He thought he heard her sigh of disappointment, but she rallied well and told him she’d manage it all. ‘No, you don’t get it,’ he insisted. ‘I need you there. Withme.’
‘Okay,’ she replied, and he knew she didn’t understand what he was trying to say. But he couldn’t talk openly, not when half the crew was listening. He thought fast and said the only thing he could, a phrase nobody but her would understand. ‘Mils, you were right. I’m done competing against ghosts.’
Millie stood in front of the window of their hotel suite. It was late, and the sun had long slipped behind the horizon, casting a navy pall over the city, her thoughts spinning.
She’d accompanied Taz to the press conference, but after a quick hug and him squeezing her hand, they hadn’t managed to talk, mostly because he’d been besieged. It hadn’t been the right time or place to talk, but it was enough for her to know that he wanted her there. Not as his PR person or press officer, but as his lover, his support system.
That was what he meant,right? Or had she misunderstood him?
Millie sent a nervous look down the passage of the suite, wondering how long Taz would be in the shower. When he’d led her into his suite, he’d asked her to wait, telling her he needed a little time to decompress and to wash the day away.
She walked over to the bar, lifted a decanter and poured two fingers into a crystal tumbler. The whisky was smooth and sensuous as it slid down her throat. Pausing in front of the window, she rested her hand on the cool glass and wondered what his cryptic message had meant. Could it be that he’d reconsidered her role in his life? Or was she setting herself up for more hurt?
Taz snagged the glass from her hand and lifted it to his lips. His bare feet accounted for his silent approach. Lowering the glass, he lifted his hand and gently, using his index finger, pulled a strand of hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear in a tender gesture.
‘Let’s sit, Mils,’ he suggested, taking her hand and leading her over to the couch. She sat facing the view, and Taz sat next to her, his thigh and shoulder pressing against hers. He’d changed into a slouchy navy cotton sweater and straight-legged white cotton pants and hadn’t bothered to shave or brush his messy hair. He looked disreputable and hot.
Millie swallowed and took a series of mental snapshots to remember later.
Taz leaned back, his palms on the wide couch behind him. ‘It’s been a hell of a day,’ he said, and she heard the exhaustion in his voice.
‘Hell of a day,’ she echoed. ‘How are you feeling after your crash?’
She felt his shoulder rise and fall. ‘My muscles are a bit sore from tensing when I spun out, but I’m fine.’
Should she compliment him on the way he’d handled the crash and avoided a confrontation with his rival? She might as well; it wasn’t like he could fire her. Well, he could, but she’d already told him she would be gone in the morning. ‘You handled the disappointment well,’ she murmured.
‘Mmm, but two crashes in a row is ridiculous,’ he muttered. ‘And before you ask, my hand is fine.’
That was going to have been her next question. Having nothing else to say, she stared at the slumberous sea, conscious of the tension between them. Why was she here? What did he want? But her pride, the little she had left, wouldn’t let her ask. He’d either tell her or he wouldn’t. She was done begging people to let her in.
‘My dad wasn’t interested in me,’ Taz said, his voice soft. ‘I was my mum’s kid, and I rarely saw him, and he and Alex were a tight unit. When my mum died when I was six, I was…forgottenis a good word. Ignored too. I was the third wheel.’
Millie turned to face him, blindsided by his out-of-the-blue-statement and openness. She lifted her thigh onto the couch. ‘Why are you telling me this now, Taz?’
He pushed his fingers into his damp hair. ‘Because you’re the only one Icantell, Mils.’
Okay, but she was leaving in the morning. Why now?
She waited for him to speak, her eyes on his face. He looked uncomfortable but also determined, like he had a rotten tooth poisoning his system.
‘Alex wasn’t the charming, jovial, great guy everyone thought he was.’ His words left his mouth in a rush as if he couldn’t get them out fast enough. He shoved his hand into his hair and tugged the expertly cut strands. ‘He was difficult, rude and often obnoxious. Entitled.’
Misery skittered across Taz’s face. ‘But in my father’s eyes, he could do no wrong. His behaviour was excused because of his extraordinary talent at throwing cars around the track.’
It was so strange to hear about this other side of the sports hero. Knowing how hard it was for him to open up, to share this with her, Millie placed her hand on his knee and squeezed. She was still processing his words when Taz spoke again. ‘I wanted to go to the same driving academy Alex attended, but my father refused to pay. I continued to beg, he continued to say no. I think he got a kick out of my desperation because, more than anything, I wanted to race.’ Taz rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I begged, pleaded, ranted, raged, and he eventually gave in. I think he was desperate to get me to shut up.’
He’d been desperate to go to such lengths to push his father into giving him the same opportunity he had Alex. He must’ve felt so lonely, battered by being consistently rejected. Her heart ached for the boy he’d been.
‘My father caved. I started in F3, then was given a chance with another team at F1 level. I only moved to the De Rossi team because Ben died, and the press gave my father a hard time about not employing his other talented son.’ She heard the bitterness in his voice and understood it. She’d be bitter too.
Taz fiddled with the strap of his expensive watch and twisted his leather and silver bracelet around his wrist. He looked nervous, his knee was bouncing up and down, and Millie laid her hand on his arm.
This was hard for him, and he was worried about saying too much. ‘I’m still happy to sign that NDA,’ she murmured, nuclear-strike serious.
‘I wouldn’t tell you this if I didn’t trust you completely, Millie,’ he replied. He held her eyes, and Millie felt like she was taking possession of his heart and soul. She tried to dislodge the tight ball in her throat by swallowing. Something was happening between them, but she wasn’t sure what.
‘I need to tell you about the night he died.’
