The Redemption of Rafe Diaz

by Maggie Price

  At that instant, her throat snapped shut. She fought to catch her breath. Her heart hammered.

  And her hands trembled.

  This was the moment, she realized. The moment that the bottom dropped away and sent her crashing, headfirst into love.

  He inclined his head toward the sink. “I’m about ready to hang the medicine cabinet, but I need an extra hand. You available?”

  “Sure,” she answered, keeping her voice as casual as his.

  She walked toward him, feeling as if she’d just stepped onto a tightwire strung between two very high cliffs.

  She just hoped there was a net somewhere to catch her if she fell.

  Chapter 12

  “Hold it steady while I get my side secured on the hanger,” Rafe said.

  “Will do.” Gripping the opposite end of the medicine cabinet, Allie willed her heart rate to steady, which was wasted effort because only two inches separated her from bulging biceps and muscles rippling beneath tight olive skin.

  Oh, my.

  “So what brings you here today?” he asked, keeping his attention focused on his task.

  She scrambled to think past the sudden discovery that male sweat could, indeed, be an aphrodisiac.

  “It wasn’t on my schedule. But I found out the mom and her kids who are going to live here are coming by later to see the house for the first time. Before they get here, I want to touch up a few places where the wall paint went on too thin.”

  “I planned to drop by your shop.” Rafe tested his side of the cabinet, then moved to hers. “To update you on Dena.”

  Allie’s nerves went on point. Like an invisible splinter beneath her skin, thoughts of the woman and her young son had worried her since the call came to the hotline.

  “Can you update me and work at the same time?”

  Rafe sent her a sardonic look. “I think I can manage.”

  The bathroom was so small she had no space to shift away when he reached for her side of the cabinet. When his arms brushed across hers, she swallowed hard. “Okay, Mr. I-Can-Talk-and-Chew-Gum-at-the-Same-Time, tell me.”

  “Dena’s last name is Anderson. Her common-law husband is Eric Postelle. He’s got a rap sheet, mostly for arrests that involve alcohol. Public drunk. One DUI. The latest arrest was for assault. Postelle got wasted in a bar—there’s the alcohol—and hit the bartender over the head with a pool cue.”

  “Nice guy.”

  “The bartender didn’t think so. Postelle did time and he’s out on parole.”

  “Can anything be done to keep him away from Dena and their son?”

  “Already taken care of.” Rafe snaked his hand behind the edge of the cabinet, slid its hanger onto the hook. “That’ll hold it.”

  Allie laid a hand on his arm when he started gathering his tools. “What do you mean ‘already taken care of’?”

  Rafe shifted to face her. With her nose so close to his bare chest, she could smell the work of the day on him, the faint tang of healthy sweat, the traces of Sheetrock dust.

  “It stands to reason someone with that many alcohol-related arrests isn’t likely to stay away from a bar. Just stepping inside one is an automatic violation of his parole.”

  As he talked, Rafe picked up a tape measure off the vanity, stuck it in his tool belt. “I staked out the house where Dena and Postelle live, so I was there when he got home from the fishing trip. He stayed long enough to change clothes, then drove off. I followed him to a bar. He ordered a pitcher of beer and played a game of pool. The first time he bent over to make a shot, I saw a gun tucked into the back waistband of his jeans. I called 911 from a pay phone. Said I was a concerned citizen who didn’t want to give my name and wanted to report that I’d just seen an armed felon in a bar. It didn’t take long for a couple of black and whites to arrive. Or for the cops to escort Postelle outside wearing cuffs.”

  “Is it for sure he’ll go back to prison?”

  “If getting caught inside the bar doesn’t totally violate his parole, the weapon does. He’ll be locked up for another year at least.” Rafe’s forehead furrowed. “Having been there myself, sending people to prison isn’t high on my list. But I have no problem doing it to a drunk who beats a woman and has his own kid in his sights to receive poundings, too.”

