His whole body froze, arrested by the image of a sweat-soaked Sasha, with sunshine glinting off her toned body.
Dios, this was getting ridiculous. He should not be feeling like this—especially not towards the woman who was the every epitome of Angelique: ruthlessly ambitious, uncaring of anything that got in her way. Sasha had nearly destroyed his brother the way Angelique had destroyed Marco’s desire ever to forge a lasting relationship.
And yet in Barcelona he’d found himself thinking of Sasha … admitting to himself that his sudden preoccupation with her had nothing to do with work. And everything to do with the woman herself. The attraction he’d felt in Budapest was still present … and escalating.
Which was totally unacceptable.
He took a deep breath and wrenched control back into his body. While his brother was lying in a coma, the only thing he needed to focus on was winning the Constructors’ Championship. And teaching Sasha Fleming a lesson.
He poured bold red Château Neuf into one glass and set it in front of her. ‘I’ve seen the testing reports. You’ll need to find another three-tenths of a second around Eau Rouge to give yourself a decent chance or you’ll leave yourself open to overtaking. Belgium is a tough circuit.’
She took a sip and his gaze slid to the feline-like curve of her neck. Clenching fingers that itched to touch, he sat down opposite
her.
‘The DSII will handle the corners better.’
His eyes flicked over her face, noting her calm. ‘You don’t seem nervous.’
Another laugh. A further tightening in his groin.
Madre di Dios. It had been a while since he’d indulged in good, old-fashioned, no-holds-barred sex. Sexual frustration had a habit of making the unsavoury tempting, but this … this yearning was insane.
Mentally, he scanned through his electronic black book and came up with several names. Just as fast he discarded every one of them, weariness at having to disentangle himself from expectation dampening his urge to revisit old ground.
Frustration built, adding another strand of displeasure to his already seething emotions.
‘Believe me, I get just as nervous as the next racer. But I don’t mind.’
‘Because winning is everything, no matter the cost?’ he bit out.
Her eyes darkened. ‘No. Because nerves serve a good purpose. They remind you you’re human; they sharpen your focus. I’d be terrified if I wasn’t nervous. But eighteen years of experience also helps. I’ve been doing this since I was seven years old. Having a supportive father who blatantly disregarded the fact that I wasn’t a boy helped with my confidence too.’
‘Not a lot of parents agree with their children racing. You were lucky.’
She smiled. ‘More like pushy. I threw a tantrum every time he threatened to leave me with my nanny. I won eventually. Although I get the feeling he was testing me to see how much I wanted it.’
‘And you passed with flying colours.’ He raised his glass to her. ‘Bravo.’
Unsettlingly perceptive blue eyes rested on him. ‘Oops, do I detect a certain cynicism there, Marco?’
He clenched his teeth as his control slipped another notch. ‘Has anyone told you it’s not nice to always go for the jugular?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Was that what I was doing? I thought we were having a get-to-know-each-other conversation. At least until you went a little weird on me.’
‘Perdón. Weird wasn’t what I was aiming for.’ He took a large gulp of his wine.
‘First an admission of a flaw. Now an apology. Wow—must be my lucky night. Are you feeling okay? Maybe it would help to talk about whatever it is that spooked you?’
Perhaps it was the mellowing effect of the wine. Perhaps it was the fact that he hadn’t had an engaging conversation like this in a while. Marco was surprised when he found himself laughing.
‘I have no memory of ever being spooked. But, just for curiosity’s sake, which hat will you be wearing for this little heart-to-heart? Diplomat or psychologist?’
Her gaze met his squarely. ‘How about friend?’ she asked.
His laughter dried up.
She wanted to be his friend.