A virgin in the lion’s den…

Tonight at the gaming tables of the impossibly exclusive gentleman’s club Q Virtus ruthless billionaire Narciso Valentino is finally about to destroy his enemy. But one look at the club’s curvaceous hostess assigned to see to his every need and he’s willing to delay the moment of satisfaction—for another kind altogether….

Talented chef Ruby Trevelli is there to force Narciso to save her business—not give him her virginity. Yet beneath that lethally sexy exterior is a tortured man who believes himself beyond redemption, and Ruby is soon facing the ultimate temptation—with the ultimate playboy!

‘Don’t sell yourself short, sweetheart. I’d place you more as a deliciously forbidden dessert than as an appetiser. But one I intend to devour nonetheless.’

‘Look, Mr…?’

Narciso raised a brow. ‘You’re at a masked event, shrouded in secrecy, embroiled in intrigue and mystery, and you want to know my name?’ he asked cynically.

How could she have forgotten? ‘Why do I get the feeling that all this bores you rigid?’

His eyes gleamed. ‘How very intuitive of you. You’re right, it does. Or it did until I saw you.’

Ruby’s heart gave a little kick. One she determinedly ignored. ‘You were fully engaged when you played your game. And that had nothing to do with me.’

Again that reminder hardened his eyes. ‘Ah, but I lost thirty million dollars so I could make what’s happening between us happen sooner.’

‘There’s nothing happening…’

‘If you believe that then you really are naïve.’

THE 21st CENTURY GENTLEMAN’S CLUB

Where the rich, powerful and passionate come to play!

For years there have been rumours of a secret society where only the richest, the most powerful and the most decadent can embrace their every desire.

Nothing is forbidden in this private world of pleasure.

And when exclusivity is beyond notoriety only those who are invited to join ever know its name…

Q Virtus

Now the truth behind the rumours is about to be revealed!

Find out in:

THE ULTIMATE PLAYBOY

by Maya Blake

July 2014

THE ULTIMATE SEDUCTION

by Dani Collins

August 2014

THE ULTIMATE REVENGE

by Victoria Parker

September 2014

The Ultimate Playboy

Maya Blake

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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 the age of thirteen. Shortly thereafter the dream to plot a happy ending for her own characters was born. Writing for Harlequin® 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 mayablake@ymail.com, or on Twitter: www.twitter.com/mayablake

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To David and Peter.

Life would be so much duller without you two!

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EXTRACT

CHAPTER ONE

New York

NARCISO VALENTINO STARED at the box that had been delivered to him. It was large, made with the finest expensive leather, trimmed with velvet rope, with a horseshoe-shaped clasp made of solid twenty-four-carat gold.

Normally, the sight of it brought anticipation and pleasure.

But the ennui that had invited itself for a long-term stay in his life since he’d turned thirty last month leached excitement from him as the stock market leaked money after a juicy disaster.

Lucia had accused him of turning into a boring old man right before her diva exit out of his life two weeks ago.

He allowed himself a little grin of relief. He’d celebrated her departure with a boys’ weekend ski trip to Aspen where he’d treated himself to a little palate cleanser in the form of a very enthusiastic Norwegian ski instructor.

But much too quickly, the jaded hollowness had returned.

Rising from his desk, he strode to the window of his seventieth-floor Wall Street office and stared at the New York skyline. Satisfaction eased through him at the thought that he owned a huge chunk of this city.

Money was sexy. Money was power. And The Warlock of Wall Street—as the newspapers had taken to calling him—never denied himself the pull of power and sex.

The opportunity to experience two of his favourite things lay within the package on his desk.

Yet it’d remained unopened for the last hour...

Shrugging off the lethargy, he returned briskly to his desk and flipped the clasp.

The half mask staring up at him from a bed of black satin was exquisite. Pure silver edged with black onyx and Swarovski crystals, its intricate design and flawless detail announced the care and attention that had gone into creating it. Narciso appreciated care and attention. It was what had made him a millionaire by eighteen and a multibillionaire by twenty-five.

His vast wealth was also what had gained him admission into Q Virtus, the world’s most exclusive gentlemen’s club, whose quarterly caucus invitation was the reason for the mask. Two four-inch-long diamond-tipped pins held the mask in place. Pulling them out, he flipped it over to examine the soft, velvet underside, which held the security microchip, his moniker—The Warlock—and the venue, Q Virtus, Macau. He ran his thumb over the smooth surface, hoping to summon a little enthusiasm. Failing miserably, he set the mask down and glanced at the second item in the box.

The List.

Zeus, the anonymous head of Q Virtus, always provided club members with a discreet list of business interests who would be attending the caucuses. Narciso had chosen not to attend the last two because he’d already dealt with those lists’ major players.

