His Ultimate Prize
‘Rafael!’ the brunette’s husky voice gushed a second before she threw herself into Rafael’s arms. Dropping Raven’s arm, he deftly caught the woman before she could unbalance him and laughed off her throaty murmurs of apology.
They conversed in fluent French as Raven stood to the side.
‘Let me introduce you—Sergey Ivanov and his wife, Chantilly. Sergey owns the Black Rock team.’
‘And I own his heart,’ Chantilly gushed. But even while she planted an open-mouthed kiss on her husband, her eyes were gobbling up Rafael.
Raven tried not to retch as she murmured what she hoped were appropriate conversational responses. After ten unbearable minutes, she was about to make her excuses and escape to the ladies’ room when she saw Chantilly reach into her bag. With her husband deep in conversation with Rafael, neither man noticed as she withdrew an expensive lipstick and pulled closer to Rafael.
Raven barely held back her horrified gasp as she saw what Chantilly was doing.
‘Did she write her number on your walking stick?’ she asked the moment the couple walked away.
He lifted the stick and peered at it. ‘Hmm, I believe she did. Interesting...’
Irrational anger bubbled up through her. ‘Excuse me.’ She barely spat out the words before marching off to the ladies’ room. She forced calming breaths into her lungs, calling on every control-restoring technique she knew to help her regain her equanimity.
But when she couldn’t even summon up the will to make conversation on the ride back to the villa, she knew she’d failed.
At the door, she bit out a terse goodnight, nearly tripping over the hem of the black sequined gown she’d hastily shopped for in Monaco that morning. She was unused to such elaborate, expensive outfits, as was her credit card, but as she went up to her room, the slide of the seductive material over her heated skin was unmistakable.
Or was it Rafael’s gaze on her bare back that caused sensations to skitter all over her body?
She didn’t care. All she cared about was getting away from the man who, in more ways than she was willing to admit, was cut from the same cloth as her father.
* * *
‘I can feel the volcanic waves rising off your body,’ Rafael drawled as they finished the last of his exercises next to the large, sparkling infinity pool the next morning. ‘I hope your outrage didn’t keep you up all night?’ His blatant amusement set her teeth on edge.
She stepped back from the bench she’d set up outside, and especially from the man whose potent sweat-mingled scent made her head swim. Taking a deep breath, she fought the feeling.
‘Are you seriously so without a moral compass that you don’t see anything wrong with a married woman slipping you her phone number right in front of her husband?’ she asked, her insides twisting with raw acid.
‘Your claws are showing again, piqueña.’
‘I don’t have claws, certainly not where you’re concerned. I’m merely disgusted.’
From his position lying flat on the bench, he rose smoothly into a sitting position. ‘But you could be so much more if you’d just say the word.’
Flinging a towel onto a nearby chair, she whirled to face him. She tried to tell herself her heart pumped with outrage but underlying that was another emotion she flatly refused to examine. ‘For the thousandth time, I’m here to make sure you heal properly, not be your sex pet!’
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully in the morning light, a smile teasing his lips. ‘Sex pet. Dios, the sound of that makes my pulse race, especially seeing as you’re just the right size and shape for a pet.’ He shut his eyes, one long arm lifting to trace the air. ‘I can just see my hand gliding over that glorious raven hair, sliding down the side of your elegant neck. Of course, you’d gasp in outrage. That’s when I’d slide my finger over your full, sexily kissable mouth. And if you were to nip it with just the right amount of pressure—’
She gulped. ‘Dammit, Rafael—’
‘Shh! Don’t spoil my fantasy. The sweat trickling down your chest now just makes me want to undo those no-nonsense buttons and follow it with my tongue.’
Raven glanced down and, sure enough, a bead of sweat was making its way between her breasts. Heat slammed inside her, setting off trails of fire everywhere it touched as if seeking an outlet. This wasn’t good. Fires like this eventually escaped, sought the oxygen they needed to burn. Oxygen that looked temptingly, deliciously like the half-naked man in front of her. She could never let it escape, never let it burn because she had a feeling this particular conflagration would be nearly impossible to put out.