His Ultimate Prize(8)

       
           



       

'Physically or mentally?'

'Only you can judge your mental state but, as your physiotherapist, I'd say you're not ready.'

He finally got his body under enough control to stand. He caught her  sharp inhalation when he rounded the desk and perched on the edge next  to where she stood. Hazel eyes, wide and spirited, glared at him.

Taking the sheet from her hand, he dropped it on the table, reached  across-slowly, so she wouldn't bolt-and traced his forefinger along her  jaw. 'Your eyes are so huge right now. You're almost shaking with worry  for me. Yet you try and make me think you detest the very ground I walk  on.'

Her hand rose to intercept his finger but, instead of pushing it away,  she kept a hold of it, imploring eyes boring into his. 'I don't detest  you, Rafael. If I did, I wouldn't be here. I'll admit we're...different  but-' her shoulders rose and fell under the thin layer of her cotton top  '-I'm willing to put aside our differences to help you recuperate  properly. And racing before you're ready...come on, you know that's  crazy. Besides, think of your family, of Sasha. Do you think you're  being fair to them, putting them through this?'

He froze. 'I've never responded well to emotional blackmail. And leave  Sasha out of this. I'll tell you what, if you don't want me to race,  you'll have to find other ways to keep me entertained.'

She dropped his hand as if it burned, just like he'd known she would. 'Why does everything always circle back to sex with you?'

'I didn't actually mean that sexually, but what the hell, let's go with it.'

'Stop doing that!'

'Doing what, mi encantador?'

'Pretending you're a male bimbo whore.'

'Are you saying I'm not?' He pretended astonishment, the fizz of getting under her skin headier than the most potent wine.

She nodded at the papers on his desk. 'You just reminded me that you run  a multi-billion-dollar corporation. I don't care how great you claim to  be in bed; you couldn't have made it without using some upstairs  skills.'

He leaned back on the table when a twinge of pain shot through his left hip. 'How do you know?'

'You shouldn't sit like that. You're putting too much pressure on your hip.'

Annoyance replaced his buzz. He didn't deny that Raven had made much  progress where his previous physios had failed. After all, it was the  reason Team Espíritu had hired her as his personal therapist last year.  She was the best around and got impressive results with her rigorous  regime. But she'd always been able to brush him off as if he were a  pesky fly.

He remained in his exact position, raising a daring brow when her gaze  collided with his. His blood thickened when she took the dare and  stepped closer.

Without warning, her hand shot out and grabbed his hip. Her thumb dug  into his hipbone where the pain radiated from. A few rotations of  pressure-based massage and he wanted to moan with relief.

'Why do you fight me when you know I'm the best person to help you get better?' she breathed.

'Because my mamá told me I never took the easy way out. You will never get me to ask how high when you say jump.'

She paused for a second, then continued to massage his hip. 'You never talk about your mother,' she murmured.

Tension rippled through him. 'I never talk about anyone in my family.  The prying all comes from you, bonita. You've made it a mission to  upturn every single rock in my life.'

'And yet I don't feel in any way enlightened about your life.'

'Maybe because I'm an empty vessel.' He tried damn hard not to let the acid-like guilt bleed through his voice.

'No, you're not. You just like to pretend you are. Have you considered  that by pretending to be something you're not, all you're doing is  attracting attention to the very thing you wish to avoid?'

'That's deep. And I presume that thought challenges you endlessly?'

Her hand had moved dangerously close to his fly. If she looked down or  moved her actions a few inches west, she'd realise that, despite their  verbal sparring skimming the murkier waters of his personal life, he was  no less excited by her touch.

In fact, he wasn't ashamed to admit that he found the return of his  libido exhilarating. For a few weeks after he'd emerged from his coma  it'd been touch and go. His doctors had cautioned him that he might not  resume complete sexual function. Raven Blass's appearance in his  hospital room five weeks ago had blown that misdiagnosis straight out of  the water.

'No,' she responded. 'I know better than to issue challenges to you.'

'You're such a buzzkill,' he said, but he felt relieved that she'd decided to leave the matter of his mother alone.

