“I’m fine.” Ronan turned his head back to the pier where the gaggle of journalists had dispersed.
“Oh, The press.” She was definitely back in his crazy world, the one where they were on stage all the time.
The Skype chats with him, though frequent, had retained a sheen of the intangible. But here he was solidly physical, and the freezing water had awakened her body and her mind from the haze she’d drifted into while in London. Woken her—to him. To who he really was. A man who cared about others. About her.
. He pulled her in tightly to his side. Within seconds they heard the drone of a motorboat approaching.
“Tonio,” called Piero, lifting his oar in greeting to his nephew. Tonio was a younger version of Piero except his shock of hair was black instead of gray.
“Thank Christ,” muttered Ronan, standing up. She jumped up, too, and tried to control her shivering as they jumped from the gondola into the much bigger—and warmer—interior of the motorboat. The resourceful nephew had brought soup in a Thermos, an assortment of towels, and a heap of dry clothes. He waved at them to make themselves comfortable and started the engine. Ronan handed a wad of Euros to Piero and shook his hand before dashing inside to the warmth.
“What did you say to him?” she asked, handing him a large towel.
“Oh, just that you’re crazy and that you threw me in the water.”
“Come on, let’s get off these wet things or we will get hyperthermia. I feel guilty already about risking your health here.”
“And so you should.”
She’d got him joking again, but his expression remained tense the whole way back to the pier where they were to get off. Even changing into the ersatz clothing Tonio had provided didn’t bring on a fit of laughter from him like it normally would. He looked comical in jeans that were too wide and too short. Luckily she could take her own clothes from her luggage. She chose the warmest things she’d packed—jeans and a sweater. She teased him about his new Italian look, but all it induced from him, as they crossed the picturesque Rialto Market square, was a terse, “We’re a fine pair to be walking into the Ca’ Sagredo Hotel.”
Chapter 12
As it turned out, the staff at the Ca’ Sagredo Hotel didn’t bat an eyelid, as if guests in ill-fitting clothing with damp, canal-scented hair were only to be expected. This inscrutability simply compounded the magic of the truly high-end hotel experience. It certainly had its advantages. Ronan ordered room service; she was ravenous. Eating five-star food might just curb her longing for a nice, warming, double shot of bourbon. And then he ran the tub, and the vanilla of the bubble bath wafted like an elixir into her sinuses.
“We smell gross,” she said.
“No kidding.” Ronan turned the taps to full blast and straightened. “We smell like Supernova.”
She smiled, stripping off the jeans, with nothing on underneath. That got his immediate attention. “Not sure I can let you go long enough to have a bath,” he murmured, advancing in two quick steps.
She pushed against his chest playfully. “You can wash my hair if you’d like.”
Ronan smiled back but then sat down on the bed saying, “No, you go ahead. I’ll stay out here in case room service arrives.”
Room service wouldn’t arrive for at least another ten minutes at the quickest. She spied his outline through the translucent glass door of the bathroom, sitting motionless on the bed where she’d left him. He wasn’t himself. Something was bugging him, and she was going to find out what it was—after his shower and his food. Maybe it was just the jet lag. Or the losses in Asia.
Thirty minutes later she sat opposite him, wrapped in a sumptuous, white terrycloth dressing gown.
“You okay?”
Ronan, hair still wet from his shower, looked up from his barbecued ribs. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Glad to be back in Europe?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Are you kidding? I couldn’t wait to get back.” He gestured with the bone in his hand. “To you, to this kind of food, to a week off from the grind, to everything.”
“You seemed happier before.”
“No, you’re wrong.” Ronan put down the bone on his plate, and picked at it with a knife. “Winning Japan—” he shook his head “—was incredible. But the Malaysia and China races killed me. Mechanical issues, as you’ve probably heard. I didn’t even make it to the podium.”
“You’ll catch up.”
“Maddux and Supernova are pulling away. I can feel it.”
“I know your second two races were a bummer, but you have to be happy with how your teammate did.”
“Yeah, Mitchell’s saving our team right now, but Bates … oh, how I’d love to kick his ass all over his own turf.”
She smiled. “I’d like to see that.”
Ronan fisted his hand around his knife. “I just have to manage to not screw it up in Texas and then Hockenheim. Two races; that’s it.”
“You won’t screw it up, Ronan.”
“I know. I can’t. I can’t let anything distract me.”
“Like?”
Wait. Was he talking about her? Her heart lurched. “Is this the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech?” she asked, struggling to keep her tone even. She swallowed, hard, reaching for her water.
“What? No, no, nothing like that.”
“Then what? Seriously, Ronan, spill. I’m getting worried here.”
Something—annoyance, anxiety—crossed his face, drawing his cheek muscles inward. “Remember that news article about my father? ”
“Getting out of prison, yes.”
“Well, his release isn’t far away now.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Well, I mean, they’re letting him out, but he’s not coming to live with you or anything.”
“It’s enough that he’s in the news. It’s going to hit me, too. Big time.”
“Can’t you just ignore it?”
“No.”
“But—”
“No, Cass. I’m his son, goddamn it. They won’t let me forget him.”
