Victoria Parker - His Ultimate Demand

‘Think about it, Ruby. You’ve travelled thousands of miles to get my attention. I intend to give you that attention. Do you think it prudent to walk out now, when you could be so close?’

‘I...’ She sucked in a breath as overwhelming feelings swamped her. ‘Why can’t we discuss it now?’

‘Because I don’t like to discuss business without a clear head. And since you’ve plied me with exquisite cocktails all evening, I’d be making those decisions under severe influence.’ He tilted his head again in that alarmingly endearing way and a lock of hair fell over his eyes.

Dear God. This man was truly lethal. He oozed sex and sensuality without so much as lifting a finger.

‘You didn’t ply me with all those drinks in order to take advantage of me, did you? Because that would be horrifyingly disappointing.’

Outraged, she gasped. ‘I most certainly did not.’

Slowly, he extended a hand to her. ‘In that case, Ruby Trevelli, there’s no earthly reason not to stay. Is there?’

* * *

Narciso was doing his best to stop his fury from showing. The same way he was doing his best to keep from kicking himself for ignoring the alarm bells.

Usually he could spot chancers and gold-diggers a mile away, be they tuxedo-clad or dressed in designer gowns that looked too small for them.

For a moment he wished she’d kept her mouth shut until after he’d slept with her to make her avarice known. He would’ve been a lot more generous than he was feeling now.

He would also have felt used.

Fury mounted and his frustrated erection threatened to cut him in half as she stayed out of his reach. Out of his arms.

Recalling her responsiveness, the gut-clenching potency of her kiss, he nearly growled.

She kissed as if she were born for it. Narciso wondered how many men she’d kissed like that in the past and felt a red haze wash over his fury.

Dio, what was wrong with him? He should find the nearest phone and report her to management.

Zeus, his host and owner of the club, had so far excelled in keeping people like Ruby away from Q Virtus guests. Sure, most Petit Qs would accept a generous gift from a guest, but blatant stalking wasn’t tolerated.

Except, his stalker seemed eager to get away from him, her catlike blue eyes apprehensive as she glanced at his outstretched hand.

‘Come here,’ he commanded.

She swayed towards him, then abruptly halted her forward momentum. ‘If you’re too drunk to talk, what other reason is there for me to stay? And don’t mention wild sex. Because that’s not going to happen.’

Contrary to what he’d said, his mind was as clear and as sharp as a fillet knife. And it sensed a curious dichotomy in her words and actions. The dress, make-up and screw-me stilettos said one thing. Her words indicated another.

He intended to burrow until he found the truth.

Nice choice of words, Narciso, he thought as arousal spiked higher in his blood. Lowering his hand, he turned abruptly.

‘I’m returning to the bedroom. If you’re not there within the next minute, I’ll take it that our business is concluded,’ he said over his shoulder.

‘Wait! You can’t do that...’

Narciso smiled with satisfaction at her frustration. Whether she followed him or not, there was no way he was letting her out of his suite tonight. Not until he’d had her checked out thoroughly and satisfied himself what sort of threat she posed.

He recalled the circumstances of their meeting. Of all the tables she could’ve been hostessing, she’d been at Giacomo’s table.

This time he didn’t ignore the churning in his gut. Giacomo had played that game before...

He turned and found her two steps behind him but any satisfaction was marred by the new set of questions clamouring for answers.

‘Why are you really here, Ruby? Did the old man send you?’

Fresh trepidation flared in her eyes at his harsh tone. ‘Who... Oh, that guy you were playing with? No, I have no idea who he is and I’d never met him before tonight.’

He tried to read her. Surely, even seasoned liars couldn’t look him straight in the eye as she was without flinching?

‘Be warned, if I find that to be untrue, there’ll be hell to pay.’

‘I’m telling you, I don’t know him.’ Her fingers meshed together and she began to fidget. But not once did her stare waver from his.

Narciso decided to be satisfied. For now. He entered the bedroom and crossed to the en suite.

‘So I’m here. Now what?’ she asked.

‘I’m going to take a shower. You do whatever you want. As long as you don’t leave this room.’

‘God, this is nuts,’ he heard her mutter as he entered the bathroom. Despite the volatile emotions churning through him, he smiled. From the corner of his eye, he watched her head once more to the stunning view of Macau City.

Silhouetted against the view, her body was so perfectly stunning, his mouth dried. Disappointment welled in his chest but he suppressed it as he undressed.

The cold shower was bracing enough to calm his arousal but not enough to wash away the bitterness as he replayed his evening.

Giacomo was bent on trying to take Narciso down.

Well, that suited Narciso fine. Although Narciso could’ve destroyed him with that last move, the notion of leaving him dangling a little bit longer had been irresistible.

The opportunity would present itself again soon enough. Giacomo was predictable in his hatred for him, if for nothing else.

And at thirty, exactly ten years after his father’s most cutting betrayal, the need for vengeance burned just as brightly in Narciso’s veins.

For as long as he’d been old enough to retain his memories, Narciso had known that Giacomo bore him a deep, abiding hatred. As a child he’d been bewildered as to why nothing he did pleased or satisfied the man he once called Papa.

On his eleventh birthday, a whisky-soaked Giacomo had finally revealed to him the reason he detested the sight of his son. At first, even reeling from the shock of the discovery, Narciso had stupidly believed he could turn things around, make his father, if not love him, at least learn to cohabit peacefully with him. He’d made sure his grades were perfect, that he was quiet and obedient and exemplary in all things.

Narciso’s mouth twisted. That had lasted all of a year before he’d accepted he was flogging a dead horse. When his thirteenth birthday had come and gone without so much as a single lit candle on a store-bought birthday cake, he’d finally admitted that war was the only way forward.

He’d suppressed whatever heartache had threatened to catch him unawares in the dead of night and used animosity to feed his ambitions to succeed. He’d won scholarships to the best colleges in the world. His head for figures had seen him attain his first million by eighteen. By twenty he’d been a multimillionaire.

Twenty...also the age he’d met Maria, the unexpected tool his father had used against him. The wound gaped another inch.

With a sharp curse, he shut off the shower. Snapping up a towel, he tied it around his waist.

Maria was dead to him, but, in a way, he was pleased for her transient presence in his life ten years ago. She’d reinforced his belief that lowering his guard, even for a moment, was foolhardy. That even fake love came at a steep price.

Money and sex were the two things he thrived on now. Emotions...connections, hell, love, were a complete waste of his time.

He entered the bedroom and found Ruby reclining on the bed, legs crossed, one bare foot tapping in agitation. She shot upright at his entry. After that one quick look, Narciso barely glanced in her direction as he walked to the connecting dressing room.

The whole evening was screwed up. His thwarted efforts to bed her, and now his unexplained trip down memory lane had left him in an edgy mood. Snatching at his fast-dwindling control, he reached for the rarely used silk pajama bottoms and dropped his towel.