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He stood and pulled her up, caught her shoulders in a firm grip. ‘After what?’
‘Not after my poor track record.’
‘You mean what happened with your previous lover?’
She nodded reluctantly. ‘Derek proposed just before I broke up with him. I’d known for some time that it wasn’t working, but I convinced myself things would work out. When I declined his proposal a week later he accused me of leading him on. He said I was only refusing him because I wanted to sell myself to the highest bidder.’
Derek had repeated that assertion to every newspaper and team boss who would listen, and Sasha’s career had almost ended because of it. She pushed the painful memories away.
‘Rafael knew there was no way I’d get involved with him romantically.’
Marco’s grip tightened, his gaze scouring her face as if he wanted to dig out the truth. Sasha forced herself to remain still, even though the touch of his hands on her branded her—so hot she wanted to scream with the incredibly forceful sensation of it.
‘Do you know the last thing I said to him?’ he rasped.
Her heart aching for him, she shook her head.
‘I told him to stop messing around and grow up. That he was dishonouring our mother’s memory by treating life like his own personal playground.’ His eyelids veiled his gaze for several seconds and his jaw clenched, his emotions riding very near the surface. ‘If anything happens to him—’
‘It won’t.’
Without thought, she placed her hand on his arm. Hard muscles flexed beneath her fingers. His eyes returned to her face, then dropped to her mouth. Sharp sensation shot through her belly, making her breath catch.
Sasha felt an electric current of awareness zing up her arm—a deeper manifestation of the intense awareness she felt whenever he was near. Comfort, she assured herself. I’m offering him comfort. That’s all. This need to keep touching him was just a silly passing reaction.
‘He’ll wake up and he’ll get better. You’ll see.’
Face taut and eyes bleak, he slowly dropped his hands. ‘I have to go,’ he said.
She stepped back, her hands clenching into fists behind her back to conceal their trembling. ‘You’re returning to the hospital?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m going to Madrid.’
Her belly clenched with the acute sense of loss. ‘For how long?’ she asked lightly.
‘For however long it takes to reassure my father that his precious son isn’t dying.’
* * *
The state-of-the-art crash helmet was no match for the baking North Spanish sun. Sasha sat in the cockpit of the Espíritu DSI, the car that had won Rafael the championship the year before. Eyes shut, she retraced the outline of the Belgian race track, anticipation straining through her.
Sweat trickled down her neck, despite the chute pumping cold air into the car. When she’d mentally completed a full circuit she opened her eyes.
They burned from lack of sleep, and she blinked several times to clear them. She’d been up since before dawn, the start of her restless night having oddly coincided with the moment Marco’s helicopter had lifted off the helipad. For hours she’d lain tangled up in satin sheets, unable to dismiss the look on Marcus’s anguished face from her mind. Or the heat of his touch on her body.
Firming her lips, she forcibly cleared her mind.
She wrapped fireproof gloved hands around the wheel and pictured the Double S bends at Eau Rouge, and the exact breaking point at La Source. Keeping her breathing steady, she finally achieved the mental calm she needed to block out the background noise of the mechanics and the garage. She emptied every thought from her mind, the turmoil of the past few days reduced to a small blot. She welcomed the relief of not having to dwell on anything except the promise of the fast track in front of her.
Her eyes remained steady on the mechanic’s STOP/GO sign, her foot a whisper off the accelerator.
When the sign went up, she launched out of the garage onto the track. Adrenalin coursed through her veins as the powerful car vibrated beneath her. Braking into the first corner, she felt G-forces wrench her head to the left and smiled. This battle with the laws of physics lent an extra thrill as she flew along the track, the sense of freedom making her oblivious to the stress on her body as lap after lap whizzed by.
‘You’re being too hard on your tyres, Sasha.’
Luke’s voice piped into her earphones and she immediately adjusted the balance of the car, her grip loosening a touch to help manoeuvre the curves better.
‘That’s better. In race conditions you’ll need them to go for at least fifteen laps. You can’t afford to wear them out in just eight. It’s early days yet, but things look good.’
