The Price Of Desire: The Price of Success / The Cost of Her Innocence / Not For Sale. JACQUELINE BAIRDЧитать онлайн книгу.
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