Читать книгу The Price Of Desire - Сандра Мартон - Страница 8

THE moments before the crash played out almost in slow motion. Time paused, then stretched lethargically in the Sunday sun. And even though the cars were travelling at over two hundred and twenty kilometers an hour, there seemed an almost hypnotic, ballet-like symmetry in their movement.

Sasha Fleming stared, frozen, her heart suspended mid-beat, terrified to complete its task as Rafael’s front wing clipped the rear tyre of the slower back marker. Hundreds of thousands of pounds’ worth of carbon fibre bent backwards, twisted in on itself. Ripped metal tore through the left tyre, wrenching the car into a ninety-degree turn.

The world-renowned racing car launched itself into the air. For several brief seconds it looked more like a futuristic aircraft than an asphalt-hugging machine.

Inevitably, gravity won out. The explosion was deafening as sound erupted all around her. The screech of contorting metal rang through her head, amplified by the super-sized loudspeakers all around her. In the next instant the white concrete wall just after the Turn One hairpin bend was streaked with the iconic racing green paint of Rafael’s car.

‘He’s crashed! He’s crashed! The pole sitter and current world champion, Rafael de Cervantes, has crashed his Espiritu DSII. Only this morning the papers said this car was uncrashable. How wrong were they?’

Sasha ripped off her headphones, unable to stomach the frenzied glee in the commentator’s voice or the huge roar that rose around the Hungaroring circuit.

Her heart, now making up for its sluggishness, was beating so hard and so fast it threatened to break through her ribcage. Her eyes remained glued to the bank of screens on the pit wall, and she and two dozen pit crew members watched the horrific events unfold.

‘Turn up the sound,’ someone yelled.

Curbing a wild need to negate that command, she clamped her lips together, arms folded tight around her middle. Memories of another time, another crash, played alongside the carnage unfolding on the screen. Unable to stem it, she let the memories of the event that had changed her for ever filter through to play alongside this appalling spectacle.

‘Sometimes the only way to get through pain is to immerse yourself in it. Let it eat you alive. It’ll spit you out eventually.’

How many times had her father told her that? When she’d broken her ankle learning to ride her bike. When she’d fractured her arm falling out of a tree. When she’d lost her mum when she was ten. When she’d suffered the desperate consequences of falling for the wrong guy.

She’d got through them all. Well … almost.

The secret loss she’d buried deep in her heart would always be with her. As would the loss of her father.

The commentator’s voice scythed through her thoughts. ‘There’s no movement from the car. The race has been red-flagged and the safety car is on its way. So is the ambulance. But so far we haven’t seen Rafael move. His engineer will be frantically trying to speak to him, no doubt. I must say, though, it’s not looking good …’

Sasha forced in a breath, her fingers moving convulsively to loosen the Velcro securing her constricting race suit. A shudder raked her frame, followed closely by another. She tried to swallow but she couldn’t get her throat to work.

Alongside the thoughts zipping through her head, her last conversation with Rafael filtered through.

He’d been so angry with her. And the accusations he’d flung at her when she’d only been trying to help …

Ice clutched her soul. Was this her fault? Had she played a part in this carnage?

‘The ambulance is there now. And there’s Rafael’s brother, Marco, the owner of Team Espiritu. He’s on his way to the crash site … hopefully we’ll get a progress report soon.’

Marco. Another fist of shock punched through her flailing senses. She hadn’t even been aware he’d finally arrived in Hungary. In her two years as reserve driver for Team Espiritu, Marco de Cervantes hadn’t missed a single race—until this weekend.

The whole paddock had been abuzz with his absence, the celebrities and royalty who jetted in from all over the world specifically to experience the de Cervantes lifestyle, visibly disappointed. From Rafael’s terse response when she’d asked of his brother’s whereabouts, Sasha had concluded the brothers had fallen out.

Her heart twisted tighter in her chest at the thought that Marco had finally arrived only to witness his brother’s crash.

A daring cameraman broke through the flanking bodyguards and caught up with Marco. Tight-jawed, his olive skin showing only the barest hint of paleness, he kept his gaze fixed ahead, his set expression not revealing the slightest hint of his emotional state as he strode towards the courtesy car waiting a few feet away.

