From Enemy's Daughter to Expectant Bride (The Billionaires of Blackcastle 1)

Rafael had recently found out exactly how.

“Ferreira is down there?”

Richard’s question brought him out of his musings. “Of course.”

“So when will you put the man out of his misery?”

Rafael glanced fondly at his friend. “I wouldn’t put it past you to mean that literally.”

Richard gave him his patented predatory smile. “Oh, no. I think your plan is a much worse fate. I couldn’t have thought of a more diabolical one.”

“High praise from the man who puts 007 to shame.”

Not one for false modesty, Richard only said, “You know I’m a fan of subtle and protracted torture.”

Indeed. And his impending torment of Ferreira would have an abundance of both elements. Disgracing him and oh-so-gradually stripping him of his wealth would only be the beginning.

“Your plot is far more effective than putting a bullet in his brain. I just wish you’d get on with it.”

“So you no longer disapprove of my direct approach?”

Richard shrugged. “A remote one remains better. It would be the perfect setup if he didn’t realize where the blows were coming from. But that’s logic talking. And there’s more than logic involved here. You need the satisfaction of looking that git in the eyes as you stick the knife in and turn it.”

Richard had originally advised against getting close to Ferreira, with the inherent drawbacks and dangers that entailed. It now warmed Rafael that his friend not only understood his need, he empathized. He wanted this for him. This gratification. This closure.

And he would come close. He’d make Ferreira taste everything he’d ever hungered for...before snatching it away. Rafael would have a front-row seat to his betrayal and desperation.

Putting his glass down, he sighed. “But you’re right. It’s time I got that satisfaction. I won’t single Ferreira out tonight, though. I’ll dangle myself, pretend to take pitches, let the mystery around me build a bit more, before...”

Something sizzled at the back of his neck. As if a soft hand stroked him there, or a hot breath blew over his skin.

Frowning, he turned to investigate the source of the disturbance. It couldn’t be someone’s gaze. He wasn’t in anyone’s line of sight.

As expected, no one was looking his way. But those sensations only increased, enveloped his body and...

Everything seemed to fade as his senses converged on the beacon of disruption. A woman.

Framed in the ballroom’s doorway, she stood as if at a loss for what to do. She was swathed in an ethereal off-the-shoulder cream evening gown, gleaming hair swept away from a face that seemed almost unreal before cascading to a tiny waist that...

“Before what?”

He blinked Richard’s question away, resuming his focus on her. Though he’d never suffered anything like this before, he knew what it was. A bolt of attraction. More than that. Recognition...of the woman who translated his every fantasy into glorious reality.

He had to be imagining this. But all his senses told him he wasn’t. This felt real.

One way to find out. Get closer....

“What are you staring at, Numbers?”

This time Richard’s intrusion annoyed him. He realized his reaction was exaggerated, but he didn’t want to talk, couldn’t risk shattering this moment.

As if afraid he’d startle her out of her indecision, which afforded him the leisure to examine her, he whispered, “Her.”

Richard stepped forward. “Who? That woman at the door?”

Surprised, he turned to him. “You see her?”

Richard scowled. “You asleep on your feet again?”