  Relief coursed through Allie. “Hopefully Dena will call the hotline again so we can help her plan for the future.”

  “Because of you, there’s a happy ending.”

  “And you. Thank you, Rafe.”

  He gazed down at her. “All in a day’s work.”

  “Just like your being here is. You promised to put in some volunteer time and that’s what you’re doing.”

  “I’m a man of my word.”

  “What you are is a good man. A caring man.” She cupped her palm against his cheek. “That makes you special.” He was everything she’d never known she wanted. Everything she’d never allowed herself to dream about on long solitary nights in her bed when half-formed thoughts surfaced from her subconscious.

  She hadn’t expected to fall in love, but the feeling was there, big and bold and beautiful. It was impossible to turn away from those feelings, even if she’d wanted to. For the first time in her life, she was following her heart, allowing it to lead her even though her head told her she might regret it. For now, though, she was going to give their relationship a chance.

  He tugged her hand away from his cheek and pressed a kiss against the center of her palm. “Sounds like you’re trying to slip a halo over my head. I did what you hired me to do.”

  The gesture made her heart flutter. Wanting to give back as good as she got, she ran her fingertips over the crisp black hairs on his chest and deliberately dropped her voice to a low, seductive purr. “This brings me to a question about your fee.”

  A thrill of dark pleasure rippled through her body at the lethal spark in his eyes. “We didn’t discuss my fee.”

  “Exactly.” She hip-swayed a step closer. “Are you planning on giving me an invoice? Or would you like to take your fee out in trade?”

  “Let me think about that.”

  It wasn’t just her touch or the sexy rasp in her voice that heated Rafe’s blood. She’d clipped her golden hair back and, thanks to the heat and humidity, small, damp tendrils had escaped around her ears and clung to her nape. Why that made him even hotter, he couldn’t say. It just did.

  One-handed, he unbuckled his tool belt and dropped it to the floor while he snagged her wrist and jerked her against him.

  “I’m done thinking.” When he crushed his mouth to hers, all the uncertainty, the rolling emotions he’d been struggling against faded at the first hot taste of her. Need. The word hammered in his brain. He’d never needed anyone more than he needed her at this moment.

  And then he felt it, something inside him slipped off the chain, something feral and prowling, something totally out of his control. He could smell it, smell the hunger in her, the craving. It was as strong as his, as basic and primitive as his.

  With the toe of one boot, he kicked the bathroom door shut, then whirled her back against it.

  Her breath caught as she gripped his shoulders. “Does this mean you decided to take your fee out in—”

  He cut her off with a kiss that was even wilder than the first. Hungrier. Deeper. He lifted her onto her toes and pressed in hard against her, grinding his erection into the softness of her mound. With a small moan at the back of her throat, she wrapped her arms around him.

  She was pure energy in his arms, snapping and pulsing to life with a greed that staggered him. She had one hand tangled in his hair, holding his head still while she kissed him back, her teeth and tongue voracious, one hand clawing at his shoulder. Starving, he dived deeper into her mouth while her heart hammered against his.

  On an oath, he unsnapped her shorts, dragged down the zipper, then thrust his hand inside her panties and curled his fingers up into her while his palm rode her. She bucked under the lash of abrupt desire, growing
wet around his fingers, clenching them with her body.

  His system on fire for her, he shucked her out of her shorts and panties. He freed himself, then, gripping her hips, plunged into her where they stood.

  He could hear her quick, breathy murmurs but didn’t know what she was asking. Didn’t care. She locked herself around him, let him drive her ruthlessly, crest after torrential crest. And met him thrust for greedy, desperate thrust.

  He felt her body shudder, then go limp. His fingers tightening on her hips, he pumped into her until he went over the edge.

  He slapped his hands against the wall to keep his balance, struggled to ease his breathing, clear his fevered brain.

  It cleared slowly, with crystal clarity.

  “Hell.”

  “More like heaven,” she murmured, her voice breathy and raw.