His gaze skimmed the heavily embossed paper and his breath caught. Excitement of a different, dangerous kind sizzled through him as the fourth name jumped out at him.

Giacomo Valentino—Daddy dearest.

He perused the other names to see if anyone else on the list would make his attendance worthwhile.

His lips twisted. Who the hell was he kidding?

One name and one name only had become the deciding factor. There were one or two business interests worth cultivating during the two-day event, but Giacomo was who he intended to interact with.

Although perhaps interact was the wrong word.

Setting the list down, he fired up his computer. Entering the security codes, he pulled up the file he kept on his father.

The report his private investigator updated on a regular basis showed that the old man had rallied a little from the blow Narciso had dealt him three months ago.

Rallied but not fully recovered. Within minutes, Narciso was fully up to speed on his father’s latest business dealings.

He didn’t fool himself into thinking it gave him any sort of upper hand. He knew his father kept a similar file on him. But the game wouldn’t have been this interesting if advantages had been one-sided. Nevertheless Narciso gained a lot of satisfaction from knowing he’d won three of their last four skirmishes.

He was contemplating the latest approach to his annihilation campaign when his phone buzzed.

Allowing the distraction, he thumbed the interactive surface and read the message from Nicandro Carvalho, the closest thing he had to a best friend.

Still caught in premature midlife-crisis mode, or are you ready to shake off that clinging BOM image?

Boring old man. A corner of his mouth lifted as his gaze slid to the list and his father’s name. Suddenly energised, he whipped back a response.

BOM has left the building. Care to get your ass whopped at poker?

Nicandro’s response—Dream on but bring it on—made him laugh for the first time in weeks.

Powering down his laptop, he slammed it shut. His gaze once again fell on the mask. Picking it up, he stashed it in his safe and shrugged into his suit jacket.

Zeus would receive his RSVP in the morning, once he’d devised exactly how he was going to take his father down once and for all.

* * *

The internet was a scary place. But it was an invaluable tool if you wanted to hunt down a slippery son of a bitch.

Ruby Trevelli sat cross-legged on her sofa and stared at the blinking cursor awaiting her command. That she was reduced to online trawling for a solution to her problem spiked equal measures of irritation and frustration through her.

She’d made it a point to avoid anything to do with social media. The one time she’d foolishly typed her name into a search engine, the sheer volume of false information she’d discovered had scared her into never trying again.

Of course, she’d also found enough about her parents to have scarred her for life if she hadn’t already been scarred.

Tonight, she had no choice. Because despite thousands of pages featuring Narciso Media Corporation, every effort to speak to someone who could help her had been met with a solid stone wall. She’d already wasted a solid hour discovering that a thirty-year-old billionaire named Narciso Valentino owned NMC.

She snorted under her breath. Who on earth named their child Narciso anyway? That was like inviting bullies and snark-mongers to feast on the poor child. On the flip side, his unique name had eased her search.

Sucking in a breath, she typed in her next request: Narciso’s New York hangouts. There were over two million entries. Awesome.

Either there were millions of men out there named Narciso or the man she sought was indecently popular.

Offering up a Hail Mary, she clicked the first link. And nearly gagged at the graphic burlesque images that popped up.

Hell no!

She closed it and sat back, fighting the rising nausea.

Desperate was fast becoming her middle name but Ruby refused to accept that the answers to her woeful financial predicament would be found in a skin den.

Biting her inside lip, she exhaled and typed again: Where’s Narciso Valentino tonight?

Her breath caught as the search engine fired back a quick response. The first linked the domain of a popular tabloid newspaper—one she’d become rudely acquainted with when she’d received her first laptop at ten, logged on and seen her parents splashed over the home page. In the fourteen years since then, she’d avoided the tabloid, just as she avoided her parents nowadays.

Ignoring the ache in her chest, she clicked on the next link that connected to a location app.

For several seconds, she couldn’t believe how easily she’d found him. She read the extensive list of celebrities who’d announced their whereabouts freely, including one attending a movie premiere right now in Times Square.

Grabbing the remote, she flipped the TV channel to the entertainment news station, and, sure enough, the movie star was flashing a million-dollar smile at his adoring fans.

She glanced back at the location next to Narciso Valentino’s name.

Riga—a Cuban-Mexican nightclub in the Flatiron District in Manhattan.

Glancing at the clock above the TV, she made a quick calculation. If she hurried, she could be there in under an hour. Her heart hammered as she contemplated what she was about to do.

She despised confrontation almost as much as her parents thrived on it. But after weeks of trying to find a solution, she’d reached the end of her tether.

She’d won the NMC reality TV show and scraped together every last cent to come up with her half of the hundred-thousand-dollar capital needed to get her restaurant—Dolce Italia—up and running.

Any help she could’ve expected from Simon Whittaker, her ex-business partner and owner of twenty-five per cent of Dolce Italia, was now a thing of the past.

