His Ultimate Prize. Maya Blake
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‘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
MAYA BLAKE fell 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 [email protected],
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
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To Lucy Gilmour, for making my dream come true, and also because I know she loves bad boys!
Contents
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