His Ultimate Prize

A wave of shock nearly rendered her speechless. ‘And you didn’t think to speak to me before you decided all this?’

‘I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to live my life or run my business.’ His voice, a stiletto-thin blade, skimmed close to her skin.

She took a breath and searched for calm, a state which she’d concluded long ago was near on impossible when in Rafael’s presence. ‘It’s part of the contract we agreed. If you’re going to take on any substantial amount of work I’ll need to know so I can formulate your therapy accordingly. For goodness’ sake, you can’t go from zero to full-time work in the space of an afternoon. And I really don’t know what you were thinking, telling your brother you’d take on this amount of work for the next goodness knows how long!’

Rafael’s gaze dropped to her annoyed almost-pout and fought not to continue downward to the agitated heaving of her breasts. Peachy...the smooth skin of her throat glowed a faint golden-pink. He’d long been fascinated by how a woman with jet-black hair such as hers could have skin so pale it was almost translucent. He knew she took care to stay out of the sun and practised her exercises before daybreak.

An image of her, streamlined, sleek and poised upside down in a martial arts pose, slammed into his brain. The groin-hardening effect made him grip his pen harder. His gaze fell once more on her lips and it was all he could do not to round his desk, clasp her face in his hands and taste her. Or maybe coax her round to him, pull down that prim little skirt she’d donned and discover the delights underneath.

Dios, focus!

‘Luckily, I don’t answer to you, mi dulzura.’ He certainly had no intention of enlightening her on what he’d been working steadily on for over a month; what he hadn’t stopped thinking of since he’d woken from his coma.

Because finding a way to occupy his mind was the only sure way of keeping his many and varied demons at bay.

‘...I hope to hell you’re not thinking of adding racing to this insane schedule.’ She paled a little as she said it and the usual kick of satisfaction surged.

‘And what if I am?’ He moderated his voice despite the cold fist of pain that lodged in his gut. Unless a miracle happened, his racing career was over. A part of him had accepted that. Deep inside his soul, however, it was another matter.

‘I’m hoping it won’t come to that. Because you know as well as I do, you’re in no shape to get into a racing cockpit.’

He raised an interested brow. ‘And how exactly do you intend to stop me?’

Her delectable lips parted but no words emerged, and her eyes took on a haunted look that made him grit his teeth. ‘I can’t, I suppose. But I think you’ll agree you’re not in the best shape.’

‘Physically or mentally?’

‘Only you can judge your mental state but, as your physiotherapist, I’d say you’re not ready.’

He finally got his body under enough control to stand. He caught her sharp inhalation when he rounded the desk and perched on the edge next to where she stood. Hazel eyes, wide and spirited, glared at him.

Taking the sheet from her hand, he dropped it on the table, reached across—slowly, so she wouldn’t bolt—and traced his forefinger along her jaw. ‘Your eyes are so huge right now. You’re almost shaking with worry for me. Yet you try and make me think you detest the very ground I walk on.’

Her hand rose to intercept his finger but, instead of pushing it away, she kept a hold of it, imploring eyes boring into his. ‘I don’t detest you, Rafael. If I did, I wouldn’t be here. I’ll admit we’re...different but—’ her shoulders rose and fell under the thin layer of her cotton top ‘—I’m willing to put aside our differences to help you recuperate properly. And racing before you’re ready...come on, you know that’s crazy. Besides, think of your family, of Sasha. Do you think you’re being fair to them, putting them through this?’

He froze. ‘I’ve never responded well to emotional blackmail. And leave Sasha out of this. I’ll tell you what, if you don’t want me to race, you’ll have to find other ways to keep me entertained.’

She dropped his hand as if it burned, just like he’d known she would. ‘Why does everything always circle back to sex with you?’

‘I didn’t actually mean that sexually, but what the hell, let’s go with it.’

‘Stop doing that!’

‘Doing what, mi encantador?’

‘Pretending you’re a male bimbo whore.’

‘Are you saying I’m not?’ He pretended astonishment, the fizz of getting under her skin headier than the most potent wine.