Just before he got into the car he turned his head. Deep hazel eyes stared straight into the camera.

Sasha’s breath stilled. Icy dread flooded her veins at the banked fury in their depths. His features were pinched, his mouth a taut line, the lines bracketing his mouth deep and austere. Everything about him indicated he was reining in tight emotion. Not surprising, given the circumstances.

But, eerily, Sasha knew his emotion extended beyond the events unfolding now. Whatever emotion Marco was holding in, it went far beyond his reaction to his brother’s horrific accident.

Another shiver raked through her. She turned away from the screen, searching blindly for an escape. The back of the garage where the tyres were stacked offered a temporary sanctuary.

She’d taken one single step towards the opening when her heart sank. Tom Brooks, her personal press officer, broke away from the crew and made a beeline for her.

‘We need to prep for an interview,’ he clipped out, fingers flying over his iPad.

Nausea rose to join all the other sensations percolating inside her. ‘Already? We don’t even know how Rafael is.’ Or even if he was still alive.

‘Exactly. The eyes of the world will be on this team. Now’s not the time to bungle our way through another disastrous soundbite,’ he said unsympathetically.

Sasha bit her lip. Her heated denial of a relationship with Rafael only a week ago had fuelled media speculation, and brought unwanted focus on the team.

‘Surely it’s better to be well informed before the interview than to go on air half-cocked?’

His face darkened. ‘Do you want to be a reserve driver for ever?’

Sasha frowned. ‘Of course not—’

‘Good, because I don’t want to play press officer to a reserve driver for the rest of my career. You want to be one of the boys? Here’s your chance to prove it.’

A wave of anger rose inside her. ‘I don’t need to be heartless to prove myself, Tom.’

‘Oh, but you do. Do you think any of the other drivers would hesitate at the chance that’s been presented?’

‘What chance? We don’t even know how Rafael is doing yet!’

‘Well, you can sit on your hands until the moment’s snatched from you. The handful of female X1 Premier Racing drivers who’ve gone before you barely made an impact. You can choose to become a meaningless statistic, or you can put yourself in the driver’s seat—literally—and lay the paddock rumours to rest.’

She didn’t need to ask what he meant. A wave of pain rolled through her. Pushing it back, she straightened her shoulders. ‘I don’t care about rumours. I’m a good driver—’

‘You’re also Jack Fleming’s daughter and Derek Mahoney’s ex. If you want to be taken seriously you need to step out of their shadows. Do the interview. Stake your claim.’

As his fingers resumed their busy course over his iPad, unease rose inside Sasha. As much as she disliked Tom’s acerbic attitude, a part of her knew he was right. The move from reserve to full-time driver for Team Espiritu was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity she couldn’t afford to squander—not if she wanted to achieve her goals.

‘I have a reporter ready to meet—’

‘No.’ Her gaze flicked to the screen and her resolve strengthened. ‘I won’t give an interview until I hear how Rafael is.’

Two ambulances and three fire engines now surrounded the mangled car. Sparks flew as the fire crew cut away the chassis.

Marco de Cervantes stood scant feet away, ignoring everyone, his impressive physique firmly planted, hands balled into fists, his unwavering gaze fixed on his brother’s still form. Sasha’s heart squeezed tighter.

Please be alive, Rafael. Don’t you dare die on me …

Tom’s stern look mellowed slightly as he followed her gaze. ‘I’ll prepare something while we wait. Find a quiet place. Get yourself together.’ He glanced around, made sure he wasn’t overheard and leaned in closer. ‘This is the chance you’ve been waiting for, Sasha. Don’t blow it.’

Marco de Cervantes stepped into the private hospital room in Budapest, sick dread churning through his stomach. He clenched his fists to stop the shaking in his hands and forced himself to walk to his brother’s bedside. With each step the accident replayed in his mind’s eye, a vivid, gruesome nightmare that wouldn’t stop. There’d been so much blood at the crash site … so much blood …

His chest tightened as he saw the white sheet pulled over his brother’s chest.

Absently, he made a note to have the staff replace the sheets with another colour—green, perhaps, Rafael’s favourite colour. White hospital sheets looked … smelled … too much like death.

Rafael wasn’t dead. And if Marco had anything to do with it this would be his last senseless brush with death. Enough was enough.

