Driven to succeed, Alex's only desire is to win, win, win--at all costs! A champion race-car driver, he lives like he drives--fast, reckless and always number one. But after a huge crash, with his racing career facing ruin, Alex must confront his biggest fear: failure.
Physio Libby Henderson is there to help him get back to fitness, and all Alex wants to do is get physical! Libby's dealt with more challenging things in life, but it's taking all of her professionalism to keep this stubborn playboy at bay!
The moment Alex Wolfe's car went airborne, he knew the situation was bad. That's 'serious injury' or possibly even 'get ready to meet your maker' bad.
He'd been approaching the chicane at the end of a straight at Melbourne's premier motor racing circuit and, misjudging his breaking point, he'd gone into the first turn too deep. He'd tried to drive through the corner but when the wheels had aquaplaned on standing water, he'd slid out and slammed into a tyre stack wall, which provided protection not only for runaway cars and their drivers but also for crowds congregated behind the guard rail.
Like a stone spat from a slingshot, he'd ricocheted off the rubber and back into the path of the oncoming field. He didn't see what happened next but, from the almighty whack that had spun him out of control, Alex surmised another car had T-boned his.
Now, as he sliced through space a metre above the ground, time seemed to slow to a cool molasses crawl as snapshots from the past flickered and flashed through his mind. Anticipating the colossal slam of impact, Alex cursed himself for being a fool. World Number One three seasons running—some said the best there'd ever been—and he'd broken racing's cardinal rule. He'd let his concentration slip. Allowed personal angst to impair his judgement and screw with his performance. The news he'd received an hour before climbing into the cockpit had hit him that hard.
After nearly twenty years, Jacob was back?
Now Alex understood why his twin sister had persisted in trying to contact him these past weeks. He'd been thrown when he'd received her first email and had held off returning Annabelle's messages for precisely this reason. He couldn't afford to get wound up and distracted by—
Driving down a breath, Alex thrust those thoughts aside.
He simply couldn't get distracted, is all.
With blood thumping like a swelling ocean in his ears, Alex gritted his teeth and strangled the wheel as the 420-kilo missile pierced that tyre wall. An instant later, he thudded to a jarring halt and darkness, black as the apocalypse, enveloped him. Momentum demanded he catapult forward but body and helmet harnesses kept him strapped—or was that trapped?—inside. Wrenched forward, Alex felt his right shoulder click and bleed with pain that he knew would only get worse. He also knew he should get out fast. Their fuel tanks rarely ruptured and fire retardant suits were a wonderful thing; however, nothing stopped a man from roasting alive should his car happen to go up in flames.
Entombed beneath the weight of the tyres, Alex fought the overwhelming urge to try to punch through rubber and drag himself free, but disorientated men were known to stagger into the path of oncoming cars. Even if he could claw his way out, procedure stated rescue teams assist or, at the least, supervise occupants from any wreck.
Holding his injured arm, Alex cursed like he'd never cursed before. Then he squinted through the darkness and, in a fit of frustration, roared out in self-disgust.
'Can we try that again? I know I can cock up more if I really set my mind to it!'
Claustrophobic seconds crept by. Gritting his teeth, Alex concentrated on the growl of V8s whizzing past, rather than the growing throb in his shoulder. Then a different group of engines sped up—medical response units. Surrounded by the smell of fumes and rubber and his own sweat, Alex exhaled a shuddery breath. Motor racing was a dangerous sport. One of the most dangerous. But the monumental risks associated with harrowing speeds were also the ultimate thrill and the only life to which Alex had ever wanted to ascribe. Racing not...