His Ultimate Prize

Tears stung the backs of her eyes, her throat clogging with unspoken words. ‘Marco, please—can’t we talk about this?’

He gave a single, finite shake of his head. ‘I’m not interested in anything you have to say. I’m only grateful I never made you pregnant. I don’t think I could survive another child of mine being so viciously denied life for the sake of ruthless ambition.’

Her insides froze as his words cut across her skin.

With one last condemning look he headed towards the door.

Panic seized her. ‘Marco!’

He stilled but didn’t turn around, one hand on the doorknob.

‘What else did you come to say to me?’

The cold malice in his eyes when he turned around made her heart clench.

‘I sold the team six weeks ago. In Korea. The paperwork was finalised today. As of one hour ago your contract is null and void.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

SHE WAS PREGNANT with Marco’s child. Sasha had been certain of it almost as soon as Marco had walked out on her in São Paolo. Taking the pregnancy test once she’d returned home had only established what she’d known in her heart.

There was no doubt in her mind that she would tell him he was about to become a father. The only problem was when.

He’d made his feelings clear. Her own emotions were too raw for her to face another showdown with Marco. She doubted he would believe whatever she had to tell him anyway.

Gentle fingers stroked over her belly. The doctor had confirmed today that she was almost three months pregnant. Her fingers stilled. Angelique had terminated Marco’s child at three months. Sadness welled inside her as she recalled Marco’s face when he’d shown her his scan.

Making up her mind before she lost the courage, she dug out her phone. Her fingers shook as she pressed the numbers.

‘Sí?’ came the deep voice.

‘Marco, it’s me.’

Taut silence.

‘I know you don’t want to speak to me...but there’s something I need to tell you.’

‘I’m no longer in the motor racing business, so you’re wasting your time.’ The line went dead.

Sasha stared at the phone, anger and pain churning through her. ‘Ass.’

She threw the phone down, vowing to make Marco beg before she let him anywhere near his child.

* * *

Two days later Sasha was standing at her fridge stacking groceries when she heard the agonisingly familiar sound of helicopter rotorblades. The aircraft flew directly over her small cottage before landing in a field half a mile away.

Even though she forced herself to finish her task, every sense was attuned to the knock that came less than five minutes later.

Heart hammering, she opened her door to find Marco standing there, tall, dark and windswept.

‘You know you’ll have my neighbours dining out on your spectacular entrance for years, don’t you? What the hell are you doing here anyway? I recall you wanting nothing to do with me.’

Hazel eyes locked on hers, the look in them almost imploring. ‘Invite me in, Sasha.’

‘I don’t invite heartless bloodsuckers into my home. You can stay right where you are. Better yet, jump back into your vampire-mobile and leave.’

‘I’m not leaving until you hear what I have to say. I don’t care what your neighbours think, but I get the feeling you do. There’s a blue-haired one staring at us right now.’ Brazen, he waved at Mrs Miller, who shamelessly waved back and kept right on staring at them.

Firming her lips, Sasha stepped back and waved him in. ‘You think you’re very clever, don’t you?’

Expecting a quick comeback, she turned from shutting the door to find him staring at her, a tormented grimace on his face.

‘No, I don’t think I’m clever at all. In fact, right now, I’m the stupidest person I know.’

Her mouth dropped open.

His grimace deepened. ‘Yes, I know. Shocker.’

‘Marco...’ She stopped and finally did what she’d been dying to do since he knocked on her door. She let her eyes devour him. Let her heart delight in the sheer magnificent sight of him. He went straight to her head. Made her sway where she stood.

He stared right back at her, a plethora of emotions she was too afraid to name passing over his face. He opened his mouth a couple of times but, seemingly losing his nerve to speak, cast his gaze around her small living room, over the pictures and racing knick-knacks she and her father had accumulated over the years.

Finally he dug into his jacket pocket. ‘This is for you.’

Sasha took the papers. ‘What are these?’

‘Signed affidavits from two former drivers who swear your father wasn’t involved in the fraud. He was the fall guy.’