He drew level with the bed and stared down into his brother’s pale, still face. At the tube inserted into his mouth to help him breathe.

Enough was enough.

Marco’s throat closed up. He’d chosen to give Rafael time to come to his senses instead of forcing him to listen to reason. And by doing so he’d allowed his brother to take the wheel behind the world’s most powerful car while still reeling from emotional rejection.

Unlike him, his brother had never been able to compartmentalise his life, to suppress superfluous emotions that led to unnecessarily clouded judgement. Rafael coalesced happiness, sadness, triumph and loss into one hot, sticky mess. Add the lethal mix of a seven hundred and fifty horsepower racing car, and once again he was left picking up the pieces.

His breath shuddered. Reaching out, he took Rafael’s unmoving hand, leaned down until his lips hovered an inch from his brother’s ear.

‘You live—you hear me? I swear on all things holy, if you die on me I’ll track you to hell and kick your ass,’ he grated out, then swallowed the thickness in his throat. ‘And I know you’ll be in hell, because you sure as heck won’t get into heaven with those looks.’

His voice caught and he forced back his tears.

Rafael’s hand remained immobile, barely warm. Marco held on tighter, desperately infusing his brother with his own life force, desperately trying to block out the doctor’s words … his brain is swelling … there’s internal bleeding … nothing to do but wait …

With a stifled curse, he whirled away from the bed. The window of the ultra-private, ultra-exclusive, state-of-the-art hospital looked out onto a serene courtyard, with discreet fountains and carefully clipped flowers meant to soothe the troubled patient. Beyond the grounds, forests stretched as far as the eye could see.

Marco found no solace in the picturesque view. He found even less to smile about when his eyes lit on the paparazzi waiting beyond the hospital’s boundaries, powerful lenses trained, ready to pounce.

Shoving a hand through his hair, he turned back to the bed.

A flash of green caught the corner of his eye. He focused on the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall and watched Rafael’s accident replayed again in slow motion.

Bile rose to his throat. Reaching blindly for the remote, he aimed it at the screen—only to stop when another picture shifted into focus.

Anger escalated through him. Five minutes later he stabbed the ‘off’ button and calmly replaced the control.

Returning to Rafael’s bedside, his sank onto the side of the bed. ‘I know you’d probably argue with me, mi hermano, but you’ve had a lucky escape. In more ways than one.’

Jaw clenching, he thanked heaven his brother hadn’t heard the interview just played on TV. Marco had first-hand knowledge of what people would sacrifice in their quest for fame and power, and the look of naked ambition in Sasha Fleming’s eyes made his chest burn with fury and his skin crawl.

His fist tightened on the bed next to his brother’s unmoving body.

If she wanted a taste of power he would give it to her. Let her acquire a taste for it the way she’d given Rafael a taste of herself.

Then, just as she’d callously shoved Rafael aside, Marco would take utter satisfaction in wrenching away everything she’d ever dreamed of.

‘Excuse me, can you tell me which room Rafael de Cervantes is in?’ Sasha infused her voice with as much authority as possible, despite the glaring knowledge that she wasn’t supposed to be here.

The nurse dressed in a crisp white uniform looked up. The crease already forming on her brow caused Sasha’s heart to sink.

‘Are you a member of the family?’

‘No, but I wanted to see how he was. He was … is my team mate.’ The moment the words left her lips she winced. Way to go, Sasha.

True to form, the nurse’s frown dissolved as realisation dawned. ‘His team mate …? You’re Sasha Fleming!’

Sasha summoned her practised camera smile—the one that held the right amount of interest without screaming look at me, and lifted the oversized sunglasses. ‘Yes,’ she murmured.

‘My nephew loves you!’ The nurse gushed. ‘He pretends not to, but I know he thinks you rock. Every time he sees you during Friday Practice his face lights up. He’ll be thrilled when I tell him I met you.’

The tension clamping Sasha’s nape eased a little. ‘Thanks. So can I see Rafael?’ she asked again. When the frown threatened to make a comeback, Sasha rushed on. ‘I’ll only be a moment, I promise.’

‘I’m sorry, Miss Fleming. You’re not on my list of approved visitors.’

