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Panic escalating, she grasped the lifeline. ‘I wish my father had been there.’
Marco nodded. ‘He would’ve been proud of you.’
Surprise widened her eyes. ‘You knew my father?’
‘Of course. He was the greatest driver never to win a championship. I’ve seen every single race of his. Clearly you inherited his talent.’
The unexpected compliment made her feel even more tearful. She tried to move away but he caught her back easily, lowered his head and kissed his way along her arm. When she shivered, he shook out a cashmere throw and pulled it over them, one muscular leg imprisoning both of hers.
She was grateful for the cover—not least because the familiar feeling of humiliation had returned. ‘You know what happened to him, then?’
‘He bet on another car to win and deliberately crashed his car.’ The cold conviction in his voice sent an icy shiver down her spine, bleeding away the warmth she’d felt in his arms.
This time she moved away forcefully. Standing, she grabbed her kaftan and slid it over her head, even though it did little to cover her nakedness.
‘The allegations were false!’
Marco folded his arms behind his head. ‘Not according to the court that found him guilty.’
‘He never managed to disprove the claims. But I believed him. He would never have done that. He loved racing too much to crash deliberately for money.’
‘I was on the board that reviewed the footage, Sasha. The evidence was hard to refute.’
Shock and anger twisted in her gut. ‘You were one of those who decided he was guilty?’
He lowered his feet to the floor. ‘He didn’t do much to defend himself. It took him weeks to even acknowledge the charges.’
‘And that makes him automatically guilty? He was devastated! Yes, he should have responded to the allegations earlier, but the accusations broke his heart.’
Her voice choked as memories rushed to the fore. Her father broken, disgraced by the sport he’d devoted his life to. It had taken Sasha weeks to convince her father to fight to clear his name. And in those precious weeks his reputation in the eyes of the public had been sullied beyond repair. By the time Jack Fleming had taken the stand his integrity had been in tatters.
‘So he gave up? And let you carry the weight of his guilt?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Why did you promise him the championship?’
Sasha floundered, pain and loss ripping through her. ‘He started drinking heavily after the trial. The only time he stopped was when I had a shot at the Formula Two Championship. When I crashed and had to stay a while in hospital he started drinking again.’
‘You were in hospital? And the father you claim loved you unconditionally wasn’t there for you?’
Hazel eyes now devoid of passion taunted her.
Tears prickled her eyes but she refused to let them fall. In her darkest, most painful moments after losing her baby she’d asked herself the same question.
Blinking fiercely, she raised her chin. ‘Whatever point you’re trying to make, Marco, make it without being a total bastard.’
He sighed and ran a hand over his chin.
She stayed at the other end of the cabana, her arms curved around her middle.
‘Did you hire another lawyer to appeal?’
‘Of course we did. He... Dad died before the second trial.’
His gaze softened a touch. ‘How did he die?’
‘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.’
