His Ultimate Prize

‘You will be the first since a while before the accident.’

‘But I felt...I know you...’

‘Can get a hard-on? Sí, but I’m yet to test the practical integrity of the machinery.’

‘Oh, so I’m to be your guinea pig?’ she teased, a little appeased that she wasn’t the only one climbing walls about the prospect of them together.

‘Guinea pigs don’t have mouths like yours, or eyes the colour of a desert oasis. Or breasts that cry out to be suckled. Or the most perfect heart-shaped ass that makes me want to put you face down and straddle—’

‘Okay, I get it. I’m hotter than a Greek furnace.’ Her eyes strayed to the perfectly made up bed, her imagination running wild. She swallowed. ‘I...I’d like a tour of the outside now, if you don’t mind.’

His finger drifted up to the corner of her mouth, pressed gently before he put his finger to his own lips and groaned.

‘If that’s what you want.’

She nodded.

He didn’t heed her request right away. He leaned down, placed his lips at the juncture between her neck and shoulder and ran his tongue over her thundering pulse. He answered her groan with one of his own, then he reluctantly stepped back. Raven was glad when he offered his arm because her legs had grown decidedly shaky.

The heeled leather boots she’d worn with her jeans and black-edged white shirt clicked alongside his heavier tread as they went outside.

On one side, an extensive stretch of grass led to a large thatched poolside bar surrounded by potted palm trees.

Beside it, an area clearly designated for relaxing featured a hot tub under long bales of white linen that had been intertwined to form a stunning canopy that offered shade. After the chill of Europe, it was a balm to feel the sun on her face.

‘Come, there’s something I want to show you.’ There was heated anticipation in the low rumble that fluttered over her skin, feeding her own sizzling emotions.

Rafael led her across the grass and down shallow steps to the private, secluded beach. All through the tour, his hand had been drifting up and down her back, stealing her thoughts and playing havoc with her pulse.

Which meant that she was totally unprepared for the sight that confronted her when he led her round a rock-sheltered cove.

The thick timber four-poster canopy had been erected right on the shore, with a massive day bed suspended by thick intertwined ropes. The sight was so vividly breathtaking, and so unexpectedly raw and pagan, she stopped in her tracks.

There was only one reason for the bed.

Sex. Outdoor sex.

Heat engulfed her whole body as Rafael’s gaze met and trapped hers.

‘The high rocks shield even the most determined lenses. And see those?’ He indicated three discreetly placed floodlights pointing out towards the water. ‘They come on at night and send a glare out to sea so any cunning paparazzi out there get nothing but glare when they try and get pictures of the villa.’

She swallowed hard. ‘Even so, I can’t imagine doing...it so blatantly.’

He caught her hand in his and kissed her palm. ‘Never say never. Now, I believe we have a therapy session to work through?’

The fact that she’d forgotten her main reason for being there made her uncomfortable.

She hastened to cover it up. ‘Yes, and don’t hate me, but we’ll need to step things up a bit.’

‘Do with me what you will, querida. I’m but putty in your hands.’

He led the way back into the villa and into his bedroom. The setting sun threw orange shades across the king-size wooden-framed bed that seemed to dominate the room. When he threw his walking stick on the exquisitely designed recliner facing the double doors leading to a large balcony, she was reminded again why she was here with Rafael in the first place.

She’d cautioned him against sex only a handful of days ago, and yet here she was, unable to think beyond the raging need to strip every piece of clothing from his body.

Guilt ate away inside her.

‘I can hear you thinking again. And I don’t feel warm and fuzzy about the direction of your thoughts.’ He started to unbutton his shirt.

She tried and failed not to let her eyes linger over his muscular chest and down over his washboard stomach, following the faint line of hair that disappeared beneath his jeans.

‘Is this where we hold hands and pray about whether we should have sex or not?’

He was back. The irreverent, sexy, endlessly charismatic man who had women the world over falling at his feet.

Or was he?

A careful look into his eyes showed not the gleam of irreverence but a quietly speculative look beneath his words. ‘Are you afraid you’ll hate sex with me? Or afraid you’ll love it so much you’ll beg to become a groupie?’