His Ultimate Prize

‘It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do. I feel as if I have a new lease of life.’ He picked up his walking stick and came towards her, a sexy, melt-your-panties-off grin firmly in place. ‘Come, we’ll have breakfast and I can tell you how to make your tardiness up to me.’

‘Anything less than a pound of flesh and I’ll probably die of shock,’ she muttered.

He laughed. The sound floated along her skin then sank in with pleasure-giving intensity. ‘You wound me. I was thinking more along the lines of your thoughts on the manuscript.’

She didn’t answer immediately. She was too caught up in watching the ripple of muscle as he sauntered out of the pool area—and through his bedroom, where discarded clothes and twisted sheets made her temperature rise higher—towards the sun-dappled balcony where their breakfast had been laid out.

Goodness knew how she managed not to stare like some hormonal schoolgirl.

‘Wow, should I take your silence to mean it was sheer dross?’

Focus! She sat down at the table, snapped out her napkin and laid it over her lap, wishing she could throw a blanket over her erotic thoughts just as easily.

He poured her coffee—mocha latte—and added a dash of cinnamon, just the way she liked it. Raven decided she was not going to read anything into Rafael’s intimate knowledge of how she took her caffeine. But inside she felt a long held-in tightness spring free, accompanied by the faintest spark of fear.

‘It wasn’t dross. I’m sure you know that. I love Ana’s transition from girl into woman. And that first meeting with Carlos was what every girl dreams of. I’m happy she’s putting her dark past behind her...’

‘But?’ He scythed through her ambivalence.

‘But I think Carlos is coming on too strong, too fast. He risks overwhelming Ana just a little bit.’

He picked up his own coffee and eyed her over the rim. ‘But I think she has a backbone of steel. Do you not think she has what it takes to stay?’

Raven nodded. ‘I think she does. She sees him as a challenge...welcomes it to some extent, but I’m still a little scared for her.’

‘You’re invested in her. Which is what a writer wants, isn’t it? Maybe she needs to be pushed out of her comfort zone to see what she really wants.’

‘I notice she likes racing, just like Carlos.’

He stilled. ‘Sí. It is a racing thriller, after all.’

Raven carefully set her cup down and picked up a slice of toast. ‘She wouldn’t, by chance, be modelled on your sister-in-law, would she?’ she asked, keeping her voice level.

He shrugged. ‘Sasha is one of the best female drivers I’ve known. What’s your point?’

She didn’t know how to articulate what it made her feel. Hell, she couldn’t grasp the roiling feelings herself. All she knew was that she didn’t want Rafael to be thinking of a specific woman when he wrote the story.

‘I just think you would appeal to a wider audience if the character wasn’t so...specific.’

‘You mean, it would appeal to you?’

The toast fell from her hand. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Are you going to play this game? Really?’

The words, so similar to those she’d thrown at him, made heat crawl up her face. ‘Fine. Touché.’ She hardened her spine and forced out the next words. ‘But you know what I’m trying to say.’

‘Are we still talking about my manuscript?’ he asked, a trace of a smile on his lips.

‘We’ve taken a slight detour.’

‘A detour that touches on our...friendship and the adjustments I need to make in order for it to advance?’

Her hands shook at how quickly they’d strayed into dangerous territory. She couldn’t look into his probing gaze so she studiously buttered her toast. ‘Y...yes.’

He stayed silent for so long she was forced to glance up. Blue eyes pinned her to her chair. ‘Don’t expect me to turn into something I’m not, querida.’

‘Take a first step. You might surprise yourself.’

‘And you, piqueña, how are you surprising yourself?’

The question, unexpected and lightning-quick, sent a bolt of shock through her. She floundered, unsure of what to say. ‘I...I’m not sure...’

‘Well, make sure. If I’m to bend over backwards to accommodate you, you have to give something back, sí?’

That pulse of fear intensified. Opening up to Rafael in Monaco, telling him things she’d never told another human soul, had left her feeling raw and exposed.

Now, by daring her in his oh-so-sexy way to open up even more, he threatened to take it a whole lot further, luring her with a promise she knew deep down he wouldn’t keep. That was the essence of playboys. They exuded charisma, invited confidences until they had you in their grasp.