CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
LEAVING RAFE
Jamie Anderson
Copyright © 2004 Susan Deefholts
All rights reserved.
Cover Art by Razzle Dazzle Design
Models: Sven Pinkau, Irada Baschirov
Photographer: Sanjin Pajo
Designer: Amanda Kelsey
For TCN, mon amour.
CHAPTER ONE
Alicia Witherspoon knew, almost to the second, when Rafael Alvarez entered the room. Despite the throng of Vancouver glitterati separating them--she knew. She glimpsed him out of the corner of her eye and felt the sudden presence of a prickling tension she hadn’t experienced in just over eight years.
Turning away, she resolved to avoid him. She simply couldn’t face him right now--not when she was still feeling vulnerable over her father’s frailty.
As she mingled with the opulent crowd, Ali tried to put on a cheerful, confident façade. She forced aside her distress at the memory of Mason Witherspoon’s sunken features and gaunt frame. Seeing her father this morning, she had been shocked by how much he had aged since the last time he visited her in Germany.
She hadn’t wanted to come to this soirée at all, but now that she was here, the last thing she needed was to meet Rafael again. Eight years ago, she had left the country because of the devastation he had wrought upon her emotions. It was only her father’s heart attack that had brought her back to Canada, after all this time.
“Excuse me, but are you here with someone?”
Ali turned in the direction of the voice. A handsome young man in a tux grinned at her, his expression openly admiring.
She gave him the distant, hands-off smile she had perfected over the last few years.
“I may be flattered, dear boy, but I’m not available,” she said in her drollest tone. It wasn’t strictly true, but it wasn’t a lie, either. After all, though she was single, she had absolutely no interest in a relationship--with anyone.
He shrugged, undaunted. “Never hurts to ask.”
She inclined her head. “An attitude which will get you far in life. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
Ali slipped into the crowd with a fleeting tinge of regret. It hadn’t been the first advance she had received this evening, but it had certainly been the most tempting.
She glimpsed Rafael a small distance off and to her right. Her skin tingled with the same treacherous excitement she had felt earlier.
You’d think eight years away would have granted me some immunity. She ground her teeth, more determined than ever to avoid the man for the remainder of the evening.
She changed her direction, using the shifting crowd to put some distance between them. But the flash Rafe’s darkly chiseled features, his slashing brows and--most vividly of all--his black, hooded gaze, stayed with her as she lost herself amid the throng.
She shoved the image away, irritated that anything about Rafael Alvarez could still affect her in such a humiliatingly intense way.
Of course, it made perfect sense that he would have shown up at this particular shindig--he and her father moved in similar circles, after all. But, with some judicious mingling--and a little bit of luck--she might just manage to avert the encounter, for the moment, at least.
She needed sleep--and the chance to shore up her defenses--before she could allow herself to meet him after so long. Perhaps sometime next week, at Rafe’s office, when she felt a little more ready to assume the impersonal business relationship she would have to maintain with him on behalf of her father’s clients. Just--not yet.
I’ll head home soon--even Dad couldn’t deny that I’ve done my duty and shaken all the right hands tonight.
Mason Witherspoon had wanted to come to this party, which was hosted by a local socialite who also happened to be a client of the high-level investment firm her father had built from nothing. He had pointed out that a number of important clients moved in the same circle, and showing a strong front would assure them that all was well with the company, despite his heart attack.
“I can go, Dad. You need to get your rest,” Ali had assured him, despite having just gotten off the red-eye from Frankfurt that morning.
He sighed. “I just don’t feel right about leaving you to fend for yourself among strangers. I should come with you. Introduce you around.”
She shook her head with exasperation. “Absolutely not. You said some of the old clients would be there, didn’t you?” A number of Mason’s investors had been with him for years and still remembered the days when Ali had worked in her dad’s office, throughout her high school years and undergrad studies.
He nodded. “A few of them.”
“So, they can introduce me around. I’ll be fine. I’ll smile and nod and talk up the new European connection--how we’ll have Thorsten Wolff investing a portion of their funds for them. They’ll love it. Don’t worry.” Her boss in Frankfurt had been an excellent friend and mentor to her over the last few years. He had bade her farewell with considerable regret, but Ali had still taken his claim that she was one of his most promising protégés with a grain of salt. She had called him during the flight to Vancouver to discuss some of the details of the new arrangement.
“I’m sure they’ll be thrilled, honey. But I really should--”
“There’s nothing further to discuss, Dad. You’re staying home and getting your rest. I haven’t forgiven you yet for not telling me about the heart attack sooner.” Ali still couldn’t believe he had waited till he was out of the hospital before contacting her with the news. She had been horrified, ignoring his insistence that he was fine now and completely out of danger.