Steeling herself against the nerves dragging through her, Sasha cleared her throat. ‘Is Marco de Cervantes here? Maybe I can ask him?’

She pushed the mental picture of Marco’s cold, unforgiving features to the back of her mind. She was here for Rafael. Surely, as his team mate, his brother wouldn’t bar her from seeing him?

‘No, he left half an hour ago.’

Shock slammed into her. ‘He left?’

The nurse nodded. ‘He didn’t seem too happy, but considering the circumstances I guess it’s to be expected.’

For a moment Sasha debated asking if the nurse would make an exception. Break the rules for her. But she dismissed it. Breaking her own rules, getting friendly with Rafael, was probably the reason he’d ended up in this situation. She refused to exacerbate it.

Plucking her sunglasses off her head, she slid them down to cover her eyes. In her jeans and long-sleeved cotton top, with a multi-coloured cheesecloth satchel slung across her body, she looked like every other summer tourist in the city. Her disguise had helped her evade the paparazzi on her way in. She prayed it would hold up on her way out.

With a heavy heart she turned towards the elevator doors, which stood open as if to usher her away from here as fast as possible.

‘Wait.’ The nurse beckoned with a quick hand movement and leaned forward as Sasha approached the desk. ‘Maybe I can sneak you in for a few minutes,’ she whispered.

Relief washed over Sasha. ‘Oh, thank you so much!’

‘If you don’t mind signing an autograph for my nephew?’

A tinge of guilt arrowed through her, but the need to see Rafael overcame the feeling. With a grateful smile, Sasha took the proffered pen.

‘What the hell are you doing in here?’

Sasha spun round at the harsh voice, and gasped at the dark figure framed in the doorway. A few minutes, the nurse had said. A quick glance at her watch confirmed her sickening suspicion. She’d been here almost an hour!

‘I asked you a question.’

‘I came to see Rafael. There was no one here—’

‘So you thought you’d just sneak in?’

‘Hardly! The nurse—’ Sasha gulped back her words, realising she could be putting the nurse’s job in jeopardy.

‘The nurse what?’

Marco advanced into the room, his formidable presence shrinking the space. She scrambled to her feet, but she still had to tilt her head to see his face.

His cold-as-steel expression dried her mouth further.

She shook her head. ‘I just wanted to see how he was.’ She stopped speaking as he drew level with her, his hard eyes boring into her.

‘How long have you been here?’

She risked another glance at her watch and cringed inwardly. Dared she tell him the truth or blag her way through? ‘Does it really matter?’

‘How long?’ he gritted, his gaze sliding over his brother as if assessing any further damage.

‘Why are you checking him over like that? Do you think I’ve harmed him in some way?’ she challenged.

Hazel eyes slammed back to her. His contempt was evident as his gaze raked her face. ‘I don’t think! I know you’ve already harmed my brother.’

His tone was so scathing Sasha was surprised her flesh wasn’t falling from her skin.

‘Rafael told you about our fight?’

‘Yes, he did. I can only conclude that your presence here is another media stunt, not out of concern for my brother?’

‘Of course it isn’t!’

‘Is that why the media presence at the hospital gates has doubled in the last hour?’

Her gaze drifted to the window. The blinds were drawn against the late-afternoon sun, but not closed completely. She’d taken a step to look for herself when steely fingers closed on her wrist. Heat shot up her arm, the reaction so unfamiliar she froze.

‘If you think I’m going to let you use my brother to further your own ends, you’re sorely mistaken.’

Alarmed, she stared up at him. ‘Why would you think I’d do that?’

A mirthless smile bared his teeth, displaying a look so frightening she shivered.

‘That press conference you gave? About how much you cared for him? How your thoughts were with him and his family? About how you’re willing to step into his shoes as soon as possible so you don’t let the team down? What were your exact words? “I’ve earned the chance at a full-time seat. I’ve proven that I have what it takes.”‘

Sasha swallowed, unable to look away from the chilling but oddly hypnotic pull of his gaze. ‘I … I shouldn’t have….’ The echo of unease she’d felt before and during the interview returned. ‘I didn’t mean it like that—’

‘How did you mean it, then? How exactly have you, a mere reserve driver, earned your place on the team? Why do you deserve Rafael’s seat and not one of the other dozen top drivers out there?’

