The Redemption Of Rafe Diaz. Maggie Price

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      Rafe wondered what she would say if she knew he’d designed his social life around a divorcee as adamant as he was about forming no emotional strings or connections. When they saw each other, it was solely for sating physical needs. Their sessions were dispassionate, verging on impersonal.

      It was enough for a man who’d sworn to never again allow control of any aspect of his life to slide through his fingers.

      “I’ll be alone,” he said.

      “All right.” She flipped open her phone, then lifted her gaze to meet his. “Anything else before I make the call?”

      Rafe paused, taking her measure. The college girl he remembered had oozed sex appeal and dressed for trouble. He could find no resemblance between her and the woman standing before him in paint-spattered clothes. Yet, there was only one Allie Fielding.

      While he watched, she raised a hand to brush back a wisp of hair. It was the most erotic gesture he’d ever seen, her fingertips brushing over that bruised cheek, her full mouth parting a little.

      He shifted position, trying to shake off the disturbing sensation that settled between his shoulders. What was it about her that elicited emotion when for so many years he’d allowed nothing—and no one—to reach him?

      “There’s nothing else,” he answered. “I got what I came for.”

      Whatever the pull he felt was, he wanted no part of it. He had his future mapped out. Allie Fielding was a part of his past.

      And that was where he planned to leave her.

      Chapter 3

      The Friends Foundation’s annual silent auction was held in whatever location seemed the most lavish, the most luxurious, the place best suited for over-the-top elegance. This year, a luxury downtown hotel had offered the use of its refurbished ballrooms for free, and the foundation’s board jumped at the gift.

      Although Allie had established the foundation, provided its initial funding and sat on the board of directors, she designated the members of the fund-raising committee to man the receiving line. That left her free to mingle and deal with any last-minute problems that might arise.

      Tonight there were masses of people, delicious food on the buffet, ice sculptures, fountains flowing with chilled champagne and soft music overhead.

      She moved from group to group to exchange pecks on the cheek and gripping handshakes. Some of the guests were friends, some customers of her shop, and all had made donations to the foundation in the past. Her goal tonight was to make sure they opened their checkbooks again.

      She slid through the crowd with ease. Although she’d taken a chance wearing the red beaded gown with wire-thin straps when she had requested the hotel’s air-conditioning system be set on full blast, the press of bodies heated the room and kept her comfortable.

      Until she spotted Rafe Diaz stepping through the doorway. Clad in a midnight-black tuxedo, he looked large and solid. Totally gorgeous. His thick, pitch-dark hair was slicked back, his dark eyes stared out of the chiseled, golden-skinned face, scanning the room carefully.

      Adonis should have looked so good.

      While she watched him divert around the receiving line, heat welled in Allie’s veins. Her heart pumped as though she’d just run a seven-minute mile. Her lungs tried to keep pace with her pulse, and her entire body was suddenly…hot.

      No AC could cool her down now.

      She had spent hours anticipating this encounter. And dreading it. Miss Manners had forgotten to cover the rules for how to best socialize with a man one had helped send to prison.

      After taking a steadying sip of champagne, Allie began easing her way through the crowd to greet him.

      Rafe paused just beyond the receiving line he’d avoided and surveyed the ballroom. It was huge and packed with people. Clad in tuxes and gowns shimmering with beads, pearls and sequins, the guests stood elbow to elbow under a dazzling trio of teardrop-shaped crystal chandeliers.

      Enormous paintings in vivid, frenetic hues dotted the ivory-toned walls. There was enough color in the ballroom to make Rafe’s head swim. Yet through the crowd and the clashing tones, he saw Allie coming his way.

      Her dress was a form-fitting glitter of flame with skinny, sparkling straps. As she moved, a side slit revealed a length of creamy thigh. Her honey-blond hair was clipped at the sides with something small and sparkling. Blood-red stones that he’d wager were real rubies fell in a rope from her earlobes to brush shoulders that looked as soft as her thigh. Her mouth and sky-high heels were the same hot color as the dress.

      She looked, Rafe thought as his stomach muscles twisted, outrageously alluring.

      When their eyes met, he didn’t return her smile. He might not be able to control his damnable physical response to her, but he wasn’t going to let her see it.

      “Hello, Rafe.”

      “Allie.”

      She gestured toward a nearby waiter toting a tray filled with glasses. “Would you like something to drink?”

      He flicked a look at the flute in her hand. “I’m here to work, not party.”

      “What a coincidence. I’m working, too.”

      Easing back one flap of his jacket, he slid a hand into his pocket and fisted his fingers. The scent she wore smelled like hot, smoldering sin. “Doing what?”

      “Politely reminding the guests to slip into the adjoining ballroom where the auction items are on display. I stop short of making them swear to fill out bids. While I’m at it, I manage to squeeze in some wheedling for donations to the foundation.”

      “Wheedling,” he repeated. “If you use the same tactics you did when you got me to agree to work at the house for the abused woman and her kids, I’d say you’re good at it.”

      “Very good.” She lifted her chin, her red-glossed lips curving. “When it comes to acquiring donations, I’m known in wheedling circles all over the country.”

      With his eyes locked on her lush, compelling mouth, Rafe felt the hard jolt of desire, unbidden and unwanted.

      Instantly he pulled himself back. Since the moment he walked out of prison, he’d made certain he controlled every aspect of his life. He had learned to block out the remembered clang of a cell door sliding shut behind him. To erase the black and cloying memories of having been caught in a living nightmare. And—most importantly—to strap back all thought and emotion that might threaten that control.

      Now facing a woman who had everything inside him straining at its leash, he deliberately dredged up the hated images from his past, which included Allie Fielding sitting on the witness stand, testifying against him.

      It didn’t matter that he’d been free for five years. Didn’t mean a damn thing that he’d carved out a life for himself. He would never forget the vicious helplessness that had ripped through him while he sat in that courtroom. Nor would he ever put himself in a situation where he wasn’t positive he’d be the one pulling all the strings.

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