“I didn’t want you to worry--“
“Well I did. And I’m going to keep worrying until you start looking better and the doctor gives you a clean bill of health. So I’d suggest you start working on that if you don’t want your daughter to fret herself into an early grave.”
Ali sighed as she wandered idly through the crowd of other partygoers. If anything happened to her father, she would be devastated. She knew she had been wrong to stay away for so long, but somehow, between all the things that had happened, the years had just slipped by.
She paused at the edge of the dance floor, frowning. A band was just starting to set up. Good thing I’ll be leaving soon.
She had the beginnings of a headache just starting to throb at the back of her skull and suspected that a loud rock band would be just the ticket to nurture it to its fullest potential.
A movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention and she noticed an older man giving her an interested once-over.
She avoided eye contact and looked away, wondering what she had been thinking to wear a dress like this one, with its clingy fabric, high neck and plunging back. In truth, she hadn’t been. She had needed an evening dress and this was the first that had fitted her criteria, from the closet full of clothes she had left behind. She didn’t recall buying it--and doubted that she had ever worn it. At this point, she was starting to wish she had just left it in the closet after all, and kept looking.
She shook her head. This sort of come-hither outfit gave off all the wrong signals, she concluded, with a flash of irritation. It was far too provocative for the kind of person she had become--a career woman. The decision had not been altogether voluntary, but she refused to regret it.
Rafe may hav
e devastated a younger, more naïve Ali, but she had forced herself to move on. She had dated casually, trying to assure herself that sooner or later, she’d find another man who’d make her feel the wild, hot excitement Rafe had inspired in her.
But, while the men she had gone out with were nice enough, a secret part of her had to admit that she hadn’t responded to any of them with the same kind of irresistible abandon Rafael used to coax from her. Still, she had been willing to keep looking--until a near-fatal car accident three years ago had marked a second major shift in the course of her life.
After that, she had thrown herself into her career and worked on developing her sense of self-reliance. It was for the best. This way, no-one got hurt.
She wandered along the edge of the dance floor. After another quick sweep of the room--no Rafael in sight--she frowned at the musicians as they got out their instruments and settled in their seats. An accordion? So it was obviously not a rock band after all.
But, despite the unusual instruments in the ensemble, Ali was still surprised when they struck up a tango as their first dance.
The cadence of the music brought back a flood of unwelcome memories as Ali absently watched a few older couples walk onto the tiled floor and begin dancing.
She paused, not really seeing them at all. Instead, she saw the laughter in Rafe’s expression as he patiently taught her the steps all those years ago. She burned with the memory of his darkly sensual gaze as their bodies moved in perfect unison--close enough to feel each other’s heat without quite touching. Her thighs grazing against his as they--
“Shall we show them how it’s done, my dear?” The graveled murmur against her ear was followed by an electric touch on her shoulder. And then, before she could begin to protest, Rafael Alvarez swung her into his arms and deftly led her through the other partygoers and onto the dance floor.
For a few moments, Ali was too dazed by the sight of him up close--by the unyielding heat of his hand, firm against the curve of her waist while the other held hers captive in the stiff, tight tango frame--to voice her objections. To even remember she had any.
He looks harder. She swallowed, staring at his harsh, sculpted features with wide eyes. And his eyes are almost frightening. They burned her and she looked away, fixing her gaze at an invisible point over his right shoulder.
She took a deep breath as she continued to stare into the distance. That’s better. Now she only had to contend with the molten heat of his skin against hers, the tantalizing brush of his leg as he stepped between her thighs, leading her inexorably backward. The traitorous tingle of her breasts, achingly close to the hard expanse of his chest as he held her in a grip of steel.
Another breath, Ali. Compose yourself, for God’s sake! She gave herself one more moment, then she leveled what she hoped was a sardonic glare at him.
“What’s the idea, Alvarez? A walk down memory lane?” She looked away from the proximity of his gaze, relieved at the dry tone of voice she had managed to maintain. But she couldn’t continue looking at him. He was too close--and she needed every little bit of distance she could get.
His laugh was harsher than she remembered and it carried the feline undertone of a predator about to pounce. “Since when was it ‘Alvarez’, Ali? We’re old friends, after all.” The faintest trace of an accent amid the rough sensuality of his voice.
She swallowed as he shifted his hold and led them into the center of the dance floor. Ali could feel the heat of his skin as he held her, cheek almost grazing cheek. The goosebumps rose on her arms and excitement roiled in the pit of her stomach. He loosened his grip and sent her into the tight spin that signaled the pointé, before catching her firmly.
As the warmth began to surge between her legs, Ali felt a different kind of heat burning her face at the knowledge that he could still do this to her. He spun her back across the floor and she cast him a glare before returning her gaze to that same point over his shoulder. He started forward once more.
“I’m not interested in any of your games, Alvarez. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve grown up in the years since we last met.”
