Майя Блейк - His Ultimate Prize

‘So, which is it to be—compliance without question or physical restraints?’ Raven strolled towards Rafael, her gaze cool and collected.

The laughter that ripped from his throat felt surprisingly great. He’d had nothing to laugh about for far longer than he cared to remember. Several heads turned to watch him but he didn’t care. He was more intrigued by the blush that spread over Raven’s face.

He leaned in close. ‘Do you think the angels are about to strike me down? Will you save me if they do?’ he asked, sotto voce.

‘No, Rafael. I think, based on your debauched past and irreverent present, all the saints will agree by now that you’re beyond redemption. No one can save you.’

Despite his bitter self-condemnation moments ago, hearing the words repeated so starkly caused Rafael’s chest to tighten. Because, knowingly or unknowingly, she’d struck a very large, very raw nerve.

‘Then tell me, Raven, if I’m beyond redemption, what the hell are you doing here?’

His Ultimate Prize

Maya Blake

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MAYA BLAKEfell in love with the world of the alpha male and the strong, aspirational heroine when she borrowed her sister’s Mills & Boon ®at age thirteen. Shortly thereafter the dream to plot a happy ending for her own characters was born. Writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon is a dream come true. Maya lives in South East England with her husband and two kids. Reading is an absolute passion, but when she isn’t lost in a book she likes to swim, cycle, travel and Tweet!

You can get in touch with her

via e-mail, at mayablake@ymail.com,

or on Twitter: www.twitter.com/mayablake

Recent titles by the same author:

MARRIAGE MADE OF SECRETS

THE SINFUL ART OF REVENGE

THE PRICE OF SUCCESS

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Lucy Gilmour, for making my dream come true, and also because I know she loves bad boys!

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

‘PUT YOUR ARMS around me and hold on tight.’

The rich, deep chuckle that greeted her request sent a hot shiver down Raven Blass’s spine. The same deep chuckle she continually prayed she would grow immune to. So far, her prayers had gone stubbornly unanswered.

‘Trust me, bonita, I don’t need guidance on how to hold a woman in my arms. I give instructions; I don’t take them.’ Rafael de Cervantes’s drawled response was accompanied by a lazy drift of his finger down her bare arm and a latent heat in ice-blue eyes that constantly unnerved her with their sharp, unwavering focus.

With gritted teeth, she forced herself not to react to his touch. It was a test, another in a long line of tests he’d tried to unsettle her with in the five weeks since he’d finally called her and offered her this job.

Maintaining a neutral expression, she stood her ground. ‘Well, you can do what I say, or you can stay in the car and miss your nephew’s christening altogether. After agreeing to be his godfather, I’m sure you not turning up in church will go down well with your brother and Sasha.’

As she’d known it would, the mention of Sasha de Cervantes’s name caused the atmosphere to shift from toying-with-danger sexual banter to watch-it iciness. Rafael’s hand dropped from her arm to grip the titanium-tipped walking stick tucked between his legs, his square jaw tightening as his gaze cooled.

Deep inside, in the other place where she refused to let anyone in, something clenched hard. Ignoring it, she patted herself on the back for the hollow victory. Rafael not touching her in any way but professionally was a good thing.

Recite. Repeat. Recite. Repeat—

‘I didn’t agree...exactly.’

Her snort slipped out before she could stop it. ‘Yeah, right. The likelihood of you agreeing to something you’re not one hundred per cent content with is virtually nil. Unless...’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Unless what?’

Unless Sasha had done the asking. ‘Nothing. Shall we try again? Put your arms—’

‘Unless you want me to kiss that mouth shut, I suggest you can the instructions and move closer. For a start, you’re too far away for this to work. If I move the wrong way and land on top of you, I’ll crush you, you being such a tiny thing and all.’

‘I’m not tiny.’ She moved a step closer to the open doorway of the sleek black SUV, stubbornly refusing to breathe in too much of his disconcertingly heady masculine scent. ‘I’m five foot nine of solid muscle and bone and I can drop kick you in two moves. Think about that before you try anything remotely iffy on me.’

The lethal grin returned. ‘Dios, I love it when you talk dirty to me. Although my moves have never been described as iffy before. What does that even mean?’

‘It means concentrate or this will never work.’

Rafael, damn him, gave a low laugh, unsnapped his seat belt and slid one arm around her shoulders. ‘Fine. Do with me what you will, Raven. I’m putty in your hands.’

With every atom in her body she wished she could halt the stupid blush creeping up her face, but that was one reaction she’d never been able to control. In the distant past she tried every day to forget, it had been another source of callous mirth to her father and his vile friends. To one friend in particular, it had provoked an even stronger, terrifying reaction. Pushing away the unwelcome memory, she concentrated on the task at hand, her job.

