A Prize Beyond Jewels (4 page)

Rafe accepted all of that, he would just prefer not to become any more involved with the Palitov family than he already was, with Nina Palitov in particular. He especially didn’t want the watchful Dmitri Palitov to witness Rafe’s noticeably physical reaction to the man’s daughter.

‘Rafe?’

He scowled, his mouth firming. ‘I have a previous engagement this evening, I’m afraid.’ Thank heavens!

‘I see.’ Nina Palitov looked more than a little surprised at his refusal.

And no doubt that surprise was due to the fact that not too many people, if they were privileged enough to receive an invitation of any kind from the powerful Dmitri Palitov, would ever think of refusing it. As Rafe knew on a professional level he shouldn’t refuse this dinner invitation either, but rather reorganise his date with the actress Jennifer Nichols for another evening instead. No doubt that was what Michael would expect him to do, but, as Rafe was feeling far from pleased with Michael at the moment, he really didn’t give a damn what his big brother did or didn’t think!

Nina knew that her father, for all that he had made the dinner invitation a request, would still be far from pleased that Rafe D’Angelo had refused that invitation.

At the same time as she, personally, couldn’t help but admire Rafe for doing so. She loved her father dearly, but that didn’t prevent her from being fully aware of the fact that his power made him far too accustomed to having his own way, to exerting his will on others, and expecting them to ask ‘how high’ when he said jump. Rafe D’Angelo obviously wasn’t one of those people.

She nodded. ‘My father suggested, if that should be the case, that you choose another evening convenient to yourself?’

‘Let’s see.’ He made a point of opening and checking the large diary on his desk. ‘Tomorrow evening seems to be free at the moment?’

‘If that should change you can let me know tomorrow.’ Nina nodded, still amused rather than concerned by Rafe’s determination not to be dictated to by her father.

He raised dark brows. ‘You still plan on coming in to the gallery every day?’

‘My father expects it.’

Rafe D’Angelo relaxed back against his high-backed black leather chair as he looked at her through narrowed lids. ‘And do you always do what your father expects?’

Nina stiffened at the taunting tone in his voice. ‘It causes him less distress if I do, so yes,’ she confirmed abruptly.

‘Distress?’ He quirked one dark and mocking brow.

‘Yes.’ Nina had no intention of elaborating on that explanation.

Her father’s reasons for being so protective of her were none of Rafe D’Angelo’s business. Or anyone else’s, for that matter. It was what it was, and Nina accepted it as such. If she occasionally chafed against her father’s need for that protection, then that was her own affair, and not Rafe D’Angelo’s.

His golden, predatory gaze now raked over her with a deliberate, and mercilessly male, assessment, causing Nina’s nipples to swell and firm as that gaze finally settled on the pertness of her breasts as they pressed snugly against her T-shirt. Nina drew her breath in softly as the cotton material acted as a mild abrasive against her bared flesh, deepening that arousal, at the same time as she felt a hot gush of dampness between her thighs.

Her body didn’t seem to care that Rafe D’Angelo had deliberately set out to cause this response in her, that he was no doubt amusing himself at her expense as the ache in her nipples became an unbearable torture, and between her thighs swelled, became even more moist, as if in readiness for the stroke, the entry, of this man’s touch.

But Nina cared. Her father’s years of protection might have made her totally inadequate when it came to dealing with men as experienced as Rafe D’Angelo, but she wasn’t about to let herself be the cause of any man’s amusement, least of all the arrogant and mocking Rafe D’Angelo.

She stood up abruptly. ‘I’ll inform my father that you’ve accepted his dinner invitation for tomorrow evening,’ she bit out abruptly.

Rafe raised his gaze reluctantly from enjoying the pertness of Nina Palitov’s breasts, part of that enjoyment having been knowing, by the sudden tautness and swelling of her nipples, that she was far from immune to his appreciative gaze.

But one look at Nina’s face, seeing the pained accusation in those moss-green eyes, the creamy pallor of her cheeks, and the defensive angle of her little pointed chin, and he felt like a complete heel for having behaved so badly. He was angry with his own unexpected physical response to this woman, with Michael for putting him in this position in the first place, even a little with Dmitri Palitov for the same reason, but that didn’t give him the right to take that anger out on Nina.