She clenched her fist as she recalled their last confrontation.

Finding out that the man she’d developed feelings for was married with a baby on the way had been shock enough. Simon trying to talk her into sleeping with him despite his marital status had killed any emotion she’d ever had for him.

He’d sneered at her wounded reaction to his intended infidelity. But having witnessed it up close with gut-wrenching frequency in her parents’ marriage, she was well versed in its consequences.

Cutting Simon out of her life once she’d seen his true colours had been a painful but necessary decision.

Of course, without his business acumen she’d had to take full financial responsibility of Dolce Italia. Hence her search for Narciso Valentino. She needed him to stand by his company’s promise. A contract was a contract....

* * *

A gleaming black limo was pulling up as she rounded the corner of the block that housed the nightclub. The journey had taken an extra half-hour because of a late-running train. Wincing at the pinch of her high heels on the uneven pavestones, she hurried towards Riga’s red-bricked façade.

She was navigating her way around puddles left by the recent April shower, when deep male laughter snagged her attention.

A burly bouncer held open the velvet rope cordon as two men, both over six feet tall, exited the VIP entrance in the company of two strikingly beautiful women. The first man was arresting enough to warrant a second look but it was the other man who commanded Ruby’s interest.

Jet-black hair had been styled to slant over the right side of his forehead in a silky wave that flowed back to curl over his collar.

Her steps faltered as the power of his presence slammed into her, and knocked air out of her lungs. His aura sent a challenge to the world, dared it to do its worst.

Dazed, she documented his profile—winged eyebrow, beautifully sculpted cheekbone, a straight patrician nose and a curved mouth that promised decadent pleasure—or what she imagined decadent pleasure looked like. But his mouth promised it and, well, this guy looked as if he could deliver on whatever sensual promises he made.

‘Hey, miss. You coming in any time this century?’

The bouncer’s voice distracted her, but not for long enough to completely pull her attention away. When she looked back, the man was turning away but it wasn’t before Ruby caught another quick glimpse of his breathtaking profile.

Her gaze dropped lower. His dark grey shirt worn under a clearly bespoke jacket was open at the collar, allowing a glimpse of a bronzed throat and mouth-watering upper chest.

Ruby inhaled sharply and pulled her coat tighter around her as if that could stem the heat rushing like a breached dam through her.

The drop-dead gorgeous blonde smiled his way. His hand dropped from her waist to her bottom, drifted over one cheek to cup it in a bold squeeze before he helped her into the car. The first man shouted a query, and the group turned away from Ruby. Just like that, the strangely intimate and disturbing link was broken.

Her insides sagged and she realised how tight a grip she’d held on herself.

Even after the limo swung into traffic, Ruby couldn’t move, nor could she stem the tingling suspicion that she’d arrived too late.

The bouncer cleared his throat conspicuously. She turned. ‘Can you tell me who that second guy was who just got into that limo?’ she asked.

He raised one are-you-serious? eyebrow.

Ruby shook her still-dazed head and smiled at the bouncer. ‘Of course you can’t tell me. Bouncer-billionaire confidentiality, right?’

His slow grin gentled his intimidating stature. ‘Got it in one. Now, you coming in or you just jaywalking?’

‘I’m coming in.’ Although the strong suspicion that she’d missed Narciso Valentino grew by the second.

‘Great. Here you go.’ The bouncer placed a Mayan-mask-shaped stamp on her wrist, glanced up at her, then added another stamp. ‘Show it at the bar. It’ll get you your first drink on the house.’ He winked.

She smiled in relief as she entered the smoky interior. If her guess had been wrong and she hadn’t just missed Narciso Valentino, she could nurse an expensive drink while searching him out.

She’d worked in clubs like these all through college and knew how expensive even the cheapest drinks were. Which was why she clutched an almost warm virgin Tiffany Blue an hour later as she accepted that Narciso Valentino was the man she’d seen outside.

Resigned to her fruitless journey, she downed the last of her drink and was looking for a place to set the glass down when the voices caught her attention.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I am. Narciso will be there.’

Ruby froze, then glanced into one of the many roped-off VIP areas. Two women dripping in expensive jewellery and designer dresses that would cost her a full year’s salary sat sipping champagne.

Unease at her shameless eavesdropping almost forced her away but desperation held her in place.

‘How do you know? He didn’t attend the last two events.’ The blonde looked decidedly pouty at that outcome.

‘I told you, I overheard the guy he was with this evening talking about it. They’re both going this time. If I can get a job as a Petit Q hostess, this could be my chance,’ her red-headed friend replied.

‘What? To dress in a clown costume in the hope of catching his eye?’

‘Stranger things have happened.’

‘Well, hell will freeze over before I do that to hook a guy,’ the blonde huffed.

