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‘Will there be any actual racing?’ she asked.
He caught the wariness in her tone and suppressed another smile. Like it or not, Raven Blass was worried about him.
Just like Marco. Just like Sasha... Just like his father. He had no right to that level of concern from them. From anyone.
The tiny fizz of pleasure disappeared.
‘There won’t be any actual racing until we get to Monza in two weeks’ time.’ His brisk tone made her eyes widen. Rafael didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. ‘Racing is my life, Raven. I haven’t decided whether or not I’ll ever get behind another steering wheel but that decision will be mine to make and mine alone. So stop the mental hand-wringing and concentrate on making me fit again, sí?’
The large, luxurious private jet banked left and Raven felt her heart lurch with it. Below them, the dazzling vista of the Côte d’Azure glittered in the late winter sunshine. With little over a month before the racing season started, the drivers would be in various stages of pre-season tests in Barcelona. Which was where Rafael would’ve been had he not had his accident.
At nearly thirty-one, he’d been in his prime as a racing driver and had commanded respect and admiration all over the world. He still did if the million plus followers he commanded on social media and adoring fans from the racing paddock were anything to go by. But Raven hadn’t considered how he must be feeling to be out of the racing circuit for the coming year. And what it would do to him if he could never race again.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make this any harder for you than it already is,’ she murmured.
She braced herself for his usual innuendo-laden comeback.
‘Gracias,’ was all he came out with instead. ‘I appreciate that.’
Before she could respond, a stewardess emerged from behind a curtain to announce they would be landing in minutes.
‘Time for the crazy circus to begin. You ready?’ He raised a brow at her.
‘Sure. After living with you for five weeks, Rafael, I think I’m ready for anything.’
His deep laugh tugged at a place inside her she’d carefully hidden but he seemed to lay bare with very little effort.
‘Let’s hope you don’t end up eating those words, querida.’
‘I probably will, but...promise me one thing?’
He stilled and his eyes gleamed dangerously at her from across the marble-topped table between them. Finally he nodded.
‘Promise me you’ll let me know if it all gets too much. No glib or gloss. I can’t do my job properly if you don’t tell me what’s going on.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘This job, it’s that important to you?’
‘Yes, it is. I...I’m here to make amends. I can’t ever take back what I said to you, and you don’t remember if what I said played a part in your accident. Your recovery is important to me, yes.’
‘Hasn’t anyone told you being in a hurry to fall on your sword is an invitation to a shameless opportunist like me?’
‘Rafael—’
He made a dismissive gesture. ‘You won’t need me to report my well-being to you, querida. You’ll be with me twenty-four seven.’
The plane, lending perfect punctuation to his words, chose that moment to touch down. Rafael was up and heading towards the doors before the jet was fully stationary.
Jumping up, she hurried after him.
And realised—once a thousand flashlights exploded in her face on exit—that he hadn’t been joking when he’d referred to the circus.
* * *
Monaco in late winter was just as glorious as it was during the summer race weekend but with an added bonus of considerably fewer people. But for the paparazzi dogging their every move, Raven could’ve convinced herself she was on holiday.
After a series of introductions and short but numerous meetings, they were finally driven higher and higher into the mountains above Monte Carlo. Glancing out at the spectacular view spread beneath them, her senses came alive at the beauty around her. It was different to the rugged gorgeousness of Rafael’s estate in León, but breathtaking nonetheless.
‘Don’t you usually stay at the Hôtel de France?’ She referred to the exquisite five-star hotel where all his meetings had taken place with the upper echelons of his X1 Premier Management team.
‘I prefer to stay there during the race season. But not this time.’
She wondered at the cryptic remark until they arrived at their destination. Wrought iron gates swung wide to reveal a jaw-droppingly stunning art deco villa. The design wasn’t unique to the French Riviera but several marked add-ons—large windows and a hint of steel and chrome here and there—made it stand out from the usual.