Rafe stood up to move round to the side of his desk, the two of them now standing only inches apart. ‘Will you be joining us for dinner tomorrow evening?’ he prompted softly.

She looked up at him warily. ‘I believe my father will expect me to be there to act as his hostess, yes.’

His brows rose. ‘You don’t live with your father?’

‘Not quite.’ Nina smiled slightly as she thought of her apartment. It was located in the same building that housed her father’s penthouse apartment, a building that he also owned, and over which he had complete control of all security. Not the complete independence Nina would wish for, but it was better than she had inwardly expected after returning from Stanford.

Rafe D’Angelo eyed her quizzically. ‘What does that mean?’

She gave a shake of her head; her father didn’t discuss their living arrangements with anyone, and consequently some of that need for secrecy had rubbed off on her. ‘It means I will be at my father’s apartment for dinner tomorrow evening.’

‘But you aren’t about to tell me where you live?’ Rafe D’Angelo guessed ruefully.

‘No.’

‘Not even if I were to offer to call for you and drive you to your father’s apartment?’

‘No,’ she refused huskily. ‘And I know my father intends to send one of his cars to collect you. He wanted me to confirm that your apartment is still on Fifth Avenue?’

Rafe felt a stirring of unease; Dmitri Palitov seemed to know far too much about him for comfort—far more than Rafe knew about the other man or his beautiful daughter.

‘It is,’ he confirmed slowly. ‘Thank him for me, but I would prefer to drive myself.’ Having his own transport meant that Rafe could leave when he’d had enough. He also bridled at the thought of being organised by the arrogant Dmitri Palitov!

Nina Palitov frowned at his refusal. ‘I know my father would prefer to have one of his cars collect you.’

‘And I would prefer to drive myself,’ Rafe repeated unrelentingly.

‘I very much doubt you know where he lives.’

‘I doubt many people do,’ he came back knowingly.

‘No.’

He nodded briskly. ‘Perhaps you would like to leave the address with my secretary some time tomorrow? After you’ve spoken to your father again, of course.’

She chewed on her bottom lip, instantly drawing Rafe’s attention to those pouting, slightly reddened lips, and in turn to those captivating moss-green eyes. He realised his mistake as he felt as if he were drowning in those smoky-green depths.

Just as he was aware the rest of him was being pulled, as if by a magnet, towards her, as his head slowly lowered—

‘I should go and check security now,’ Nina rasped abruptly even as she stepped back and away from him. ‘I’ll pass your message on to my father.’

‘Fine.’ Rafe straightened abruptly, inwardly cursing the obviously increasing attraction he felt towards Nina Palitov, and sincerely hoping his date this evening with Jennifer would put that attraction out of his mind—and appease his aching body! ‘Do you want me to come down with you to view security in the basement?’

Nina gave a rueful smile at the obvious lack of enthusiasm in his voice. ‘I believe that I can find my own way, thank you.’

Rafe eyed her irritably. ‘I was being polite.’

‘I noticed,’ she drawled.

Rafe nodded abruptly before striding across to open the office door for her, a little disconcerted at instantly finding himself the focus of two pairs of wraparound sunglasses, the two bodyguards—Rich and Andy?— standing directly outside the door. ‘I assure you, Miss Palitov has come to no harm while in my office,’ he drawled mockingly.

There wasn’t so much as an answering smile in either of those two grimly set faces, neither man sparing Rafe a second glance as Nina stepped out into the hallway. ‘Good day to you, Mr D’Angelo,’ she murmured before walking off towards the lift, the two men falling into step behind her.

Which in no way hindered Rafe of the view of Nina Palitov’s heart-shaped backside in those tight-fitting denims. A view his once-again throbbing body enjoyed to the full.

He was in trouble—serious trouble!—Rafe acknowledged with a low groan, if just looking at the perfect curve of Nina’s bottom in a pair of tight-fitting denims could succeed in making his shaft swell and ache!

CHAPTER THREE

‘Y
OU
LIKE
THIS
Raphael D’Angelo who is coming to dine with us this evening?’

