A Prize Beyond Jewels

‘But you aren’t about to tell me where you live?’ Rafe D’Angelo guessed ruefully.

‘No.’

‘Not even if I were to offer to call for you and drive you to your father’s apartment?’

‘No,’ she refused huskily. ‘And I know my father intends to send one of his cars to collect you. He wanted me to confirm that your apartment is still on Fifth Avenue?’

Rafe felt a stirring of unease; Dmitri Palitov seemed to know far too much about him for comfort—far more than Rafe knew about the other man or his beautiful daughter.

‘It is,’ he confirmed slowly. ‘Thank him for me, but I would prefer to drive myself.’ Having his own transport meant that Rafe could leave when he’d had enough. He also bridled at the thought of being organised by the arrogant Dmitri Palitov!

Nina Palitov frowned at his refusal. ‘I know my father would prefer to have one of his cars collect you.’

‘And I would prefer to drive myself,’ Rafe repeated unrelentingly.

‘I very much doubt you know where he lives.’

‘I doubt many people do,’ he came back knowingly.

‘No.’

He nodded briskly. ‘Perhaps you would like to leave the address with my secretary some time tomorrow? After you’ve spoken to your father again, of course.’

She chewed on her bottom lip, instantly drawing Rafe’s attention to those pouting, slightly reddened lips, and in turn to those captivating moss-green eyes. He realised his mistake as he felt as if he were drowning in those smoky-green depths.

Just as he was aware the rest of him was being pulled, as if by a magnet, towards her, as his head slowly lowered—

‘I should go and check security now,’ Nina rasped abruptly even as she stepped back and away from him. ‘I’ll pass your message on to my father.’

‘Fine.’ Rafe straightened abruptly, inwardly cursing the obviously increasing attraction he felt towards Nina Palitov, and sincerely hoping his date this evening with Jennifer would put that attraction out of his mind—and appease his aching body! ‘Do you want me to come down with you to view security in the basement?’

Nina gave a rueful smile at the obvious lack of enthusiasm in his voice. ‘I believe that I can find my own way, thank you.’

Rafe eyed her irritably. ‘I was being polite.’

‘I noticed,’ she drawled.

Rafe nodded abruptly before striding across to open the office door for her, a little disconcerted at instantly finding himself the focus of two pairs of wraparound sunglasses, the two bodyguards—Rich and Andy?— standing directly outside the door. ‘I assure you, Miss Palitov has come to no harm while in my office,’ he drawled mockingly.

There wasn’t so much as an answering smile in either of those two grimly set faces, neither man sparing Rafe a second glance as Nina stepped out into the hallway. ‘Good day to you, Mr D’Angelo,’ she murmured before walking off towards the lift, the two men falling into step behind her.

Which in no way hindered Rafe of the view of Nina Palitov’s heart-shaped backside in those tight-fitting denims. A view his once-again throbbing body enjoyed to the full.

He was in trouble—serious trouble!—Rafe acknowledged with a low groan, if just looking at the perfect curve of Nina’s bottom in a pair of tight-fitting denims could succeed in making his shaft swell and ache!

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU LIKE THIS Raphael D’Angelo who is coming to dine with us this evening?’

Nina tensed, her hand shaking slightly, as she paused in pouring her father’s usual pre-dinner drink of single malt whisky from the cut-glass decanter into one of the matching glasses on the silver salver. She waited several seconds for her hand to stop shaking, and to compose her expression, before she finished pouring, and then turned to carry the glass over to her father. ‘Have I told you how handsome you look this evening, Papa?’ she complimented lightly.

‘A man of almost seventy-nine cannot be called handsome,’ he drawled dismissively, his English still accented, despite his having lived in the States for more than half his life. ‘Distinguished, perhaps. But I am too far beyond the flush of youth to ever be called handsome.’

‘You always look handsome to me, Papa,’ Nina assured him warmly.

Because he did. Her father might be heading towards his eightieth year, but his habitual air of suppressed vitality made him seem much younger, and his iron-grey hair was still thick and plentiful, his face one of chiselled strength, even if his eyes had faded over the years to a pale green rather than the same moss-green as her own.