HIS PRIVATE MISTRESSCHANTELLE SHAW CHAPTER ONE‘…And in around-up of local news, staff and patients at Greenacres,thespecialist spinal injury unit here in Wellworth, had an unexpected visitoryesterday.Formula 1 champion Rafael Santini arrived by helicopter and spentseveral hourschatting to everyone at the unit before making a substantialdonation. Greenacresmanager, Jean Collins, said everyone was excited by thevisit,’the radio presenter chuckled.‘I bet the ladies were excited, Santini’sreputation off the track is aslegendary as on it, if you know what I mean!Before you tell us what the weather hasin store, Kate, what do you think ofRafe Santini?’‘Oh, a sex god, definitely, Brian. He’d brighten my day, which is more thancanbe said for the forecast…’Edenstabbed her finger on the radio control button, cutting off the presenter’sirritatingly bright voice, and stared impatiently at the queue of traffic.Theroadworks had sprung up as if by magic overnight and she drummed her fingersonthe wheel, refusing to admit that her tension had more to do with nerves thanthefact that she was late. She shouldn’t have had that second glass of winelast night, sheconceded when she finally reached the hotel. No doubt it was thereason she hadoverslept and was responsible for the dull ache across hertemples.Her high heels clicked on the marble tiles of the foyer and a hasty glance inthemirror revealed that she looked cool and elegant in her cream trouser suit,her long blonde hair falling in a thick braid down her back. Her air ofcomposure disguised thefact that her heart was racing. There was no good reasonfor the sick feeling in the pitof her stomach, she berated herself; it wasridiculous to feel so nervous.Security at the front desk was tight; she should have expected it, andherirritation grew as she scrabbled in her bag for her Press pass, barely able tocontainher impatience as the security guard scrutinised it carefully beforewaving her through. It would be easier to break intoFortKnox , she decidedgrimly when she wasstopped at the door to the conference hall by anothersecurity guard.‘You are late,’the guard informed her unnecessarily, in his slow,carefullypronounced English.‘The interview has already begun.’‘I’ll slip in quietly,’Edenpromised.‘No one will notice.’She prayed shewasright; the last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself. If themorninghad gone to plan she would already be safely ensconced at the back ofthe room, buried amidst the huddle of other journalists, unnoticed andanonymous.The conference hall was packed and again she wondered what she hadexpected.Rafael Santini rarely gave interviews. He had a love-hate relationship with
themedia, whereby they loved to report his every move and he abhorred theirintrusioninto his private life. Since his brother Gianni’s terrible accidentthree years ago, andthe fevered media speculation that Rafe had beenresponsible for the crash, hisfeelings for the paparazzi had developed into analmost pathological hatred. Evennow, in his exalted position as Formula 1 WorldChampion, his statements to the Presshad been condensed into a few terse wordsandEden wondered what form of persuasion Fabrizzio Santini had used to coercehis eldest son to face the media.Edenkept her head lowered as she slunk into one of the last empty seats attheback of the hall, and it was only then, when she was well and truly hidden, thatshedared to lift her eyes to the stage. She had been mentally preparing forthis moment allmorning. Hell, who was she kidding? She had been on edge fordays, ever since shehad known that she was going to see Rafe again. Even so,that first sight of him, thesheer impact of his stunningly handsome face,caused her to inhale sharply, her stomach churning, and she dropped her gaze,needing to reassemble her defences.Rafael Santini looked bored. His hard features were schooled into a mask ofpolite interest, the chiselled perfection of his bone structure, the aquilinenose andheavy black brows from beneath which gleamed eyes the colour ofpolished jet, actingas a magnet for every woman in the room. But even from adistanceEden could readthe signs of his impatience. It was there in the rigidset of his jaw, the way he twiddleda pen between his fingers, his smilerevealing a flash of white teeth, but not reachinghis eyes. As she watched himhe stiffened, his body suddenly taut, his dark eyeshooded as he stared acrossthe room in her direction. He couldn’t possibly know shewas there,Edenreassured herself as she sank lower in her seat. Rafe knew she was a journalistand that she came from