Statuesque Redhead’s lips pursed. ‘Don’t knock it till you try it. It pays extremely well. And if Narciso Valentino falls in my lap, well, let’s just say I won’t let that life-changing opportunity pass me by.’

‘Okay, you have my attention. Give me the name of the website. And where the hell is Macau anyway?’ the blonde asked.

‘Umm...Europe, I think?’

Ruby barely suppressed a snort. Heart thumping, she took her phone from her tiny clutch and keyed in the website address.

An hour and a half later, she sent another Hail Mary and pressed send on the online forms she’d filled out on her return home.

It might come to nothing. She could fail whatever test or interview she had to pass to get this gig. Heck, after discovering that she was applying to hostess for Q Virtus, one of the world’s most exclusive and secretive private clubs, she wondered if she didn’t need her head examined. She could be wasting money and precious time chasing an elusive man. But she had to try. Each day she waited was another day her goal slipped from her fingers.

The alternative—bowing to the pressure from her mother to join the family business—was unthinkable. At best she would once again become the pawn her parents used to antagonise each other. At worst, they would try and drag her down into their celebrity-hungry lifestyle.

They’d made her childhood a living hell. And she only had to pass a billboard in New York City to see they were still making each other’s lives just as miserable but taking pleasure in documenting the whole thing for the world to feast on.

The Ricardo & Paloma Trevelli Show was prime-time viewing. The fly-on-the-wall documentary had been running for as long as Ruby could remember.

When she was growing up, her daily routine had included at least two sets of camera crews documenting her every move along with her parents’.

TV crews had become extended family members. For a very short time when it’d made her the most popular girl at school, she’d told herself she was okay with it.

Until her father’s affairs began. His very public admission of infidelity when she was nine years old had made ratings soar. Her mother publicly admitting her heartbreak had made worldwide news. Almost overnight, the TV show had been syndicated worldwide and brought her parents even more notoriety.

The subsequent reunion and vow renewal had thrilled the world.

After her father’s second admission of infidelity, millions of viewers had been given the opportunity to weigh in on the outcome of Ruby’s life.

Strangers had accosted her on the street, alternatively pitying and shaming her for being a Trevelli.

Escaping to college at the opposite end of the country had been a blessing. But even then she hadn’t been able to avoid her roots.

It’d quickly become apparent that she had no other talent than cooking.

The realisation that the Trevelli gene was truly stamped into her DNA was a deep fear she secretly harboured. It was the reason she’d cut Simon out of her life without a backward glance. It was also the reason she’d vowed never to let her parents influence her life.

Which was why she needed a ten-minute conversation with Narciso Valentino. A tingle of awareness shot through her as she replayed the scene outside Riga.

With a spiky foreboding, she recalled the dark, dangerously sensual waves vibrating off him; those bronzed, sure fingers drifting over the blonde’s bottom, causing unwelcome heat to drag through Ruby’s belly.

God, what was she doing lying in bed thinking of some stranger’s hand on his girlfriend’s ass?

She punched her pillow into shape and flipped off her bedside lamp. She couldn’t control the future but she could control the choice between mooning over elegant hands that looked as if they could bring a woman great pleasure or getting a good night’s sleep.

She was almost asleep when her phone pinged an incoming message.

Exhaling in frustration, she grabbed the phone.

The brightness in the dark room hurt her eyes, but, even half blinded, Ruby could see the words clearly. Her CV had impressed the powers that be.

She’d been granted an interview to become a Petit Q.

CHAPTER TWO

Macau, China, One Week Later

THE RED FLOOR-LENGTH gown sat a little too snugly against Ruby’s skin, and the off-the-shoulder design exposed more cleavage and general flesh than she was comfortable with. But after two gruelling interviews, one of which she’d almost blown by turning up late due to another delayed train, the last thing she could complain about was the expensive designer outfit that spelt her out as a Petit Q.

She was careful now to avoid it getting snagged on her heels as she walked across the marble floor of her hotel towards the meeting place, from where they’d be chauffeured to their final destination. In her small case were two carefully folded, equally expensive outfits the management had provided.

An examination had shown that they, too, like the dress she wore, would be tight...everywhere. It was clear that someone, somewhere in the management food chain had got her measurements very wrong.

She’d already attracted the attention of an aging rock star in the lift on the way to the ground floor of her Macau hotel. It didn’t matter that he’d seemed half blind when he’d leered at her; attracting any attention at all made her stomach knot with acid anxiety.

She’d let her guard down with Simon, had believed his interest to be pure and genuine, only to discover he wanted nothing more than a bit on the side. The idea that he’d assumed because she was a Trevelli she would condone his indecent proposal, just as her mother continued to accept her father’s, had shredded the self-esteem she’d fought so hard to attain when she’d removed herself from her parents’ sphere.

