Chapter Three
MUCH LATER THAT NIGHT, Millie slipped inside Taz’s private hospital room, wincing at the plaster encasing his hand from the tips of his fingers to an inch below his elbow.
A few hours after the team doctor looked at the X-ray of his hand, he was wheeled into a state-of-the-art theatre and had the best orthopaedic surgeon in China operating on his hand.
Now his cast lay next to him on the bed and his other hand cupped the back of his head.
His eyes were closed and he didn’t look like he was in pain.
Millie hesitated. She didn’t know Taz well enough to visit him in the hospital, to be in his room so late at night, but she needed to ask how he wanted her to respond to the incessant demands from reporters desperate for a comment, update or interview.
If he’d threatened to fire her for sharing her thoughts on a photo, taking the initiative and putting out a press release without Taz’s approval was surely a fireable offence.
But as much as she wished she could say that she was here solely as his press officer, she couldn’t.
Since their conversation in the corridor, she’d felt unsettled and unsure why.
Working for Taz had always been a challenge—demanding, relentless—but manageable.
Her attraction to him had been little more than a quiet hum beneath the surface.
That vague hum was now a strong current—sharp and impossible to ignore.
Why did she suddenly feel super aware around him?
What had changed between them? Was she being overly imaginative? Highly possible.
During the race, she’d been on edge, hyper aware, waiting for something—anything—to happen.
And it had. He crashed, lost his temper and then, out of nowhere, announced her promotion.
It floored her, and she didn’t understand it.
Neither did anyone else. But as she stood in the doorway, she froze.
His closed eyes and pale face suggested this wasn’t the time.
He was injured, and she and everyone else could wait.
She turned to tiptoe out, but then Taz’s deep voice floated across the room. ‘Millie.’
She wrinkled her nose. Busted. Millie looked down, but instead of sporting glassy eyes and a loopy smile he looked fully alert. ‘How long have you been out of the theatre?’ she asked.
‘Two or so hours,’ he replied. ‘What are you doing here?’
Millie jammed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and rocked from side to side.
‘The press is all over you for pushing the rookie driver, and they are not being kind. I need to know how you want me to mitigate any possible damage to your brand. And I really need to talk to you about my unexpected promotion.’
He looked at the cast on his hand. ‘And this couldn’t wait until morning?’
‘Well, the sooner I start spinning the story, the sooner this will blow over.’
‘Again, it could’ve waited.’
Millie shuffled on her feet. She couldn’t tell him the third and last reason she was here.
It was super simple: She wanted to see how he was and felt compelled to visit him because she didn’t think any of his staff would bother.
Taz was their boss, and they respected him, but she knew they didn’t particularly like him.
But nobody should be alone after an operation.
Not even the incredibly self-sufficient Taz De Rossi.
‘Are you in any pain?’ she asked, walking over to stand next to his bed.
‘Despite the anaesthetic and the drugs, I feel remarkably clear-headed.’ His lips curved into a disarming smile. He looked so much younger when he smiled. ‘And pain-free.’
When the meds wore off, his injured hand would let itself be known. ‘What did they do?’ she asked, nodding to his hand.
‘Put in a pin to stabilise my middle finger,’ he replied. ‘I also have a minor crack in my wrist. I punched that wall pretty hard, but they both should heal within four to six weeks. It wasn’t my finest hour.’
Millie lifted her eyebrows at his self-criticism.
It had been a foolish thing to do, but she’d never expected Taz to admit it.
It was late, the hospital ward was quiet, his private room felt like a cocoon, and Millie felt like they were the only two people around.
His navy T-shirt—no hospital gown for Taz De Rossi—covered his broad chest and hugged his muscular shoulders, and his cast was blindingly white against his tanned upper arm.
His stubble was thicker, his grey eyes tired but still sharp.
Assessing. It would take more than a high-speed crash, a media PR disaster and an operation to make Taz De Rossi break out in a sweat.
‘How bad is the fallout? On a scale of one to ten?’
She considered lying but lifted one shoulder instead. ‘Twelve?’
He cursed. ‘And what have the stewards decided?’
‘They are still discussing it and said they’d send an email first thing in the morning.’
