His Ultimate Prize

by Maya Blake

  Knowing what it must have taken for him to turn down what he loved doing, her heart swelled. ‘You take care of the mental aspect. I’ll make sure your body is whipped into shape in time for next year’s season.’

  He grinned and tugged her close. ‘I’d expect no less from my take-no-prisoners future wife.’

  Her breath stalled. ‘Is that a proposal, Rafael?’

  ‘It’s whatever you want it to be. If you don’t think I’ll make a good enough husband, you can take me as your sex slave. Or your boy toy. Or your f—’

  She stopped him with a kiss before he finished. His incorrigible laugh promised retribution. And, for the life of her, Raven couldn’t think of a better way to be punished.

  ‘Sasha is going to hate me for disappearing from her gala,’ she said an hour later.

  ‘No, she’s not. I begged her to send you the invitation. We both agreed I owe her big.’

  She mock glared at him. ‘You’re right, you haven’t changed one little bit.’

  He laughed, a rich sound that made her soul sing. When he stared deep into her eyes her heart turned over. ‘I have something to show you.’

  Curious, she watched him reach into his drawer and pull out a sheaf of papers.

  ‘You finished it?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered. There was no laughter in his voice, no shameless lust monster lurking behind the stunning blue eyes.

  There was only a careful, almost painfully hopeful expectancy.

  She took the papers from him. Seeing the one word title, her heart caught—Mamá.

  ‘I knew it. I knew Ana and Carlos were your parents.’

  Two hours later, she looked up, tears streaming down her face. He’d sat with her back tucked against his front, in watchful silence while she read, all the while knowing he’d been reading his words alongside her.

  The sheen of tears in his eyes rocked her soul.

  ‘It’s beautiful, Rafael.’

  ‘Gracias. I hope, wherever she is, she forgives me for what I did.’

  ‘She’s your mother. That’s what mothers do. And I promise to remind you of that whenever the nightmares threaten.’

  The look in his eyes made hers fill all over again. ‘Mi corazon. I don’t deserve you.’

  Her smile was watery. ‘No, you don’t. But I’ll let you have me anyway.’

  EPILOGUE

  ‘SO WHAT DO I get for winning the bet?’ Raven asked as they stood in another luxurious room, surrounded by well-heeled guests, the very best vintage champagne and excellent food.

  ‘What more could you possibly want, mi amor? You have my slavish adoration by day and my hot body by night.’

  ‘Yes, but do you know how draining it’s been to reassure you every day for the last three months that your book will be a smashing success? That more than one person will turn up at this launch?’

  Rafael mock frowned. ‘Have I been that needy?’

  ‘Yes, you have, but don’t think I wasn’t fooled by what that neediness got you. You owe me big.’

  ‘I seem to owe everyone big. Okay, how about...’ He whispered a very hot, very dirty suggestion of payment. She was still blushing several minutes later when they both heard the whine of an electric wheelchair.

  Rafael’s father stopped beside them. An electronic copy of Rafael’s book had been programmed into a tablet on his wheelchair, and the front page showed a picture of Rafael’s mother, her face creased in a stunning smile as she laughed into the camera.

  Rafael told her he’d taken that picture the year before she died.

  ‘Carlos, please tell your son to stop worrying about his book. He thinks one of us has been bribing the critics to give it rave reviews.’

  Carlos smiled and glanced at his son. Then he started to speak to him in Spanish. Slowly, Rafael’s smile disappeared until his face was transformed into a look of intense love and gratitude. With a shaky hand, he touched his father’s shoulder, then bent forward and kissed both his cheeks.

  ‘Gracias, Papá.’ His voice was rough as he straightened.

  Carlos nodded, his own eyes holding a sheen of tears as he rolled his chair away.

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He’s proud of me. And my mother would be too if she were here.’

  As hard as she blinked, the tears welled. ‘Damn it, you de Cervantes men sure know how to ruin a girl’s make up.’

  He caught her around the waist and pulled her close into his hard body.

  ‘You’re now a de Cervantes too. You can’t take back your vows.’

  She gave a mock grimace. She was still getting used to her new name, just as she was getting used to wearing the exquisite engagement and wedding ring set that had belonged to Rafael’s mother. ‘Raven de Cervantes is such a mouthful.’

  ‘Hmm...’ He nuzzled her neck, instantly melting her insides. ‘We could shorten it.’