She wasn’t a coward, but the fear that she might never be able to judge another man’s true character sent a cold shiver through her.

Pushing the thought away, she straightened her shoulders, but another troubling thought immediately took its place.

What if she’d made a huge mistake in coming here?

What if Narciso didn’t show? What if he showed and she missed him again?

No, she had to find him. Especially in light of the phone call she’d received the morning after she’d signed on to be a Petit Q.

The voice had been calm but menacing. Simon had sold his twenty-five-per-cent share of her business to a third party. ‘We will be in touch shortly about interest and payment terms,’ the accented voice had warned.

‘I won’t be able to discuss any payment terms until the business is up and running,’ she’d replied, her hands growing clammy as anxiety dredged her stomach.

‘Then it is in your interest to make that happen sooner rather than later, Miss Trevelli.’

The line had gone dead before she could say anything more. For a moment, she’d believed she’d dreamt the whole thing, but she’d lived in New York long enough to know loan sharks were a real and credible threat. And Simon had sold his share in her business to one of them.

Panicked and angry with Simon, she’d been halfway across the Indian Ocean before she’d read her Petit Q guidelines and experienced a bolt of shock.

No doubt to protect its ultra-urban-legend status, the Q Virtus Macau caucus was to be a masked event at a secret location in Macau.

Masked, as in incognito. Where the chances of picking out Narciso Valentino would be hugely diminished.

The memory of broad shoulders and elegant fingers flashed across her mind. Yeah, sure, as if she were an expert in male shoulders enough to distinguish one from the other.

Her fingers clenched around her tiny red clutch. She’d come all this way. She refused to admit defeat.

The redhead from Riga turned towards her and Ruby fought not to grit her teeth as the other woman dismissed her instantly.

As the door to the Humvee limo slid shut behind them another jagged stab of warning pierced her. Every cell in her body screamed at her to abandon this line of pursuit and hightail it back home.

She could use the app to find out when Narciso returned to New York. She could confront him on home turf where she was more at ease, not here in this sultry, exotic part of the world where the very air held a touch of opulent magic.

But what if this was her last chance? A man who would fly thousands of miles for a highly secretive event could disappear just as easily given half a chance. She’d been lucky to be in the right place to find out where he’d be at this point in time.

Fate had handed her the opportunity. She wasn’t going to blow it.

The limo hit a bump, bringing her back to reality.

Despite the glitzy lights and Vegas-style atmosphere, the tiny island of Macau held a charisma and steeped-in-history feel that had spilled over from mainland China. She held her breath as they crossed over the Lotus Bridge into Cotai, their final destination.

Bicycles raced alongside sports cars and nineteen-fifties buses in a spectacular blend of ancient and modern.

Less than ten minutes later, they rolled to a stop. Exiting, she looked around and her trepidation escalated. The underground car park was well lit enough to showcase top-of-the-line luxury sports cars and blinged-out four-by-fours next to stretch limos. The net worth in the car park alone was enough to fund the annual gross domestic product of a small country.

The buzz of excitement in her group fractured her thoughts and she hurried forward into waiting lifts. Like her, the other nineteen hostesses were dressed in red gowns for the first evening, and the ten male hosts dressed in red jackets.

Six bodyguards accompanied them into the lifts and Ruby stemmed the urge to bolt as the doors started to close. Five seconds later it was too late.

The doors opened to gleaming parquet floors with red and gold welcoming carpet running through the middle of the vast, suspended foyer.

On the walls, exquisite tapestries of dragons flirting with maidens were embellished with multihued glass beads. Red and gold Chinese-silk cloth hung in swathes from the tapered ceiling to the floor, discreetly blacking out the outside world.

Two winged staircases led to the floor below where a sunken section in the middle had been divided into twelve gaming tables, each with its own private bar and seating area.

All around her, masked men in bespoke tuxedos mingled with exquisitely clad women dripping with stunning jewellery that complemented their breathtaking masks. Granted, the number of women was marginally less than men, but from the way they carried themselves Ruby suspected these women wielded more than enough power to hold their own against their male counterparts.

A tall, masked, jet-haired woman wearing a sophisticated-looking earpiece glided forward and introduced herself as Head Hostess. In succinct tones, she briefed them on their roles.

Ruby tried to calm her jangling nerves as she descended the stairs and headed for the bar of the fourth poker table.

A bar she could handle.

Nevertheless, she held her breath as the first group of men took their places at the table. They all wore masks in varying degrees of camouflage and design. As she mixed her first round of drinks and delivered it to the table, Ruby tried to glean if any of them resembled her quarry.

One by one, she dismissed them. Eventually, they drifted off and another group took their place.

A grey-haired man—the oldest in her group—immediately drew her attention. He carried himself with command and control, but he was too old to be Narciso Valentino and his frame was slightly stooped with age.