Nina tensed, her hand shaking slightly, as she paused in pouring her father’s usual pre-dinner drink of single malt whisky from the cut-glass decanter into one of the matching glasses on the silver salver. She waited several seconds for her hand to stop shaking, and to compose her expression, before she finished pouring, and then turned to carry the glass over to her father. ‘Have I told you how handsome you look this evening, Papa?’ she complimented lightly.

‘A man of almost seventy-nine cannot be called handsome,’ he drawled dismissively, his English still accented, despite his having lived in the States for more than half his life. ‘Distinguished, perhaps. But I am too far beyond the flush of youth to ever be called handsome.’

‘You always look handsome to me, Papa,’ Nina assured him warmly.

Because he did. Her father might be heading towards his eightieth year, but his habitual air of suppressed vitality made him seem much younger, and his iron-grey hair was still thick and plentiful, his face one of chiselled strength, even if his eyes had faded over the years to a pale green rather than the same moss-green as her own.

Her father gave her a knowing look. ‘You are avoiding answering my original question.’

That was probably because Nina had no idea what had prompted her father to ask it.

She had once again spent the day at the gallery, organising the final arrangement of the display cabinets. She’d felt slightly on edge in case she should see Rafe D’Angelo again, and then a certain amount of disappointment when she’d left the gallery at four o’clock without catching so much as a glimpse of its charismatic owner.

A disappointment she had chastised herself for feeling as she lay soaking in a perfumed bath an hour or so later; Rafe D’Angelo was not a man she should become in the least interested in. He was arrogant, mocking, and, even more importantly, not in the least bit interested in her.

Even so, Nina hadn’t been able to resist switching on her laptop and looking him up on the Internet once she had finished her bath, sitting on her bed in her dressing gown, her wet hair wrapped in a towel, to scroll through the pages and pages of information and gossip on the highly photographed Raphael D’Angelo. She’d told herself that it was because she needed to know all that she could about the man her father had invited to dinner this evening—other than the fact that he brought out a physical reaction in her that she found distinctly uncomfortable.

It had taken her several minutes of scrolling before she found a photograph of him from the previous evening, as he enjoyed an intimate dinner for two at an exclusive New York restaurant, with the beautiful actress Jennifer Nichols—obviously the ‘previous engagement’ that had prompted him to refuse her father’s initial dinner invitation. Nina had switched off her laptop in disgust.

Nina had decided that Rafe D’Angelo was nothing more than a rake and a womaniser, and she refused to waste any more of her time—or her emotions—on him.

‘You are still avoiding it, Nina,’ her father prompted gently.

She gave a rueful shake of her head. ‘That’s probably because I have no idea what prompted you to ask such a question, Papa.’

‘You are looking very beautiful this evening,
maya doch
.’

‘Are you saying I don’t normally?’ she teased.

Her father gave an answering smile. ‘You know you are always beautiful to me, Nina. But tonight you seem to have made a special effort to be so.’

Probably because, after seeing that photograph of Rafe D’Angelo with the actress Jennifer Nichols, that was exactly what she had done! Which was pretty silly of her; she could never hope to compete with the beauty or sophistication of the A-list actress.

Nor should she want to.

Rafe D’Angelo meant nothing to her. As she meant nothing to him.

‘And I do not believe you have made this special effort on my behalf,’ her father added softly. ‘So, do you like this Raphael D’Angelo?’ he persisted.

Nina gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I don’t know him well enough to like or dislike him, Papa.’

‘You spent some time alone with him yesterday.’

She gave a pained frown. ‘I thought we had agreed, after I left Stanford, that I would continue to have my own security detail but that they would only report to you if I was in any danger?’

‘We did,’ her father confirmed unconcernedly. ‘And that has not changed, nor will it. I did not receive this information from your own security detail, Nina. I do not need to do so, when I have my own,’ he added softly.

‘Let me guess, one of the workmen who accompanied me to the gallery yesterday was one of your men,’ she guessed impatiently. ‘Papa, you really shouldn’t have done that.’ She sighed.

