His Ultimate Prize

She paused for a second, then continued to massage his hip. ‘You never talk about your mother,’ she murmured.

Tension rippled through him. ‘I never talk about anyone in my family. The prying all comes from you, bonita. You’ve made it a mission to upturn every single rock in my life.’

‘And yet I don’t feel in any way enlightened about your life.’

‘Maybe because I’m an empty vessel.’ He tried damn hard not to let the acid-like guilt bleed through his voice.

‘No, you’re not. You just like to pretend you are. Have you considered that by pretending to be something you’re not, all you’re doing is attracting attention to the very thing you wish to avoid?’

‘That’s deep. And I presume that thought challenges you endlessly?’

Her hand had moved dangerously close to his fly. If she looked down or moved her actions a few inches west, she’d realise that, despite their verbal sparring skimming the murkier waters of his personal life, he was no less excited by her touch.

In fact, he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he found the return of his libido exhilarating. For a few weeks after he’d emerged from his coma it’d been touch and go. His doctors had cautioned him that he might not resume complete sexual function. Raven Blass’s appearance in his hospital room five weeks ago had blown that misdiagnosis straight out of the water.

‘No,’ she responded. ‘I know better than to issue challenges to you.’

‘You’re such a buzzkill,’ he said, but he felt relieved that she’d decided to leave the matter of his mother alone.

He saw the faintest trace of a smile on her face before it disappeared. Her fingers moved away, rounded his hip and settled into his back. The movement brought her closer still, her chest mere inches from his. Firm, relief-bringing fingers dug into his muscle. Again he suppressed a moan of relief.

‘I know. But think how smug I’d feel if you got back into racing before you were ready and reversed your progress. You’d never hear the end of it if you proved me right.’

The sultry movement of her mouth was a siren call he didn’t try very hard to resist. His forefinger was gliding over her mouth before he could stop himself. Her fingers stilled before digging painfully into his back. The rush of her breath over his finger sent his pulse thundering.

‘Or I could die. And this relentless song and dance could be over between us. Once and for all.’

CHAPTER FOUR

THE CALM DELIVERY of his words, spoken with barely a flicker of those lush jet eyelashes, froze her to the core.

‘Is that what you want? To die?’ Her words were no more than a whisper, coated with the shock that held her immobile.

‘We all have to die some time.’

‘But why, Rafael? Why do you wish to hurry the process when every rational human being fights to stay alive?’

‘Mi tesoro, rational isn’t exactly what most people think when they look at me.’

‘That’s not an answer.’ She realised she was hanging on to him with a death claw but, for the life of her, Raven couldn’t let go. She feared her legs would fail her if she did. And hell, she wasn’t even sure why Rafael’s explanation was so important to her. For all she knew, it was another statement meant to titillate and shock. But, looking closer, her blood grew colder. Something in his expression wasn’t quite right. Or, rather, it was too right, as if he held his statement with some conviction. ‘What is it, Rafael? Please tell me why you said that.’

‘Quid pro quo, sweetheart. If I bare my soul, will you bear yours?’

‘Would that give you something to live for?’

Raven could’ve sworn she heard the snap of his jaw as he went rigid in her arms. Grasping her by the elbows, he set her away from him and straightened to his impressive six foot three inches. His lids shuttered his expression and he returned to the seat behind his desk.

‘The amateur head-shrinking session is over, chiquita. Modify your regime to accommodate travel and liaise with Diego if you’ll need special equipment for where we’ll be travelling. We leave on Wednesday.’ He reeled off their intended destinations before picking up a glossy photo of the latest Cervantes sports car.

Knowing she wouldn’t make any more headway with him, she turned to leave.

‘Oh, and Raven?’

‘Yes?’

‘We’ll be attending several high profile events, so make sure you pack something other than kick-boxing shorts, trainers and tank tops. As delectable as they are, they won’t suit.’

* * *

Raven fought the need to smash her fist into the nearest priceless vase as she left Rafael’s study. Not because he would see her, although the glass walls meant he would, but because not losing control was paramount if she wished to maintain her equilibrium.

She’d fought long and hard to channel her tumultuous emotions into useful energy when, at sixteen, she’d realised how very little her father cared for her. For far too long, she’d been so angry with the world for taking her mother away and replacing her with a useless, despicable parent, she’d let her temper get the better of her.