He saw the faintest trace of a smile on her face before it disappeared.  Her fingers moved away, rounded his hip and settled into his back. The  movement brought her closer still, her chest mere inches from his. Firm,  relief-bringing fingers dug into his muscle. Again he suppressed a moan  of relief.

'I know. But think how smug I'd feel if you got back into racing before  you were ready and reversed your progress. You'd never hear the end of  it if you proved me right.'

The sultry movement of her mouth was a siren call he didn't try very  hard to resist. His forefinger was gliding over her mouth before he  could stop himself. Her fingers stilled before digging painfully into  his back. The rush of her breath over his finger sent his pulse  thundering.

'Or I could die. And this relentless song and dance could be over between us. Once and for all.'





 CHAPTER FOUR

THE CALM DELIVERY of his words, spoken with barely a flicker of those lush jet eyelashes, froze her to the core.

'Is that what you want? To die?' Her words were no more than a whisper, coated with the shock that held her immobile.

'We all have to die some time.'

'But why, Rafael? Why do you wish to hurry the process when every rational human being fights to stay alive?'

'Mi tesoro, rational isn't exactly what most people think when they look at me.'

'That's not an answer.' She realised she was hanging on to him with a  death claw but, for the life of her, Raven couldn't let go. She feared  her legs would fail her if she did. And hell, she wasn't even sure why  Rafael's explanation was so important to her. For all she knew, it was  another statement meant to titillate and shock. But, looking closer, her  blood grew colder. Something in his expression wasn't quite right. Or,  rather, it was too right, as if he held his statement with some  conviction. 'What is it, Rafael? Please tell me why you said that.'

'Quid pro quo, sweetheart. If I bare my soul, will you bear yours?'

'Would that give you something to live for?'

Raven could've sworn she heard the snap of his jaw as he went rigid in  her arms. Grasping her by the elbows, he set her away from him and  straightened to his impressive six foot three inches. His lids shuttered  his expression and he returned to the seat behind his desk.

'The amateur head-shrinking session is over, chiquita. Modify your  regime to accommodate travel and liaise with Diego if you'll need  special equipment for where we'll be travelling. We leave on Wednesday.'  He reeled off their intended destinations before picking up a glossy  photo of the latest Cervantes sports car.

Knowing she wouldn't make any more headway with him, she turned to leave.

'Oh, and Raven?'

'Yes?'

'We'll be attending several high profile events, so make sure you pack  something other than kick-boxing shorts, trainers and tank tops. As  delectable as they are, they won't suit.'

* * *

Raven fought the need to smash her fist into the nearest priceless vase  as she left Rafael's study. Not because he would see her, although the  glass walls meant he would, but because not losing control was paramount  if she wished to maintain her equilibrium.

She'd fought long and hard to channel her tumultuous emotions into  useful energy when, at sixteen, she'd realised how very little her  father cared for her. For far too long, she'd been so angry with the  world for taking her mother away and replacing her with a useless,  despicable parent, she'd let her temper get the better of her.

Rafael could do his worst. She would not let him needle her further.

Taking the sheet into the vast living room, she spent the next hour  revising Rafael's regime and speaking to Diego about organising the  equipment she would need. Again she felt unease and a healthy amount of  frustrated anger at Rafael's decision to return to X1 racing. She didn't  shy away from the blunt truth that she herself wanted to avoid the  inevitable return.

Even though she'd been paid handsomely by Team Espíritu and treated well  by the team, she'd always felt ill at ease in that world. She didn't  have to dig deep to recognise the reason.

Sexual promiscuity had been almost a given in the paddock. Hell, some  even considered it a challenge to sleep with as many bodies as possible  during one race season.                       
       
           



       

She'd received more than her fair share of unwanted male attention and,  by the end of her first season, she'd known she was in danger of earning  a frigid badge. Ironically, it was Sasha Fleming's catapult into the  limelight as the team's lead racer that had lessened male interest in  her. For the first time, female paddock professionals were seen as more  than just the next notch on a bedpost.