  There was no point in apologies, he thought. They’d both wanted fast and urgent. More like craved it.

  So much that he’d totally lost control. Hadn’t used a condom. Hadn’t even thought about one.

  That knowledge put a knot in his gut as her legs slid down his and she braced her back against the wall. He stepped away, neatened himself with brisk movements, then zipped up his jeans.

  Her hips made a sexy little shimmy when she pulled up her panties and shorts. The movement had him gritting his teeth.

  He had never intended to allow anyone to have that kind of power over him and the fact that she did terrified him. How the hell had it gotten to the point where everything about her threatened to swallow him?

  He needed time. Time to step back, gain some distance. He’d let things move too fast, to get out of control. He intended to fix that by putting the wheel firmly back in his own hands.

  “I was rough. Did I hurt you?”

  The hard edge in his voice had Allie’s brows drawing together. But it was the grim look in his eyes that sent nerves moving into her stomach. “You didn’t hurt me. And I was as rough with you as you were with me.”

  “There’s something I didn’t get around to. I should have. There’s no excuse.”

  She understood what he meant. “I told you the other night that I’m on the pill.”

  “Dammit, that doesn’t matter.” He stabbed his fingers through his dark hair. “What matters is that I didn’t even think about using a condom.”

  “Neither did I.” Her mouth, still on fire from his, curved. “We both got carried away.”

  “That might be something you’re willing to shrug off, but I’m not. I lost control.”

  “We both did.” Something’s wrong was all she could think as she gazed up at him. Very wrong. “We can agree not to get carried away again without protection.”

  “Dammit, I don’t lose control. I never lose control.” His hands curled into fists. “Except with you.”

  Twin demons of hurt and temper stabbed at her heart. “This isn’t really about a condom, is it, Rafe? It sounds more like your problem is, you don’t want to want me.”

  “What I don’t want is to lose control of any portion of my life. I did that once and paid a high price. I don’t intend to let anyone have that kind of power over me again.”

  His biting tone had her temper spiking. “I wasn’t aware I did.”

  He jerked his tool belt off the floor, then stepped toward the door. “I’ve got to get to my office to check some phone records.”

  “Don’t let me keep you.” So he wouldn’t see that her hands had begun to shake, she curled her fingers into her palms. “The last thing I intend to do is spend time with a man who is disgusted by the fact that he wants me.”

  “Disgusted?” His hand stopped in midair as he reached for the doorknob. “That’s not what I said. Dammit, I didn’t say that.”

  “Mince words all you want, but that was your meaning. You want me and that upsets you.” She checked her watch. “I need to get the painting done so I can get back to my shop.”

  He jerked the door open, stepped out of the bathroom, then paused. He closed his eyes. A muscle ticked in his jaw. When he turned back to face her, his eyes were bleak. “Look, I just need to get some things straight in my head.”

  She stepped to the door, shut it in his face and turned the lock with a hard, audible click.

  She leaned back against the door, her breath shallow. If she needed a reminder why she’d sworn off relationships, this was it. In the end, someone walked away. And someone got left behind. In shreds.

  Growing up, she’d vowed to never care enough about anyone that their leaving would matter. That she’d broken that vow willingly didn’t lessen the ache Rafe’s words had settled inside her.

  It sure as hell hadn’t taken long for her joyous bubble of being in love to burst.

  Her lips trembled, but she firmed them against a sob. Just the idea of standing there, blubbering over a man scraped at her pride. She had her work and her friends—that was enough. It had always been enough.

  She would make sure it was enough.

  Even as she squared her shoulders, she admitted she would never be the same. Because she knew, she just knew, that Rafe Diaz was the only man who would ever find his way into her heart.

  She had a terrible feeling it was going to be hell getting him out.

  Hours later, Rafe sat at the desk in his office, waiting for a phone call while the facts he hadn’t wanted to face before now pounded him on his chest and shook him by the collar. He had panicked, that was all there was to it. Panicked because his not even thinking about using a condom drove home the truth he’d been avoiding. He’d been content with the emotionally sterile existence he’d designed for himself until he’d walked into Allie’s shop to interview her. From that moment his life had felt like a runaway train.

