His Ultimate Prize(68)

With an angry hand she dashed away the tears. She refused to dwell on  him. Her only goal now was finishing the season. She couldn't summon the  appropriate enthusiasm for next year.

Wearily, she trudged to the kitchen and put on the kettle. Mrs Miller,  her next door neighbour, had texted to let her know the fridge was fully  stocked.

Sasha opened the fridge, caught a whiff of cheese and felt her stomach  lurch violently. She barely made it to the bathroom seconds before  emptying the contents of her stomach. Rinsing her mouth, she decided to  forgo the tea in favour of sleep. Dragging herself to the shower, she  washed off the grime of her transatlantic flight and fell into bed.

* * *

The stomach bug she suspected she'd caught in India, along with half of  the team, didn't go away immediately, but by the time she arrived in  Brazil three and a half weeks later she was in full health.

And three points away from securing the championship.

São Paolo was vibrant and exhilarating. The pit was abuzz with the  excitement of the season's final race, and Team Espíritu even more so  with a potential championship win only a few short hours away.

Sasha had taken the coward's way and hidden in her hotel room until the  last minute, in case she bumped into Marco. In Abu Dhabi she'd declined  his invitation to an after-race party on his sprawling yacht. It seemed  he was back to entertaining dignitaries and A-list celebrities with  barely a blink in her direction.

Whereas she...she just wanted the season to be over.

The joy had gone out of racing.

With a sharp pang she realised Marco had been right-her guilt about her  father had blinded her to the fact that she didn't need to prove to  anyone that she was good enough. Nor did she need to defend Jack  Fleming's integrity. With her deeper integration and final acceptance  into the team she'd discovered that most people remembered Jack Fleming  as the great driver he'd been. Her guilt lingered, but she would deal  with that later.

First she had to get through the press interviews before and after the race.

She spotted Tom heading her way as she was pulling on her jumpsuit. She  winced at the sensitivity of her breasts as the Velcro tightened over  them.

She paused, then suddenly was scrambling madly for dates, calculating  frantically and coming up short every time. Panic seized her.

'Are you all right? You've gone pale. Here-have some water.'

Tom poured water into a plastic cup and handed it to her. His attitude  had undergone a drastic change since she'd become involved with Marco.  Snarkily, Sasha wondered whether he'd go back to being insufferable once  he found out she and Marco were no longer together.

'It's the heat,' she replied, setting the cup aside. 'I'm fine,' she stressed when he continued to peer at her in concern.

'Okay. Your last interview is with local TV.' He rolled his eyes. 'It's  that smarmy one who interviewed you in Singapore. I'd cut him out of the  schedule, but since we're on his home turf we don't have any choice.  Don't worry. If he looks as if he's straying into forbidden territory  I'll stop him.'

He went on to list the other interviewers, but Sasha was only half  listening. She'd finally worked out her period dates and breathed a sigh  of relief. She'd had her last albeit brief period just before she'd  left León. And her cycle was erratic at the best of times.

Reassured, she followed Tom around to the paddock and spoke to the journalists.

The race itself was uneventful. With her eight-second lead unchallenged  after the first six laps she cruised to victory, securing the fastest  lap ever set on the Interlagos circuit. She managed to keep a smile  plastered on her face all through the celebrations and the myriad  interviews that followed, sighing with relief as she entered the team's  hospitality suite for her last interview.

Despite having done dozens of interviews, she still suffered an attack  of nerves whenever a camera was trained on her. And, unlike nerves  during a race, interview nerves never worked to her advantage.

'Don't worry, Miss Fleming. It will be all right.'

The note of insincerity in the interviewer's thick accent should have been her first warning.

The first few questions were okay. Then, 'How does it feel to be dating the team boss? Has it earned you any advantages?'

From the corner of her eye she saw Tom surge from his seat. Her 'no comment' made him relax a little.

'After winning the Constructors' Championship, surely your seat for next year is secured?'

'No comment.'

He shrugged. 'How about your ex, Derek Mahoney? Have you heard he's making a comeback to racing?'

Sasha tensed. 'No, I haven't heard.'                       
       