He shrugged. ‘I am merely interested to know what you and D’Angelo talked about for the twenty-three minutes you were alone with him in his office,’ he prompted lightly.

‘Twenty-three minutes?’ Nina repeated, incredulous. ‘You timed how long I was in there?’

‘My man did, yes,’ her father dismissed unconcernedly. ‘Are you aware of D’Angelo’s reputation with women?’

‘Papa, I’m not going to discuss this with you any further!’ She threw her hands up in the air in disgust. ‘My meeting yesterday with Rafe D’Angelo was purely business.’

‘Rafe?’

She nodded. ‘It’s what he prefers to be called. And my meeting with him yesterday was on your behalf, I might add.’ She felt a blush warm in her cheeks as she remembered those few seconds, just prior to her leaving Rafe’s office, when it had almost felt as if he had been about to kiss her. Before, because of her own nervousness, she had put an end to that intimacy.

‘I do not want to see you hurt by this man,
maya doch
,’ her father said gently.

‘And I’m assuring you that isn’t going to happen,’ Nina insisted firmly. ‘I told you, I haven’t even decided yet whether or not I even like Raphael D’Angelo!’

‘That’s a pity, because I’ve decided I like you, Nina,’ drawled an infuriatingly familiar voice.

Nina felt the colour drain from her cheeks as she turned sharply to face Rafe D’Angelo as he stood in the doorway slightly behind her father’s butler, obviously having just arrived, and looking breathtakingly handsome in his black evening clothes, with that overlong ebony hair brushed back from his handsome face.

Rafe almost laughed out loud at the look of dismay on Nina Palitov’s face as she realised he had overheard her telling remark in regard to him.

But he only almost laughed...

Not only was it not particularly amusing to hear her state her uncertainty of liking him so plainly, but the way she looked this evening had totally robbed him of the breath to laugh even if he had wanted to!

Nina was wearing a gown the same moss-green as her eyes, a knee-length sheath of a gown that clung lovingly to her womanly curves, with two ribbon straps across her otherwise bare shoulders and arms, the swell of her breasts visible above the low neckline, those long legs revealed as being slender and shapely, with three-inch-heeled shoes of the same colour as her gown bringing her height up to six feet. Her fiery red hair, that crowning glory, was held back from her temples with two diamond clips, but otherwise fell in that tumbling cascade of curls down the length of her spine to rest above the shapely bottom he had so enjoyed looking at yesterday as she’d walked away from him.

‘Mr D’Angelo, sir.’ The English butler maintained a wooden expression as he belatedly announced Rafe’s arrival.

‘Do come in and join us, Mr D’Angelo,’ his host invited smoothly.

Rafe gave the butler a ruefully sympathetic smile as he stepped past him into the sitting room, that smile freezing, becoming fixed, as he looked at his host fully for the first time and realised that Dmitri Palitov was sitting in a wheelchair rather than one of the cream velvet armchairs!

‘I trust you will understand why I do not get up to greet you, Mr D’Angelo,’ Dmitri Palitov drawled dryly as he obviously saw Rafe’s look of surprise.

A surprise Rafe quickly masked beneath a politely bland smile as he strode across the room to shake the hand the older man held out to him. ‘No problem. And please call me Rafe,’ he invited lightly as he released his hand from the other man’s strong grip. ‘Despite being unsure as to whether or not she likes me, your daughter already calls me Rafe,’ he added softly before glancing challengingly across to where Nina stood silently watching the two men. His glance was slightly censorious, but not because of what Nina had said; Rafe would have appreciated a heads up in regard to knowing her father was in a wheelchair before actually meeting his host this evening.

Although he acknowledged that might have been a little difficult for her to do. Nina had done as he’d asked, and left her father’s address with his assistant earlier, but Rafe admitted to going out of his way to ensure the two of them didn’t actually meet during the hours she had been at the gallery today.

Because he was annoyed.

With himself, not Nina.

Nina could have no idea that his evening with Jennifer Nichols had gone so disastrously wrong for the simple reason he couldn’t stop thinking about Nina. Or, at least, his rebellious body had refused to stop thinking about Nina.

