His Ultimate Prize. Maya Blake

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.’