He pulled a face. ‘If it needs that much discussion, then I’m in trouble.’
Frankly, he was. His actions had been broadcast to millions of people around the world. At best he’d lost his temper and was a bully, at worst he’d resorted to violence. Either way, team owner or not, high profile or not, he wasn’t the poster boy for good sportsmanship.
‘It’s been a rough day,’ Taz murmured, the king of the understatement
She agreed. He was difficult and reticent and frequently rude, but his day had gone from bad to worse to edging into catastrophic.
‘And unfortunately the next few days will be as bad, if not worse. If the stewards came back with a rest-of-the-season ban, that’s it for the season. And there will be no way I can beat—’
He stopped speaking and turned his head away, but not before Millie caught the apprehension in his eyes and the panic on his face. It was the first time she’d seen his I’ve-got-everything-control facade slip. Seeing that chink in his armour made him seem more attractive—if that was even possible.
And dangerous. So dangerous. She needed to keep not liking him so she didn’t do anything rash like make her attraction to him known. She felt like she’d already lost ground to him; she couldn’t surrender anymore.
She looked at the door and tried to smile. ‘I’m going to go. I’ll be back in the morning. As I said, there are things we need to discuss, including this promotion you dropped in my lap—’
‘Most people would be happy to be promoted.’
If they thought they could handle the job, sure, then happiness was warranted.
But Millie had her doubts. She’d only ever handled small accounts, and Taz had the eyes of the world on him.
This was a job for the best in the business, not for an inexperienced woman working out who she was, what she wanted and how she should walk through the world.
‘As I said, we need to discuss it.’ She shouldn’t be here: It was inappropriate, and he looked tired. ‘But it can wait until morning.’ She looked at the closed door. ‘I should go.’
‘Wait,’ Taz replied. He lifted his free hand to grip her upper arm. He tugged her down so that her mouth was an inch away from his, and his breath warmed her lips. ‘You don’t like me very much, do you?’
Up until Thursday, she hadn’t. Or not much. Like her parents, he was ridiculously arrogant and entirely too used to getting his way. But something had shifted, leaving her disoriented and off balance.
It was as if she’d slipped on a new pair of glasses and suddenly, the world—he—had come into sharper focus.
Maybe it was the lines of pain etched into his face, his tired eyes or the white cast, but his hard edges now seemed less jagged, the aloofness less tangible, his loneliness palpable.
She felt rattled: She wasn’t ready for anything to change between them.
Like him, she was weary. It had been a long day, and she was emotionally and physically drained. It was natural to overthink everything…
‘Are those drugs finally kicking in?’ she asked, changing the subject.
‘I’m fine.’ The side of his mouth lifted in a half smile. ‘You don’t need to answer, I can see it in your eyes. Few people like me, and I can live with that.’
She wanted to deny his words, but a sense of self-preservation held her back. What was the point of admitting that he fascinated her? There could never be anything between them. He was a shooting star, and she was…not.
Taz had made being emotionally unavailable into an art form. ‘I don’t think you let people close enough to decide whether they like you or not.’
His eyebrows rose at that assessment, but instead of responding he tipped his head to the side, his hand still on her arm. ‘But you do want me to kiss you. You’re attracted to me.’
His words were softly uttered but no less powerful than a shout.
He was an experienced guy, and she’d been foolish to think he hadn’t picked up on her attraction, wouldn’t be surprised to hear that, whenever he was close or within twenty feet of her, she felt like she’d been struck by lightning.
Thoughts of how it would feel to have her lips under his, to skim his hard, muscled body with her hands, consumed her.
Attracted was too tame a word to describe her reaction to him. The truth was, in this moment, she’d never wanted anyone more. She burned for him, and she wasn’t a woman who liked playing with fire. Why did he make her feel like this?
Millie held her breath as Taz’s hand moved up her arm and slid around the back of her neck.
He tunnelled his long fingers into her hair.
She knew she should be sensible and pull back and put some distance between them.
But she was so tired of being sensible, of doing what was expected.
She wanted to step into the fire and feel the flames lick her face.
Kissing him was a very bad idea, but she was, strangely and uncharacteristically, going to do it anyway.