So much so that Rafe hadn’t felt an ounce of desire to bed the beautiful actress at the end of the evening, and had instead merely kissed Jennifer on the cheek after driving her home, before then going home alone to his own apartment and his empty bed. Not to go straight to sleep, unfortunately, as a certain part of his anatomy had refused to comply, and even when he had finally slept it had been fitfully, and filled with dreams of bedding flame-haired Nina!

Consequently Rafe hadn’t been in the best of moods all day; he’d certainly felt no inclination to actually see or talk to the woman who was causing his present lack of sexual desire to bed another woman. Something that had never happened to him before, and Rafe didn’t appreciate that it was happening to him now either.

‘Do not blame Nina for her earlier remark,’ his host advised ruefully. ‘What you overheard her say was merely as a result of my having just teased her.’

Rafe wondered exactly what Dmitri Palitov had been teasing his daughter about to have elicited such a vehement response from her, and that curiosity was added to by the sudden blush that now coloured Nina’s cheeks.

‘Would you care to join me in a glass of whisky before dinner, Rafe?’ his host offered politely.

‘Thank you, Dmitri.’ Rafe nodded, watching through narrowed lids as Nina silently crossed the room to the array of drinks on the sideboard, that red hair like a living flame as it tumbled down the length of her spine as she kept her back turned towards them while she poured his whisky.

‘I trust your previous engagement, yesterday evening, was successful, Rafe?’

Rafe turned back as his host spoke to him once again, knowing by the hardness of the older man’s expression that Dmitri Palitov had noticed his interest in his daughter, and wasn’t sure as to whether he approved or not.

As the other man was also aware of exactly what—and with whom—Rafe’s previous engagement had been last night?

The mockery in those pale green eyes looking so challengingly up into his indicated the answer to that question was a resounding yes. Dmitri Palitov knew exactly where and with whom Rafe had been the previous evening.

‘Really, Papa,’ Nina drawled mockingly as she crossed the room to hand Rafe his glass of whisky, her hand deliberately not coming into contact with his as she did so. ‘We really shouldn’t embarrass Rafe by enquiring as to whether or not he enjoyed his evening with Miss Nichols.’

Great; not only did Dmitri Palitov know who Rafe had spent the previous evening with, but it appeared Nina was aware of it too. And the mockery in her expression as she looked at him from beneath thick dark lashes indicated she had drawn her own conclusions about how that evening had ended too.

Nina felt a certain amount of satisfaction in seeing the look of discomfort on Rafe D’Angelo’s face as he realised both she and her father were aware he had considered an evening—and night?—spent with the beautiful actress to be more pressing than accepting a dinner invitation from an important client of one of the galleries he owned with his two brothers.

‘Not at all,’ he finally answered tautly. ‘And I had a very pleasant evening, thank you.’

Her father chuckled softly. ‘Not much escapes the attention of the press nowadays, Rafe; it is the price one pays when one is in the public eye.’

‘Obviously.’ He scowled as he took a swallow of the whisky in his glass.

Nina felt a certain admiration for the fact that Rafe made no attempt to try and excuse his behaviour; many men, when confronted by a man as powerful as her father, would have tried to bluster their way out of the situation. Obviously, Rafe D’Angelo had no intention of apologising to any man, or woman, for what he did or didn’t choose to do.

‘Perhaps you would care to see the jewellery collection before dinner, Rafe?’ her father offered lightly.

‘I would like that very much, thank you,’ the younger man accepted.

Nina accompanied the two men to her father’s private sanctuary, impressed as Rafe proceeded to murmur both suitable admiration and knowledge of the beautiful jewellery her father had collected over the years.

It really was a truly amazing and unique collection with dozens and dozens of priceless pieces of jewellery; several necklaces, bracelets and rings had once been owned by the Tsarina Alexandra herself. But every single piece of that magnificent collection had a history of its own, and her father had spent years learning every single one of those histories.

The mood for the evening was much more relaxed once they returned to the sitting room, the conversation over dinner lightly interesting as they all first discussed the exhibition to take place next week, before the conversation moved on to politics, and the inevitable subject of sport, most specifically American Football, as the two men lingered over their brandy and cigars.