‘Because it’s my time! I deserve the chance.’ She wrenched at her captured arm. His hand tightened, sending another bolt of heat through her body.

Straight black brows clamped together. His arresting features were seriously eroding her thought processes. Even livid to the point where she could imagine heat striations coming off his body he oozed enough sex appeal to make her finally understand why his bodyguards were forever turning away paddock groupies from his luxury hospitality suite. Rumour had it that one particularly eager groupie had scaled the mobile suite and slipped into his bedroom via the skylight.

‘Your time? Why?’ he challenged again, stepping closer, invading her body space and her ability to breathe. ‘What’s so special about you, Sasha Fleming?’

‘I didn’t say I was special.’

‘That’s not what I got from the press junket. In fact I deduced something along the lines that the team would be making a huge mistake if you weren’t given Rafael’s seat. Was there even the veiled threat of a lawsuit thrown in there?’

The thought that this might be her only chance to find a decent seat had resonated in the back of her mind even as she’d felt sickened at the thought of how wrong the timing was.

‘Nothing to say?’ came the soft taunt.

She finally managed to wrench her wrist from his grasp and stepped back. ‘Mr de Cervantes, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss this.’

Her glance slid to Rafael, her throat closing in distress at the tubes and the horrid beeping of the machines keeping him alive.

Marco followed her gaze and froze, as if just realising where he was. When his gaze sliced back to hers she glimpsed a well of anguish within the hazel depths and felt something soften inside her. Marco de Cervantes, despite his chilling words and seriously imposing presence, was hurting. The fear of the unknown, of wondering if the precious life of someone you held dear would pull through was one she was agonisingly familiar with.

Any thought of her job flew out of her head as she watched him wrestle with his pain. The urge to comfort, one human being to another, momentarily overcame her instinct for self-preservation.

‘Rafael is strong. He’s a fighter. He’ll pull through,’ she murmured softly.

Slowly he pulled in a breath, and any hint of pain disappeared. His upper lip curled in a mocking sneer. ‘Your concern is touching, Miss Fleming. But cut the crap. There are no cameras here. No microphones to lap up your false platitudes. Unless you’ve got one hidden on your person?’ His eyes slid down her body, narrowing as they searched. ‘Will I go on the internet tomorrow and see footage of my brother in his sick bed all over it?’

‘That’s a tasteless and disgusting thing to say!’ Spinning away, she rushed to the leather sofa in the suite and picked up her satchel. Clearly it was time to make herself scarce.

Careful not to come within touching distance of Marco de Cervantes, she edged towards the door.

‘Any more tasteless than you vying for his seat even before you knew for certain whether he was alive or dead?’ came the biting query.

Sasha winced. ‘I agree. It wasn’t the perfect time to do an interview.’

A hint of surprise lightened his eyes, but his lips firmed a second later. ‘But you did it anyway.’

Blaming Tom would have been easy. And the coward’s way out. The truth was, she wanted to be lead driver.

‘I thought I was acting in the best interests of the team. And, yes, I was also putting myself forward as the most viable option. But the timing was wrong. For that, I apologise.’

That grim smile made another appearance. Her body shuddered with alarm. Even before he spoke Sasha had the strongest premonition that she wasn’t going to like the words that spilled from his lips.

‘You should’ve taken more time to think, Miss Fleming. Because, as team owner, I ultimately decide what’s in the best interests of Team Espiritu. Not you.’

He sauntered to his brother’s bedside and stood looking down at him.

Sasha glanced between the two men. This close, the resemblance between them was striking. Yet they couldn’t have been more different. Where Rafael was wild and gregarious, his brother smouldered and rumbled like the deepest, darkest underbelly of a dormant volcano. The fear that he could erupt at any moment was a very real and credible threat. One that made her throat dry and her heart race.

Finally he turned to face her. Trepidation iced its way to her toes.

‘My decision and mine alone carries. Your timing wasn’t just wrong. It was detestable.’ His voice could have frozen water in the Sahara. ‘It also makes my decision incredibly easy.’

Her heart stopped. ‘Wh—what decision?’

‘Relieving you of your job, of course.’ The smile widened. ‘Congratulations. You’re fired.’