“They? The press?”
He nodded.
She’d seen one or two mentions of Harry Hawes in the British press while staying at Dad’s apartment, but she thought the coverage from Asia would have obliterated all interest in his father’s misdeeds. Apparently Ronan didn’t think so.
“What’s the best way to play it?” she asked.
“I’m not playing it any way,” he growled. “He can go to hell as far as I’m concerned.”
She opened her mouth to reply but he held up his hand. “I can’t discuss this.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Won’t. Not here. Not now. Not ever. Sorry.”
She let his words hang there as they finished their meal. She’d touched a nerve, an incredibly raw nerve, just like he’d touched several of hers these past few weeks they’d known each other. Experience with her own personal anguish made it tempting to just leave well enough alone, to let him deal with it on his own terms in his own time. And yet, it was eating away at him now. He wasn’t someone who could hide what was going on underneath. And she found herself wanting to know what was going on underneath.
Fuck it. I’m going to try again.
“Will you see him when he gets out?” she asked, stirring her tea as if they’d just moved onto a completely new topic.
Ronan raised his eyes. His stormy expression rooted her to her seat, but she held his gaze firmly.
“You could just go there, pick him up, and deposit him in some hotel somewhere. I’d come with you if you’d want.”
His look was one of pure astonishment now. Not the good kind. Before he could explode, she added, “Yes, I know it’ll be bad timing just before Hockenheim, and you certainly don’t need the distraction, but maybe not doing it could be even worse?” She gave him her most matter-of-fact smile to cover up her nervousness. “I mean, you can just picture the headlines, can’t you? ‘F1 Star Ab
andons Ailing Seventy-year-old Father Released from Prison,’ accompanied by image of pitiful old man trudging the dirt track outside Springhill, alongside a colorful photo of you guzzling champagne with an F1 babe.”
Ronan’s rigidity seemed to relax a fraction but his deep frown remained in place before he said caustically, “The F1 babe would be you, remember? Well, I can see another headline, ‘Get Out of Jail Fast,’ and a cartoon with him and me in the car, accompanied by full backstory of his misdeeds, trying to induce some parallels between our lives. Jesus, as if there were any!”
Cass touched his hand lightly.
He flinched.
She drew back. “Sorry. Just do what you think will cause you the least soul searching later on; what you feel is right.”
He shrugged.
“Just don’t let it consume you.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Fine words, Cass. Fine words. But maybe you should take your own advice.”
She looked down quickly, busying herself with squeezing the tea bag on her saucer.
“Cass—”
“It’s okay, Ronan.” Blood pounded in her ears. Was he going to throw this back on her every time she tried to help him? “You think I’m having issues? Well, I am. Someone died thanks to me. I’m just doing the best I can here, all right?”
Ronan’s expression, when he raised his eyes to hers again, had softened with contrition. “I’m sorry. Truly. But I also think you need to put it in perspective.”
She laughed, humorlessly. “How’s that?”
“Lots of people have lived, thanks to you.”
She froze, teacup halfway to her mouth.
“All those people on highways, the people who needed transport to a better hospital? You saved plenty and lost one. I’m sorry I was flippant just now.” He stood, reached out, and tugged her arm until she had to put down the cup and stand up, too. He took two paces back and flumped back onto the bed, pulling her down with him, with her back facing him, staring straight ahead.
“Said I was sorry, Cass. I was just, I don’t know, trying to put it in perspective.” He sat up, trailed his hand down her spine, reached the almost-ticklish spot above her hip bone, and circled his finger there, as she looked over her shoulder at him.
“I don’t see it that way.” She wanted to stop talking, to stop thinking, to shut out the world and spend a week alone with this man on a different planet. His father issue was nothing she could fix, but she could at least help distract him as he had helped her.
“I know,” he said.
Gradually she relaxed. She slid down, the small of her back resting on his thighs as she gazed up into his face, his expression thoughtful Her fingers trailed lazily into the opening of his dressing gown and along his midriff, and his whole abdomen clenched. He responded by ripping open her robe and placing his palms on her belly. Her lips relaxed, urging him silently to sink his mouth onto hers, which he did with a crushing intensity. “I’m going to pleasure you,” he growled, coming out of the long kiss, smoothing one hand down until his fingertips reached her pubic bone, and the other hand up between her breasts. Yeah, this was the one thing they could definitely do for each other.
Chapter 13
The loudspeaker announced their flight to New York, continuing on to Texas, would be boarding in ten minutes. Thank God she’d stocked her purse with mini-bottles of liquor from the gift shop. Cass pulled the third one from her purse and downed the contents. Ronan glanced over from his seat next to her.
“Okay there?” he asked.
“I will be. She washed the vodka down with a mouthful of fizzy imported water. “Some pilot, huh?”
He stroked a hand through her hair.
“It should keep me from freaking out on you. But if it doesn’t—.”
“It will. I’m sure plenty of people have had panic attacks on planes. Maybe you should consider talking to someone—a doctor,” he added hastily as she opened her mouth to speak.