           



       

'He gave us an interview this morning. And he mentioned something quite interesting.'

Icy dread crept up her spine. 'Whatever it is, I'm sure it has nothing to do with me.'

'On the contrary, it has everything to do with you.'

Her interviewer rubbed his chin in a way that was probably supposed to  make him appear smart. It only confirmed the slimeball he really was.

'You see, Mr Mahoney claims you were pregnant with his child when you  broke up, and that you deliberately crashed to lose the baby because you  didn't want a child to hamper your career. What's your response to  that?'

The room swayed around her. Vaguely she heard Tom shouting at the  cameraman to stop filming. Inside she was frozen solid, too afraid to  move. The buzz in the room grew louder. Someone grasped her arm and  frogmarched her into another room. The sole occupant, a waitress  cleaning a table, looked from her to the TV and quickly made herself  scarce.

'Sasha... I... God, this is a mess,' Tom stuttered. 'Will you be all right? I need to secure that footage...'

'Please, go. I...I'll be fine,' she managed through frozen lips.

He hurriedly retreated and she was alone.

Dropping her head between her thighs, she tried to breathe evenly,  desperately willing herself not to pass out. The TV hummed in the  background but she didn't have the strength to walk over to turn it off.

Oh, God, how had Derek found out? Not that it mattered now. Her secret was out. Out there for the whole world to pore over...

Tears welled in her eyes. Derek was all about causing maximum damage. But she'd never dreamed he'd sink this low.

The door flew open and Marco walked in.

Her gaze collided with his, and every single thing she'd told herself over the last three weeks flew out of the door.

He'd lost weight. The gap at the collar of his light blue shirt showed  more of his collarbones and his jacket hung looser. But he was just as  arresting, just as breathlessly beautiful, and her heart leapt with  shameless joy at the sight of him.

'I need to talk to you,' he said tautly, his gaze roving intensely over her before capturing hers again.

She licked her dry lips. 'I...I need to tell you...' How could she tell  him? She'd never vocalised her pain, never told another human being.

'What is it?' He came over and took her hands. 'Whatever it is, tell me. I can handle it.'

That gave her a modicum of strength. 'You promise?'

'Sí. I have a few things I need to tell you too, mi corazón. The things I  said in León...' He paused and shook his head, a look of regret in his  eyes. 'You were right. I'm an ass.'

'I didn't...' I didn't mean it, she started to confess, but her eyes had  strayed to the TV. There, like a vivid recurring nightmare, her  interview was being replayed.

Seeing her distraction, Marco followed her gaze.

Just in time to hear the interviewer's damning question.

Marco dropped her hands faster than hot coals and surged to his feet.  'No! It's a lie. Isn't it, Sasha? Isn't it?' he shouted when she  couldn't speak.

'I...'

He paled, his cheekbones standing out against his stark face as he stepped back from her.

'Marco, please-it wasn't like that.' She finally found her voice. But it was too late.

He'd taken several more steps backwards, as if he couldn't stand to breathe the same air as her.

'Did you race knowing you were pregnant?' he insisted, his voice harsh.

'Not the day Derek's talking about-'

'But you did race knowing you were pregnant?'

'I suspected I was-'

'Dios mío!'

'I'd already lost the baby when I crashed. That was why I crashed!  Racing was all I knew. After the doctor told me I'd lost the baby I  didn't know what else to do.'

'So you got straight back in your car? You didn't even take time to  mourn the loss of your child?' he condemned in chilling tones.

Somehow she found the strength to stand and face him. 'The doctor said  it wasn't my fault. The pregnancy wasn't viable to begin with. But I  still cried myself to sleep every night for years afterwards. If you're  asking if I carry a picture of a scan to punish myself with, or as an  excuse to push people away, then no, I don't. She lives in my heart-'

"She?" His voice was a tortured rasp, his fists clenching and unclenching and his throat working as he paled even more.

Tears spilled from her eyes and she nodded. 'Mine was a girl too. She  lives in my heart and that's where I choose to remember her. You say you  don't live in the past, but that's exactly what you're doing. You're  judging me by what happened to you ten years ago.'