He snapped his fingers and threw out an order for a glass of Sicilian red. Ruby pursed her lips and admonished herself not to react to the rudeness. Five men took their places around the table, leaving only one other space to be filled.

Safely behind the bar after delivering their drinks order, she watched their bets grow larger and bolder.

Music pumped from discreet loud speakers, and through a set of double doors guests took to the dance floor. It wasn’t deafening by any means but Ruby felt the pulse of the provocative music through the soles of her feet.

She swallowed down the mingled distaste and latent fear as she noticed things were beginning to get hot and heavy as guests began to loosen their inhibitions.

She could do this. Just because she was a Trevelli didn’t mean she would lose sight of her goals. Decadence and excess were her parents’ thing. They needn’t be hers...

The lights overhead dimmed.

A door to one side of the lift labelled The Black Room swung open and two men stepped onto the gangway.

One wore a gold half-mask that covered him from forehead to nose. The aura of power that radiated from him raised the very temperature of the room.

But the moment Ruby’s eyes encountered the second man, her belly clenched.

The head hostess drifted towards him but he raised a hand and waved her away. At the sight of those slim fingers, recognition slammed into her. She watched, dry-mouthed, as he sauntered down the steps and headed for her side of the room.

He stopped in front of her bar.

Silver eyes bore into hers, drilling down hard as if he wanted to know her every last secret. The smile slowly left his face as he continued to stare at her, one eyebrow gradually lifting in silent query.

His silver and black onyx mask was artistically and visually stunning. It revealed his forehead and the lower part of his face and against its brilliance his olive skin glowed in a way that made her want to touch that chiselled jaw.

Piercing eyes drifted over her in a lazy sweep, pausing for a long second at her breasts. Her breath hitched in her throat as her body reacted to his probing gaze.

Narciso Valentino. If she’d had two dollars to rub together she’d have bet on it.

Her mouth dried as she looked into his eyes and lost every last sensible thought in her head.

‘Serve me, cara mia. I’m dying of thirst.’ His voice was raw, unadulterated sin, oozing what Ruby could only conclude was sex appeal.

At least she thought so because the sound of it had transmitted a tingling to parts of her body she hadn’t known could tingle just from hearing a man’s voice. And why on earth had her hands grown so clammy?

When his brow arched higher at her inactivity, she scrambled to think straight. ‘W-what would you like?’

His eyes moved down again, paused at her throat, where her pulse jumped like a frenzied rabbit.

‘Surprise me.’

He turned abruptly and all signs of mirth leached from his face.

Across the small space between the bar and the poker table, he speared the silver-haired man with an unforgiving gaze.

The man stared back, the part of his face visible beneath his mask taut despite his whole body bristling with disdain.

Animosity arced through the air, snapping coils of dangerous electricity that made Ruby’s pulse leap higher. Her gaze slid back to the younger man as if drawn by magnets. She told herself she was trying to decipher what sort of drink to make him but, encountering those broad shoulders again, her mind drifted into impure territory, as it had outside the nightclub in New York.

Focus!

The older man had requested a Sicilian red but instinctively she didn’t think the man she’d concluded was Narciso would go for wine.

Casting her gaze over the bottles of spirits and liqueurs, she quickly measured the required shots, mixed a cocktail and placed it on a tray.

Willing her fingers not to shake, she approached the poker table and placed his drink at his elbow.

He dragged his gaze from the older man long enough to glance from the pale golden drink to her face. ‘What is this?’ he asked.

‘It’s a...Macau Bombshell,’ she blurted out the name she’d come up with seconds ago.

One smooth brow spiked as he leaned back in his seat. ‘Bombshell?’ Once again, his gaze drifted over her, lingered at the place where her dress parted mid-thigh in a long slit. ‘Would you place yourself in that category, too? Because you certainly have the potential.’

Right, so really he was one of those. A Playboy with a capital P.

A man who saw something he coveted and went for it, regardless of who got hurt. The clear image of his hand on another woman made her spine stiffen in negative reaction, even as a tiny part of her acknowledged her disappointment.

Irritated with herself, she pushed the feeling away.

Now she knew what sort of man she was dealing with, things would proceed much smoother.

‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she said briskly. ‘It’s all about the drink.’

‘I’ve never heard such a name.’

‘It’s my own creation.’

‘Ah.’ He sipped the champagne, falernum, lemon and pineapple mix. Then he slowly tasted the cocktail without taking his eyes off her. ‘I like it. Bring me one every half-hour on the button until I say otherwise.’

The implication that she could be here for hours caused her teeth to grind. She looked from the dealer to the other players at the table, wondered if she could ask to speak to Narciso privately now.

‘Is there a problem?’ he queried.

