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Marco stiffened. ‘Do you want to move to the hotel with the rest of the team?’
She thought about it. Then, ‘No. The crew and I seem to be gelling, but I don’t want to become overly familiar with them.’
Marco found himself breathing again. ‘Wise decision. Sometimes maintaining distance is the only way to get ahead.’
‘You obviously don’t practise that dogma. You’re always surrounded by an adoring crowd.’
‘X1 Premier Racing is a multi-million-spectator sport. I can’t exist in a vacuum.’
‘Okay. Um … do you think we can turn the light
s on in here? Only we seem to be making a habit of having conversations in the dark.’
‘Sometimes comfort can be found in darkness.’
Facing up to reality’s harsh light after his own crash ten years ago had made him wish he’d stayed unconscious. Angelique’s smug expression as she’d dropped her bombshell had certainly made him wish for the oblivion of darkness.
Sasha gave a light, musical laugh. The sound sent tingles of pleasure down his spine even as heat pooled in his groin. His eyes fell to her lips and Marco experienced the supreme urge to kiss her. Or to keep enjoying the sound of her laughter.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asked as she reached over his shoulder and flipped on the light switch.
‘I was thinking either you’re very hungry or you’re very tired, because you’ve gone all cryptic on me.’
He was hungry. And not just for food. A hunger—clawing and extremely ravenous—had taken hold inside him.
Pushing aside the need to examine it, he followed her as she headed towards the kitchen. The sight of her bare feet on the cool stones made his blood thrum faster as he studied her walk, the curve of her full, rounded bottom.
‘I could do with a snack myself. Do you want me to fix you something?’
Walking on the balls of her feet made the sway of her hips different, sexier. He tried to stop himself staring. He failed.
‘You cook?’ he asked past the strain in his throat.
‘Yep. Living on my own meant I had to learn, starve or live on takeaways. Starving was a bore, and Charlie would’ve had conniptions if he’d seen me within a mile of a takeaway joint. So I took an intensive cookery course two years ago.’
She folded her wrap and placed it on the counter, along with a small handbag. Only then did he see that her top was held up by the thinnest of straps.
Opening the fridge, she began to pull out ingredients. ‘Roast beef sandwich okay? Or if you want something hot I can make pasta carbonara?’ she asked over her shoulder.
Marco pulled up a seat at the counter, unable to take his eyes off her. ‘I’m fine with the sandwich.’
Her nod dislodged more silky hair from the knot on her head. ‘Okay.’ Long, luxurious tresses slipped down to caress her neck.
She moved around the kitchen, her movements quick, efficient. In less than five minutes she’d set a loaded plate and a bottle of mineral water before him. He took a bite, chewed.
‘This is really good.’
Her look of pleasure sent another bolt of heat through him.
He waited until she sat opposite him before taking another bite. ‘So, how long have you lived on your own?’
‘Since …’ She hesitated. ‘Since my father died four years ago.’
She looked away, but not before he caught shadows of pain within the blue depths.
‘And your mother? Is she not around?’
She shook her head and picked up her sandwich. ‘She died when I was ten. After that it was just Dad and me.’