  ‘You mean like just initials or a symbol like that rock star?’

  ‘Not quite.’

  ‘What have you in mind?’ she asked, her fingers toying with buttons she couldn’t wait to undo later. The promise of exploring the flesh underneath made her hot.

  He worked along her jaw until he reached the side of her mouth. With a whisper-soft kiss, he raised his head and looked directly into her eyes. ‘How about just...amor querida?’

  Her heart, her soul and the rest of her body melted into him.

  When his thumb brushed her cheek, she blinked back tears.

  ‘That works. That works very well for me.’

  * * * * *

  The Price of Success

  First and foremost, for my dear sister, Barbara, who gave me the book that started this wonderful journey. For my husband, Tony, for his unwavering support and firm belief that this dream would become reality. For my HEART sisters—your incredible support kept me going right from the beginning—thank you! And finally, for my darling MINXES! You are the best cheerleaders a girl can have and I’d be totally lost without you.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE MOMENTS BEFORE the crash played out almost in slow motion. Time paused, then stretched lethargically in the Sunday sun. And even 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 Espíritu 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 Espíritu. 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 Espíritu, 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 Espíritu was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity she couldn’t afford to squander—not if she wanted to achieve her goals.

  ‘I have a reporter ready to meet—’

  ‘No.’ Her gaze flicked to the screen and her resolve strengthened. ‘I won’t give an interview until I hear how Rafael is.’

  Two ambulances and three fire engines now surrounded the mangled car. Sparks flew as the fire crew cut away the chassis.

  Marco de Cervantes stood scant feet away, ignoring everyone, his impressive physique firmly planted, hands balled into fists, his unwavering gaze fixed on his brother’s still form. Sasha’s heart squeezed tighter.

  Please be alive, Rafael. Don’t you dare die on me...

  Tom’s stern look mellowed slightly as he followed her gaze. ‘I’ll prepare something while we wait. Find a quiet place. Get yourself together.’ He glanced around, made sure he wasn’t overheard and leaned in closer. ‘This is the chance you’ve been waiting for, Sasha. Don’t blow it.’

  * * *

  Marco de Cervantes stepped into the private hospital room in Budapest, sick dread churning through his stomach. He clenched his fists to stop the shaking in his hands and forced himself to walk to his brother’s bedside. With each step the accident replayed in his mind’s eye, a vivid, gruesome nightmare that wouldn’t stop. There’d been so much blood at the crash site...so much blood...

  His chest tight
ened as he saw the white sheet pulled over his brother’s chest.

  Absently, he made a note to have the staff replace the sheets with another colour—green, perhaps, Rafael’s favourite colour. White hospital sheets looked...smelled...too much like death.

  Rafael wasn’t dead. And if Marco had anything to do with it this would be his last senseless brush with death. Enough was enough.

  He drew level with the bed and stared down into his brother’s pale, still face. At the tube inserted into his mouth to help him breathe.

  Enough was enough.

  Marco’s throat closed up. He’d chosen to give Rafael time to come to his senses instead of forcing him to listen to reason. And by doing so he’d allowed his brother to take the wheel behind the world’s most powerful car while still reeling from emotional rejection.

  Unlike him, his brother had never been able to compartmentalise his life, to suppress superfluous emotions that led to unnecessarily clouded judgement. Rafael coalesced happiness, sadness, triumph and loss into one hot, sticky mess. Add the lethal mix of a seven hundred and fifty horsepower racing car, and once again he was left picking up the pieces.

  His breath shuddered. Reaching out, he took Rafael’s unmoving hand, leaned down until his lips hovered an inch from his brother’s ear.

  ‘You live—you hear me? I swear on all things holy, if you die on me I’ll track you to hell and kick your ass,’ he grated out, then swallowed the thickness in his throat. ‘And I know you’ll be in hell, because you sure as heck won’t get into heaven with those looks.’

  His voice caught and he forced back his tears.

  Rafael’s hand remained immobile, barely warm. Marco held on tighter, desperately infusing his brother with his own life force, desperately trying to block out the doctor’s words...his brain is swelling...there’s internal bleeding...nothing to do but wait...

  With a stifled curse, he whirled away from the bed. The window of the ultra-private, ultra-exclusive, state-of-the-art hospital looked out onto a serene courtyard, with discreet fountains and carefully clipped flowers meant to soothe the troubled patient. Beyond the grounds, forests stretched as far as the eye could see.