“Ah querida,” he replied, his voice the sheathed velvet of a tiger’s claw, “you will have to forgive me if I doubt your claim. From the looks of things, you seem quite interested in--and well-acquainted with--the kinds of games I had in mind.”
Ali glimpsed the flash of his grin out of the corner of her eye and kept her gaze averted. She didn’t want to see Rafael Alvarez smiling at her--not from the other side of a room or across a table. And certainly not when she stood in the circle of his arms, his hand shifting from the curve of her waist across into the sensitized expanse of her bare back. She had to force herself to ignore the frissons of excitement triggered by the more intimate hold.
And then, the full implications of his comment finally penetrated the miasma of sensations she had been struggling against. Her mouth went dry at the thought. He can’t mean what I think he means, she assured herself, even as her body stiffened at the thought. She tried to pull away from him then, but he held her too firmly.
He laughed again as he tightened his grip. “That’s the spirit, my dear! The tango is the dance of conflict--of seduction and resistance. Of fire and passion.”
“I’m not interested,” she ground out between clenched teeth.
“Are you absolutely certain of that, querida?” He changed his grip once more, moving slightly to one side as he led her into the closed fan, the subtle but inexorable guidance of his arms forcing her body to twist, the outside of her thigh brushing against his muscled leg.
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, remembering the deep joy she felt when he used to murmur the endearment in her ear, his voice tender with emotion.
He tsked, slipping back into the basic position and moving forward once more. “You’re trying to wound me, aren’t you, Ali? All this rebuttal and repudiation. And here I am, just trying to rekindle a little of our old friendship.”
“We were never friends, Alvarez.” But I did love you. And you betrayed that.
“Ah! So you admit it then?”
Ali glanced at him, startled by the note of triumph in his tone. But his features were bland, his smile polite.
“Nor will we be now,” she continued, choosing to ignore his question.
“I see,” he said.
“Dare I hope that signals acceptance?”
“What do you think?” Suddenly, he shifted his grip and leaned back into the corté, causing the entire length of her body to press against his. She felt the hard expanse of his tight, muscled physique through the layers of their evening clothes, the bulge of his erection against her stomach--and forgot to look away from him.
Oh God. For a moment, she stared up at his face, completely mesmerized, as her body melted against his and she saw the corner of his mouth curve upwards. Then, belatedly, she turned her head, but he was already straightening, closing the step and continuing with the dance.
And now that they were no longer body against body, the anger rose even higher. “Damn you, Alvarez.”
His laughter rumbled in her ear and she itched to slap the amusement off his face.
How would it look to all Dad’s clients if I were to publicly slap the face of one of his most important business partners? She ground her teeth at the realization of how completely she had been outplayed.
But why? Why would he even want to do such a thing?
Because he’s a cruel, heartless brute. No doubt, he pulls the wings off flies as entertainment--when he can’t find any gullible girls to seduce and devastate, of course.
She straightened even further, raising her chin. Well, he can bloody well keep looking. I’m not going to walk that path again. I learned my lesson quite well enough the first time.
But even as she thought it, the surging, liquid heat between her legs and the erect tautness of her nipples mocked her resolution. Rafael’s fingers slipped across her back as he sent her into another tight spin.
As soon as the dance ended and Rafael’s grip relaxed slightly between songs, she tore herself from his arms.
“Thanks for the dance,” she muttered as she stalked away without allowing herself to look back. She had little doubt he was watching her retreat with a mocking grin. But then, he had never taken her seriously, except as a stepping-stone for his ambitions.
It had been a little over eight years ago, but the overheard conversation still rang in her ears with a humiliating clarity.
“And if it looks like she’s having second thoughts, you could always get her pregnant to make sure she walks up the aisle, hey?”
“I’ll certainly keep it in mind.”
Ali winced at the memory. Bad enough that Rafe’s friends had been congratulating him for falling into the bowl of cream by dating the boss’s daughter--and that he hadn’t said a word to them about the love he had claimed to feel for her.
That alone had her devastated and wanting to crawl out of the crowded pub in order to lick her wounds, before confronting Rafe and demanding the truth from him.
She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop--it had been chance more than anything that had her meeting an old high school pal for drinks at the same place Rafe’s friends had decided to congregate. They hadn’t seen her in the adjacent booth when they slid into their seats. So, even in the midst of her rising distress, she had resolved to give Rafe the benefit of the doubt, frantically assuring herself that there had to be a reasonable explanation.
But then, she had heard Rafe’s jaded response to his friend Paulo’s suggestion. Horrified, hurt and infuriated by the proof of his manipulative cynicism, she had decided right then that there would be no confrontation. Any man who would seduce her for her money and feign a love he wasn’t capable of feeling--who could fool her into believing the lie unquestioningly--didn’t deserve a second chance. He’d probably just use it to weave another web of lies in which to trap her.
Leaving Rafe Page 1