  Despite his best intentions not to let her matter, she did. She had made him long for something more, made him forget the controls he’d carefully put in place that had kept his feelings locked inside of him. Today in that bathroom, the helplessness of his need for her had swamped him. Made him panic so that he’d pushed her away. Hurt her.

  When what he should have done was held her close and told her he was in love with her.

  There. It was out, something he hadn’t wanted to admit but couldn’t escape. He was in love with her.

  The realization sent emotions rushing into his throat. And his heart. Myriad, indefinable emotions that expanded to fill all those dark, empty places inside him.

  When he’d fallen, he had no clue. He just knew he had. Hard. And now, because he was an idiot, he’d be lucky if she ever spoke to him again.

  He glanced around his neat-as-a-pin office that was squeezed into the top floor of a narrow downtown building. For the first time, the controlled efficient business environment he’d created felt barren. Cold. Which was what his life would go back to being without Allie in it: nothing around him. Nothing on the horizon. All alone.

  No highs. No lows.

  His feeling dead on the inside and thinking that was how he wanted to live the rest of his life. It wasn’t. The solitude he’d once felt content in now merely looked like a long stretch of lonely.

  Elbows propped on the desk, he dropped his face into his hands. Somehow, someway, he was going to have to make things right again.

  When the telephone rang, he checked caller ID. And eased out a relieved breath that Quinn Underwood had returned his call.

  Maybe, just maybe, the man had information that would break open the Bishop case. And give him something else to think about besides Allie Fielding.

  Rafe answered and introduced himself. Then said, “I understand you called Hank Bishop to ask questions about some property in the Automobile Alley area.”

  “That’s right.” Underwood’s sandpaper voice sounded like the irreversible result of three packs a day. “Bishop said he didn’t know what property I was talking about, then hung up. Not exactly a good way to go about racking up potential investors.”

  “According to Mr. Bishop, his company wasn’t looking to
purchase property in that part of town.”

  “Well, that’s not what Bishop’s partner told me and a few others.”

  Rafe frowned. “Guy Jones told you they were looking to invest in Automobile Alley property?”

  “Damn right. He gave me the impression he was speaking for both himself and Bishop. I’ve known Guy for a few years, but I’ve never met his brother-in-law. I don’t invest money with people I haven’t dealt with face-to-face. That’s why I called Bishop, to set up a meeting.”

  Rafe dropped his gaze to the set of records for the cell phone that Hank Bishop had supplied to his mistress. “You also got a call from Mercedes McKenzie. That would have been a couple of hours after you phoned Hank Bishop.”

  “I got a call from a woman saying she was Bishop’s admin assistant. I don’t remember her name.”

  “Why did she call you?”

  “To find out what I knew about the Automobile Alley property. She said Bishop wanted her to check on some facts.”

  Rafe narrowed his eyes. “So you told her what you knew?”

  “I did. Which was damn strange. If his partner was putting the deal together, why the hell didn’t Bishop just ask Guy Jones?”

  “Good question,” Rafe agreed. “Did you invest in the property?”

  “Hell no,” Underwood answered, his smoker’s rasp grating across the line. “It sounded to me like no one in that company knew what the others were doing. I called Jones, told him what had happened and that I wasn’t impressed. I advised him not to expect money from me.”

  Rafe thanked the man, then hung up. He thought back to the day he’d met Bishop at the vacant building that Guy Jones had wanted their company to buy. When Bishop refused, Jones’s temper had flared.

  The wheels in Rafe’s head turned with possibilities, but there was one fact he needed to check with his client. However, instead of dialing Bishop’s cell phone, he called his client’s office so his secretary would answer. After she told him Guy Jones had called in sick that morning, she transferred the call to her boss’s line. Hank Bishop answered on the first ring.