His Ultimate Prize

‘That is not what I meant.’

‘You’ve taken pains to establish boundaries between us since the moment we met. This is one of my boundaries. Attempt to breach it at your peril.’

She frowned. ‘Or what? You’ll fall back on your default setting of sexual innuendo and taunts? Rafael, I’m only trying to help you.’

His hand slashed through the air in a movement so far removed from his normal laid-back indolence her mouth dropped open. ‘I do not need your help unless it’s the help I’ve hired you to provide. Right now I want you to shut up and drive.’ He clipped out the final word in a hard bite that sent a chill down her spine.

After waiting a minute to steady her own shot nerves, she set the SUV back onto the road, aware of his continued shallow breathing and gritted-jaw iciness. Her fingers clenched over the titanium steering wheel and she practised some nerve-calming breaths of her own.

From the very first, Rafael had known which buttons to push. He’d instinctively known that the subject of sex was anathema to her and had therefore honed in on it with the precision of a laser-guided missile.

Seeing his intense reaction to his father—and she’d known immediately the nearly all-grey-haired man in the wheelchair was his father—had hammered home what she’d been surprised to learn this morning at the chapel, and had somewhat confirmed at Marco’s villa: that Rafael, as much as he pretended to be shallow and sex pest-y, had a depth he rarely showed to the world.

Was that why she was so driven to pay penance for the way she’d treated him several months ago—because deep down she thought he was worth saving?

Raven shied away from the probing thought and brought the car to a stop at the end of the driveway.

The wide solid glass door that led into the house swung open and Diego, one of the many staff Rafael employed to run his luxurious home, came down the steps to open her door. In silence, she handed him the car keys and turned to find Rafael rounding the bonnet. The sun glinting off the silver paint cast his face into sharp relief. Her breath snagged in her chest at the masculine, tortured beauty of him. She didn’t offer to assist him as he climbed the shallow steps into the house.

In the marble-floored hallway, he shrugged off his suit jacket, handed it to Diego and pulled his shirt tails impatiently from his trousers. At the glimpse of tanned golden flesh a pulse of heat shot through her belly. Sucking in a breath, she looked away, focusing on an abstract painting that took up one entire rectangular pillar in the hallway for an infinitesimal second before she glanced his away again, to find him shoving an agitated hand through his hair.

‘Do you need—?’ she started.

‘Unless I’m growing senile, today’s Sunday. Did we not agree we’d give the Florence Nightingale routine a rest on Sundays?’

Annoyance rose to mingle with her concern. ‘No, you came up with that decree. I never agreed to it.’

Handing his walking stick to a still-hovering Diego, he started to unbutton his shirt. ‘It’s a great thing I’m the boss then, isn’t it?’

Her mouth dried as several inches of stunning flesh assaulted her senses. When her brain started to short-circuit, she pulled her gaze away. ‘Undressing in the hallway, Rafael, really?’ She tried to inject as much indifference into her tone as possible but was aware her voice had become unhealthily screechy. ‘What do you think—that I’m going to run away in virginal outrage?’

His shameless grin didn’t hide the strain and tension beneath. ‘At twenty-four, I seriously doubt there’s anything virginal about you. No, mi dulzura, I’m hoping you’ll stay and cheer me on through my striptease.’

The sound that emerged from her throat made his grin widen. ‘Don’t you want to heal completely? That limp will not go away until you work hard to strengthen your core muscles and realign the bones that were damaged during the accident. If you’d just focus on that we can be rid of each other sooner rather than later.’

Although she thought she saw his shoulders stiffen as he turned to give his shirt to Diego, his grin was still in place when he faced her. ‘You’re under the impression that I want to be shot of you but you couldn’t be further from the truth. I want you right here with me every day.’

‘So I can be your whipping girl?’

‘I’ve never been a fan of whips, myself. Handcuffs, blindfolds, the odd paddle, certainly...but whips?’ He gave a mock shudder. ‘No, not my thing.’

His hand went to the top of his trousers. Deft fingers freed his button, followed by the loud, distinct sound of his zip lowering. She froze. Diego didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘For goodness’ sake, what are you doing, Rafael?’