Wellworth; it was where they had first met, after all.Doubtless he would also assume that she retained her links with thespinal-injury unit that he had just presented with a generous donation, but hewould notexpect her to be at the Press conference, and the air of tension thatemanated from himwas just a trick of her imagination.Hadn’t he always been aware of her the moment she entered a room? the voiceinher head insidiously reminded her. It was a sixth sense they had shared,theirconsciousness of each other so acute that even in a crowded room they hadknownthe exact moment the other was near. It was a memory long buried and shewishedit hadn’t surfaced now. She preferred to remember Rafe as a distant,unemotionallover who had provided great sex but little else. That was one of thereasonsshe had decided to end their relationship, if he hadn’t beaten her to itanddumped her so publicly. It was surprising how much it hurt, even after allthistime, and the sudden, stark memory of just how emotional their relationshiphadbeen was an unwelcome intrusion into her well-ordered life.A woman at the front of the hall asked Rafe to speculate on his chancesofwinning Silverstone in two days’time and he relaxed slightly, his sexy smilecausinga cramping pain in the pit ofEden’s stomach.‘I don’t speculate,’he answered with the careless arrogance she rememberedsowell.‘I intend to win. The car is performing well, and so am I,’he
murmuredthroatily, with a suggestive wink at the young journalist, who visiblywiltedunder the force of his charm. A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd athisanswer. He wasn’t known as the Italian Stallion for nothing—stories of hisnumerous affairs hit the headlines on a regular basis—andEden gritted her teethasshe reached for her notebook.A few basic details, information gleaned from questions she would leavetheother journalists to ask. Cliff couldn’t expect any more, and if he did he wasgoingto be disappointed because no way was she going to try and snatch anexclusiveinterview with Rafe Santini. Once, she might have been overwhelmed byhisseductive Latin charm, like the young journalist who was still lookingflushed andstarry-eyed, but she was no longer the impressionable girl who hadfallen in love withthe world’s number-one Lothario.She knew that her old friend, Cliff Harley, the editor of the WellworthGazette,was hoping for an in-depth account of the life of Formula 1’s ultimate hero.‘Come on,Eden , you’re the golden girl, the hotshot reporter, renowned for herdaring escapades inAfrica ,’he had cajoled.‘If anyone can get a good storyfrom theSantini racing team Press interview, it’s you.’‘Rafe Santini loathes the media,’Edenargued,‘and he’s almost certainlynotgoing to grant any exclusive interviews. I imagine he’s only agreed to thePressconference to promote the fact that the Santini group have bought out thesports-car manufacturers inOxford . It’s a damage-limitation exercise after thescandals thathave hit the Santini team over the last few years.’‘Yeah, but you have the added bonus of knowing Rafe intimately,’Cliff teasedwith a salacious grin, andEden blushed. Oh, yes, she had known Rafeintimately,had been so familiar with every inch of his body that even now, four yearson,she could picture his broad, olive-skinned chest, the muscled hardness of histhighsand his powerful physique.‘My friendship with Rafe ended a long time ago,’she told Cliff primly,ignoringhis smirk at her description of Rafe as her friend. To be fair, Cliff wasright;she had never been Rafael Santini’s friend. His mistress, yes, hissexualplaymate, whom he had picked up and cast aside whenever he felt like it andwhomhe had seemed to delight in flaunting before the public as his besottedlover,yes. But the intimacy they shared had never run any deeper than that.‘Well, I want a story with a bit of depth,’Cliff told her.‘I want details, Iwant toknow what makes Santini tick, how he feels just before a race. I want astory thatexposes the man behind the myth…’‘You want to know who he’s sleeping with,’Edenmuttered caustically,cuttingCliff off in mid-flow. Five years ago they’d started out together as juniorreporters on the Gazette, but since then their lives had taken verydifferentpaths. Cliff had remained in Wellworth, married his childhood sweetheartandworked his way up to editor, while she had earned a reputation as a fearlessandrespected foreign correspondent sending back reports from the trouble-
Search History:
Result 00 of 00
00 results for result for
p.
Recommended
The Millionaires Reward
4295 Reads
More From This User
Notes
Load more