She cleared her throat. ‘Well, yes. There are no clocks in this place and I don’t have a watch, so...’

The silver-haired man swore under his breath and moved his shoulders in a blatantly aggressive move.

‘Hold out your hand,’ Narciso said.

Ruby’s eyes widened. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Give me your hand,’ he commanded.

She found herself obeying before she could think not to. He removed an extremely expensive and high-tech-looking watch from his wrist and placed it on her right wrist. The chain link was too large for her but it didn’t mask the warmth from his skin and something jagged and electric sliced through her belly.

When his hand drifted along the inside of her wrist, she bit back a gasp, and snatched her hand back.

‘Now you know when I’ll next need you.’

‘By all means, keep me waiting as you try out your tired pick-up lines,’ the older man snapped with an accent she vaguely recognised.

Silver Eyes shifted his gaze to him. And although he continued to sip his cocktail, the air once again snapped with dark animosity.

‘Ready for another lesson, old man?’

‘If it involves teaching you to respect your betters, then I’m all for it.’

The resulting low laugh from the man next to her sent a shiver dancing over her skin. On decidedly wobbly legs, she retreated behind the bar and forced herself to regulate her breathing.

Whatever she’d experienced when those mesmerising eyes had locked into hers and those long fingers had stroked her was a false reaction. She refused to trust any emotion that could lead her astray.

Focus!

She glanced down at the watch. The timepiece was truly exquisite, a brand she’d heard of and knew was worth a fortune.

Unable to stop herself, she skated her fingers over it, her pulse thundering all over again when she remembered how he’d looked at her before slipping the watch on her wrist. She shifted as heat dragged through her and arrowed straight between her legs.

No!

She wasn’t a slave to her emotions like her parents. And she wasn’t the gullible fool Simon had accused her of being.

She had a goal and a purpose. One she intended to stick to.

Exactly half an hour later, she approached, willing her gaze not to trace those magnificent shoulders. Up close they were even broader, more imposing. When he shifted in his seat, they moved with a mesmerising fluidity that made her want to stop and gawp.

Keeping her gaze fixed on the red velvet table, she quickly deposited his drink on the designated coaster and picked up his almost-empty one. He flicked a glance at her.

‘Grazie.’

The sound of her mother tongue on his lips flipped her stomach with unwanted excitement. She told herself it was because she was one step further to confirming his identity but Ruby suspected it was the sheer sexiness of his voice that was the bigger factor here.

‘Prego,’ she responded automatically before she could stop herself. She bit her lip and watched him follow the movement. A deeply predatory gleam entered his eyes.

‘I want the next one in fifteen minutes.’ His gaze returned to his opponent, who looked a little paler since the last round of drinks. ‘I have a feeling I’ll be done by then. Unless you want to quit while you’re behind?’ he asked, sensual lips parted in a frightening imitation of a smile.

The older man let out a pithy response that Ruby didn’t quite catch. Two players quickly folded their cards and left.

The two men eyeballed each other, pure hatred blazing as they psychologically circled one another.

Narciso laid down his cards in a slow, unhurried flourish. His opponent followed suit with a move that was eerily similar and made Ruby frown. The connection between the two men was unmistakable but she couldn’t quite pin down why.

When the older man laughed, Ruby glanced down at his cards. She didn’t know the rules of poker, but even she guessed his cards were significant.

She held her breath. Not with so much as a twitch did Narciso indicate he’d just lost millions of dollars.

‘Give it up, old man.’

‘Mai!’ Never.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Narciso calmly laid down another set of cards that won him the next game. Hearing Giacomo’s grunt of disbelief was extremely satisfactory. But it was the indrawn breath of surprise from the woman next to him that drew his attention.

He didn’t let himself glance at her yet. She’d proven a seriously delicious distraction already. He had plans for her but those plans would have to wait a while longer.

For now, he revelled in Giacomo’s defeat and watched a trickle of sweat drip down his temple.

They were barely an hour in and he’d already divested him of several million dollars. As usual, Giacomo had been lured in by the promise of trouncing his son, enabling Narciso to lay the bait he knew wouldn’t be resisted.

The last game had won him a midsize radio station in Anaheim, California.

It would be a superb addition to his already sizeable news and social media portfolio. Or he could shut it down and declare it a loss.

It didn’t matter either way.

What mattered was that he had Giacomo’s financial demise within his grasp. How very fitting that he should be in the perfect place to celebrate once he’d hammered the last nail into the coffin.

His gaze flickered to the stunning woman in red who regarded him with a touch of wariness and a whole lot of undisguised interest.

The silky cognac-coloured hair begged to be messed with, as did that sinful, pouting mouth she insisted on mauling every time he won a hand.

But her body, Dio! Her dress was a little too tight, sure, but even the fact that it made her assets a little too in your face didn’t detract from the fact that she was a magnificent creature.

