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