybe you’ll even get around to wearing them instead of going barefoot or wearing those hideous boots—’

He stopped speaking as he stared at the pictures. Awareness crawled across her skin as he slowly thumbed through them, lingering over the one where she was draped over the bonnet of the not-yet-released prototype of his latest car, the Cervantes Triunfo. Eventually he returned to that one. And looked as if he’d stopped breathing.

‘Marco...’

She stretched out her hand to retrieve the pictures. He ignored her, his attention fixed on the picture, his skin drawn tight over the chiselled bones of his face.

‘Marco, I don’t want to keep you. I have plans of my own.’

His head snapped up. ‘What plans?’ he demanded, his tone rough and tight.

Sasha couldn’t think how to answer. Her whole mind was paralysed by the way his eyes blazed. Shaking her head, she tried to turn away. He grabbed her arm in a firm hold.

No! Too hot. Too irresistible. Too much.

‘Let me go,’ she murmured, her voice scraped raw with desire.

‘What plans?’ he gritted out.

‘Are you sure you want to know? You may not approve.’

His hand tightened on her arm, his eyes darkening into storm clouds that threatened thunder and lightning. ‘Then think carefully before you speak.’

She sighed. ‘Fine. You’ve busted me. I was going to beg your chef to make me that T-bone steak and salad he made for us yesterday, followed by chocolate caramel delight for dessert—I’ll think about the calories later. Afterwards I intend to have a sweltering foursome with Joel, LuAnn and Logan.’

The hand that had started to relax suddenly tightened, harder than before.

‘Excuse me?’ Marco bit out, his voice a thin blade of ice slicing across her skin.

Reaching into the handbag slung over her shoulder, she pulled out the boxed set of her favourite TV vampire show.

He released her and reached for it. After scrutinising it, he threw it down onto the sofa along with the pictures.

‘Take a piece of advice for free, pequeña. It’s a mistake to keep goading me. The consequences will be greater than you ever bargained for.’ His voice was soft. Deadly soft.

Sasha felt a shiver go through her. Most people mistakenly assumed partaking in one of the most dangerous sports in the world meant X1 Premier Racing drivers were fearless. Sasha wasn’t fearless. She had a healthy amount of fear and respect for her profession. She knew when to accelerate, when to pull back the throttle, when to pull over and abandon her car.

Right now the look on Marco’s face warned her she was skidding close to danger. She heeded the warning. Lashing out because of the maelstrom of emotions roiling inside her would most likely result in far worse consequences than she’d endured with Derek.

‘Understood. Let me go.’

Surprise at her easy capitulation lit his eyes. Abruptly he released her.

‘I need a shower. I guess you’ll be gone when I come out. Enjoy your evening.’

Shamelessly, she fled.

* * *

Marco watched her go, frustration and bewilderment fighting a messy battle inside him.

He prided himself on knowing and understanding women. After Angelique, his determination never to be caught out again had decreed it. Women liked to think they were complicated creatures, but when it came down to it their needs were basic, no matter how much they tried to hide it. Hell, some—like Angelique—even spelled it out.

‘I want fame, Marco. I want excitement! I can’t be with a man who’s a has-been.’

The memory slid in, reminding him why he now ensured the women he associated with knew there was no rosy future in store for them and had no surprises waiting to trap him.

A reality devoid of surprises suited him just fine.