Here we go again with the “talk to someone” suggestion. People always wanted her to admit she wasn’t able to cope. No thanks. Time was all she needed. But it wasn’t getting better. Shouldn’t it be getting better by now? She fished in her bag for another bottle. “Self-medicating is working.” Where were those damn bottles?
He covered her frantically searching hand with his and withdrew it from the cavernous bag.
“I’ll take care of you” After their discussion in the hotel, she thought they’d come to an implicit agreement to lay off the difficult topics. She didn’t need this on top of flying. Her heartbeat picked up. “Uh, Ronan? Best if we talk about something else," she said pointedly. “How ’bout that Texas race?” “Or how my season is shot to hell?” he said.
She squeezed his hand. OK, another bad topic. The alcohol was kicking in. Leaving her pleasantly buzzed, relaxed enough to fly, or so she hoped. “And you’re sure this is okay? Traveling with me, instead of with the team?”
“They don’t care how we get there, only that we do. And, frankly, I’m sick of all the strategizing and second-guessing. In Texas they’re going to try,” he glanced around, but she already knew no one was watching, “some new tech in the car.”
“What kind of new tech?”
He linked his fingers together and stared at them. “I can’t say. It’s proprietary stuff. But it could give me an edge for my last two races this year. And when I tested it in the preseason, the benefits were significant out of the turns.”
“So why isn’t it in the car?”
“There was some … trouble with the testing.”
That got her attention. “What kind of trouble?” she asked, suspiciously.
“It wasn’t ready, but it is now. The engineers have been working on it ’round the clock and they’re going to install it. It’ll give me an advantage out there, you’ll see.”
“Is it safe?”
He sent her a half smile. “Safe is relative in this sport, but if they hadn’t worked out the issues, they wouldn’t chance it.”
“Legal or loophole?” Anderson had explained that rules and regulations governed nearly all aspects of the car, and compliance with the rules was routinely, vigorously checked. If anything was amiss, any rules violated, drivers were penalized. But there were loopholes, and the teams were brilliant at exploiting them—it was part of the reason for the changes every season.
“Does it matter? Probably legal. We all know it’s now or never for me, Cass.”
She put her hand across his hands, now tightly clenched together. Two more races.
They called for first class passengers to board. She’d be home before she knew it. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe Ronan, but she couldn’t summon any feelings on it as exhaustion took over.
She settled into the first-class seat, leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She felt the lift as the plane lumbered into the air, and that was her last thought.
• • •
Ronan looked over to her sleeping face beside him in the hotel bed, the best room Austin, Texas, had to offer—so relaxed, angelic almost.
Cassidy’s cell phone rang, waking her up. “Sorry,” she whispered to him before she answered with “Hello?” in a voice still thick with sleep.
He changed position, hoping to get another hour of sleep. The jet lag going to the States was awful for him. Every damn time. Worse than in the other direction.
The hotel mattress shifted, and the bathroom door closed a second later.
Why was she taking the call in the bathroom? He pushed away his suspicions. She wasn’t Viv. She wasn’t arranging the next relationship before the conclusion of the first.
Still.
He pushed the pillows to the headboard and sat up.
She opened the door to the bathroom, her expression stark.
“Tell me,” he commanded.
“I need to go to EvacuAir in Surprise, Arizona, Monday.”
No wonder she looked wretched. “What did they say?”
“They told me to br
ing all my gear.” Her gaze was steady. She was pale, but calm. “We can still do my family’s early Thanksgiving tomorrow. The headquarters is only two hours from my folks.”
“What exactly does ‘bring your gear’ mean?”
She shot him a sardonic look. “It means you’re fired; what did you think?”
“How much pull does the report have in the industry?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I had an instructor who crashed flying tours, but I can’t ask him, he’s dead.”
“Can they take away your license?”
“No, only the Federal Aviation Authority can do that. The FAA will see the internal company report, but it will base its recommendations on the final incident report filed by the National Transportation Safety Board—the completion of those investigations are months away.”
“Surely they can’t take your license permanently?”
She sat on the bed. “Ronan.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not … I don’t know what to say. I just want to fix it, or fight it or … or be prepared for it.”
He reached for her hand and held it. “You’ve never really told me what happened.”
“You never really asked. None of you have ever asked. Not Jim, not my mom, Anderson—no one. And I haven’t talked about it since the investigation.”
“Well I want to know.”
Her hand slid away, and she positioned her body away from his, keeping her knee between them. “Do you really? Does it matter?” Her expression was stony.
“Cass. I’m a professional driver. Do you think I’ve never caused accidents? Never been responsible for injuring someone in my career? Of course I have. Other drivers get hurt and, at times, killed on the courses I race. I’m the last person, the very last person, who would ever judge you for making a mistake.” He took her hand back and held it tightly. “Telling me what happened isn’t going to change how I feel about you.”
“Then why haven’t you asked?”
“Because I wasn’t sure talking about it was the best thing. And when I have asked about what you’re going through, you shut me down. I don’t have a lot of confidence in my ability to help you through something like this. I’m no good at … giving emotional support. I’m never sure what the best thing is with you. Talk about it? Ignore it?”
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