A magnificent creature he would possess tonight. She would be the cherry on his cake, one he would take the utmost pleasure in savouring before he devoured.

But first...

‘Do you yield?’ he asked silkily, already anticipating the response. In some ways they were so very similar. Which wasn’t surprising considering they were father and son.

Although a father and son who detested the very ground each other walked on put an interesting twist on their relationship.

‘Over my dead body.’ Giacomo snapped his fingers at the dealer and threw his last five-million-dollar platinum chip in the middle of the table.

Beside him, his hostess’s mouth dropped open. The sight of her pink tongue sent a spike of excitement through his groin.

Sì...he would celebrate well tonight. For a while there, he’d begun to suspect that beating Giacomo would be his only source of entertainment in Macau. Which was why he’d sought the old man out instead of leaving him to squirm a little longer. He’d wanted to be done and out of here as soon as possible.

The other deals he’d come to negotiate had taken the necessary leap forward and he’d believed there was nothing left.

But now...

His groin hardened as he watched her mouth slowly press shut and her eyes dart to his with the same anticipated excitement that flowed within him.

He let his interest show, let her see the promise of what was to come.

Heat flared up her delicate neck and flawless skin into a surprisingly innocent face that could’ve graced a priceless painting.

Dio, she was truly entrancing. And yet she was in a place like this, where the likelihood of being hit on, or more, was very real.

He gave a mental shrug. He’d stopped trying to reason why people took the actions they took well before he’d grown out of long socks.

Otherwise he’d have driven himself mad from trying to decipher why the father whose DNA flowed through his veins seemed to hate every single breath he took.

Or why Maria’s betrayal still had the power to burn an acid path in his gut—

No.

That train had long left the station. Giving it thinking room was a waste of time and his time was extremely precious.

Keeping his eyes on his hostess, he downed his drink and held out his empty glass.

‘I’m thirsty again, amante.’

With a nod, she sashayed away in her too-tight dress and returned minutes later with his drink.

When she started to move away, he snagged a hand around her waist. The touch of warm, silk-covered flesh beneath his fingers short-circuited his brain for a few moments. Then he realised she was trying to get away from him.

‘Stay. You bring me luck when you’re near.’

‘Shame you need a woman to win,’ Giacomo sneered.

Narciso ignored him and nodded to the dealer. He wanted this game to be over so he could pull this magical being tighter into his arms, feel her melt against him, his prize for emerging triumphant.

Giacomo threw his chip defiantly into the fray. Narciso’s chest tightened with the anger that never quite went away. For as long as he remembered, his father had treated him like that chip—inconsequential, easily cast aside. Underneath all the anger and bitterness, a wound he’d thought healed cracked open.

Ignoring it, he calmly plucked his cards from the table.

‘Let’s up the stakes.’

Eyes that had once been similar to his own but had grown dimmer with age snapped at him. ‘You think you have something I want?’

‘I know I do. That tech company you lost to me last month? If I lose this hand, I’ll return it to you, along with all of this.’ He nodded to the pile of chips in front of him, easily totalling over thirty million dollars.

‘And if I lose?’ His voice held a false confidence Narciso almost smiled at. Almost.

‘You hand over the other five-million chip I know is in your pocket and I’ll let you keep your latest Silicon Valley start up.’

Giacomo sneered but Narciso could see him weighing up the odds. Thirty million against ten.

He waited, let the seductive scent of his hostess’s perfume wash over him. Unable to resist, he slid his hand lower. The faintest sensation of a thong made his groin tighten. Again, she tried to move away. He pulled her back towards him and heard her breath catch.

‘My offer expires in ten seconds,’ he pressed.

Giacomo reached into his tuxedo pocket and tossed the second chip onto the table. Then he laid out cards in a flourish.

Four of a kind.

Narciso didn’t need to glance down at his own cards to know he’d won.

And yet...the triumph he should’ve experienced was oddly missing. Instead, hollowness throbbed dully in his chest.

‘Come on, then, you coward. It’s your turn to answer this—do you yield?’

Narciso breathed in deep and fought the tight vice crushing his chest. Slowly, the hollowness receded and anger rushed into its place. ‘Yes, I yield.’

His father’s bark of victorious laughter drew attention from other tables but Narciso didn’t care.

His hand was tightening over her waist, anticipation of a different sort firing his body. He was about to turn towards her when Giacomo reached for the cards Narciso had discarded.

A straight flush. A winning hand more powerful than his father’s.

The evidence that he’d been toyed with registered in Giacomo’s shocked eyes. ‘Il diavolo!’ He lunged across the table, his whole body vibrating with fury.

Narciso stood, his eyes devoid of expression. ‘Sì, I am the devil you spawned. You’ll do well to remember that next time we meet.’

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