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‘Yes. I don’t need to phone a friend and I don’t need to ask any audience. My final answer—go to hell!’
Sasha braced herself for more of the backlash he’d been doling out solidly for the last hour. But all he did was stare at her, his gaze once again leaving her feeling exposed, as if he’d stripped back a layer of her skin.
He nodded once. Then he paced the room, seemingly lost for words. Finally he raked both hands through his hair, ruffling it until the silky strands looked unkempt in a sexy, just-got-out-of-bed look that she couldn’t help but stare at.
Puzzled by his attitude, she forced her gaze away and tried to hang on to her anger. She didn’t deserve this. All she’d tried to be was a friend to Rafael, a team mate who’d seemed to be battling demons of his own.
After her experience with Derek, and the devastating pain of losing the baby she hadn’t known she was carrying until it was too late, she’d vowed never to mix business with pleasure. Derek’s jealousy as she’d risen through the ranks of the racing world had eroded any feelings she’d had for him until there’d been nothing left.
As if sensing her withdrawal, he’d tried to hang on to her with a last-ditch proposal. When she’d turned him down he’d labelled her a bitch and started a whispering campaign against her that had undermined all her years of hard work.
Thankfully Derek had never found out the one thing he could have used against her. The one thing that could have shattered her very existence. The secret memory of her lost baby was buried deep inside, where no one could touch it or use it as a weapon against her.
Even her father hadn’t known, and after living through his pain and humiliation she’d vowed never to let her personal life interfere with her work ever again.
Rafael’s easy smile and wildly charming ways had got under her guard, making her reveal a few careful details about her past to him. His friendship had been a balm to the lonely existence she’d lived as Jack Fleming’s daughter.
The thought that Marco had poisoned him against her filled her with sadness.
‘You know, I thought it was Rafael who told you about my past. But it was the other way round, wasn’t it?’ she asked.
She waited for his answer, but his gaze was fixed on the view outside, on the picturesque towers of the Royal Castle. A stillness surrounded him that caught and held her attention.
‘For as long as I can remember I’ve been bailing Rafael out of one scrape or another.’
The words—low, intense and unexpected—jolted aside her anger.
‘He’s insanely passionate about every single aspect of his life, be it food, driving or volcano-boarding down the side of some godforsaken peak in Nicaragua,’ he continued. ‘Unfortunately the perils of this world seem to dog him. When he was eleven, he discovered mushrooms growing in a field at our vineyard in León and decided to eat them. His stomach had to be pumped or he’d have died. Two years later, he slipped away from his boarding school to run with the bulls at Pamplona. He was gored in the arm. Save for a very substantial donation to t
he school, and my personal guarantee of his reformation, he would’ve been thrown out immediately.’
His gaze focused on her. ‘I can list another dozen episodes that would raise your hair.’
‘He’s a risk-taker,’ Sasha murmured, wondering where the conversation was headed but deciding to go with it. ‘He has to be as a racing driver; surely you understand that?’ she argued. ‘Didn’t you scale Everest on your own five years ago, after everyone in your team turned back because of a blizzard? In my book that’s Class A recklessness.’
‘I knew what I was doing.’
‘Oh, okay. How about continuing over half the London-Dakar rally with a broken arm?’
His clear surprise made her lips twist. ‘How—?’
‘Told you I had nerd-tastic info on you. You own the most successful motor racing team in the history of the sport. I want to drive for you. I’ve done my homework.’
‘Very impressive, but risk-taking on the track is expected—within reason. But even before Rafael ever got behind the wheel of a race car he was … highly strung.’
‘If he’s so highly strung that you have to manage him, then why do you let him race? Why own the team that places him in the very sport likely to jeopardise his well-being?’
His eyes darkened and he seemed to shut off. Watching him, Sasha was fascinated by the impenetrable mask that descended over his face.
‘Because racing is in our blood. It’s what we do. My father never got the chance to become a racer. I raced for him, but because I had the talent. So does Rafael. There was never any question that racing was our future. But it’s also my job to take care of my brother. To save him from himself. To make him see beyond his immediate desires.’
‘Have you thought that perhaps if you let him make his own mistakes instead of trying to manage his life he’ll wise up eventually?’
‘So far, no.’
‘He’s a grown man. When are you going to cut the apron strings?’
‘When he’s proved to me that he won’t kill himself without them.’