Adjusting her position, she lowered her centre of gravity, slid an arm around Rafael’s back and braced herself to hold his weight. Despite the injuries he’d sustained, he was six foot three of packed, lean muscle, his body honed to perfection from years of carefully regimented exercise. She needed every single ounce of her physiotherapist training to ensure he didn’t accidentally flatten her as promised.

She felt him wince as he straightened but, when she glanced at him, his face showed no hint of the pain she knew he must feel.

The head trauma and resulting weeks-long coma he’d lain in after he’d crashed his Premier X1 racing car and ended his world championship reign eight months ago had only formed part of his injuries. He’d also sustained several pelvic fractures and a broken leg that had gone mostly untreated while he’d been unconscious, which meant his recovery had been a slow, frustrating process.

A process made worse by both his stubborn refusal to heed simple instructions and his need to test physical boundaries. Especially hers.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked. Because it was her job to make sure he was okay. Nothing else.

He drew himself up to his full height and tugged his bespoke hand-stitched suit into place. He slid slim fingers through longer-than-conventional hair until the sleek jet-black tresses were raked back from his high forehead. With the same insufferable indolence with which he approached everything in life, he scrutinised her face, lingered for an obscenely long moment on her mouth before stabbing her gaze with his.

‘Are you asking as my physiotherapist or as the woman who continues to scorn my attentions?’

Her mouth tightened. ‘As your physio, of course. I have no interest in the...in being—’

‘Becoming my lover would make so many of our problems go away, Raven, don’t you think? Certainly, this sexual tension you’re almost choking on would be so much easier to bear if you would just let me f—’

‘Are you okay to walk, Rafael?’ she interjected forcefully, hating the way her blood heated and her heart raced at his words.

‘Of course, querida. Thanks to your stalwart efforts this past month, I’m no longer wheelchair-bound and I have the very essence of life running through my veins. But feel free to let your fingers keep caressing my backside the way they’re doing now. It’s been such a long time since I felt this surge of essence to a particular part of my anatomy, I was beginning to fear it’d died.’

With a muted curse and even redder cheeks, she dropped her hand. The professional in her made her stay put until Rafael was fully upright and able to support himself. The female part that hated herself for this insane fever of attraction wanted to run a mile. She compromised by moving a couple of feet away, her face turned from his.

For the second time in as many minutes, his laugh mocked her. ‘Spoilsport.’

She fought the need to clench her hands into agitated fists and faced him when she had herself under sufficient control. ‘How long are you going to keep this up? Surely you can find something else to amuse yourself with besides this need to push my buttons?’

Just like that, his dazzling smile dropped, his eyes gleaming with a hard, cynical edge that made her shiver. ‘Maybe that’s what keeps me going, guapa. Maybe I intend to push your buttons for as long as it amuses me to do so.’

She swallowed hard and considered staring him down. But she knew how good he was at that game. Heck, Rafael was a maestro at most games. He would only welcome the challenge.

Reaching behind him to slam the car door, she started to move with him towards the entrance of the church where baby Jack’s ceremony was being held. ‘If you’re trying to get me to resign by being intolerable, I won’t,’ she stated in as firm a tone as possible, hoping he’d get the hint. Aside from the need to make amends, she needed this job. Her severance package from Team Espíritu when Marco de Cervantes had sold the racing team had been more than generous, but it was fast running out in light of her mother’s huge treatment bills. It would take a lot more than Rafael’s sexual taunts to make her walk away.

He shrugged and fell into step beside her. ‘Good. As long as you’re here tormenting yourself with your guilt, I feel better.’

Acute discomfort lodged in her chest. ‘I thought we weren’t going to speak about that?’

‘You should know by now, rules mean nothing to me. Unspoken rules mean even less. How’s the guilt today, by the way?’

‘Receding by the second, thanks to your insufferable tongue.’

‘I must be slacking.’ He took a step forward, gave a visible wince, and Raven’s heart stopped, along with her feet. He raised a brow at her, the hard smile back on his face. ‘Ah, there it is. Good to know I haven’t lost my touch after all.’

Ice danced down her spine at his chilled tone. Before she could answer, the large bell pealed nearby. Pigeons flew out of the turrets of the tiny whitewashed church that had been on the de Cervantes’s Northern Spanish estate for several hundred years.

Raven glanced around them, past the church poised at the summit of the small hill that overlooked miles of prime de Cervantes vineyards, to the graveyard beyond where Rafael’s ancestors lay interred.

‘Are we going to stand here all day admiring the landscape or do we actually need to go inside the church for this gig?’ A quick glance at him showed his face studiously averted from the prominent headstones, his jaw set in steel.

She drew in a deep breath and moved towards the arched entrance to the church. ‘It’s not a gig; it’s your nephew’s christening. In a church. With other guests. So act accordingly.’