The Redemption of Rafe Diaz

by Maggie Price

  When she reached for her wineglass, he closed his hand around hers. “Tell me.”

  Her hand trembled against his. “I don’t like to talk about my past.”

  “I’d like to know.” He entwined his fingers with hers. “To understand.”

  The tenderness in his touch, his voice, caught Allie off guard. She felt raw inside, stripped of her customary protective layers, which left her vulnerable to this avalanche of unfamiliar feelings.

  “Please.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden realization that she wanted him to understand what growing up had been like for her. Needed him to understand.

  “The only memories I have of my parents together are of their constant fighting. When I was five, my mother packed her clothes and moved back to California to try to revive the acting career she’d given up when she married my father. She left without saying goodbye to either of us.”

  Rafe’s thumb slid across her knuckles. “That had to have been rough.”

  “It was. She was beautiful. Elegant. I used to pretend she was a fairy princess and I would grow up just like her.”

  “How often did you see her after she left?”

  “Never.” It still hurt, Allie conceded. No matter how often she told herself it was foolish to allow the pain to grind at her after so long. “She never came back. Never sent for me.”

  Too on-edge from the memories—and Rafe’s touch—to remain seated, she tugged her hand from his, rose and moved to the wooden railing that edged the deck. The river flowed past in murky silence.

  “About a month after my mother left, she sent me a letter. In it she explained that her life had become impossible. A total separation was the only way she could be happy. She added that she regretted leaving me, but she couldn’t be a good mother.”

  Behind her, she heard Rafe rise, listened to his footsteps as he moved to stand beside her at the rail, her wineglass dangling from his fingers. “You were five years old. Could you even grasp what she was telling you?”

  “The way my mind interpreted it was that she had been miserably unhappy and it was my fault. If I’d been a better daughter, then she wouldn’t have been so unhappy and would have stayed. Or at least taken me with her.”

  Rafe handed her the glass. “How long did it take you to figure out her leaving wasn’t your fault?”

  “Years. My father had always acted remote toward me, and my mother’s leaving didn’t change that.” Aware of the bitterness in her voice, Allie took a long sip of the bracing wine while making a conscientious effort to rebury the emotion deep inside her.

  “I felt awkward and inadequate around him. Even so, he was all I had left and I was terrified he would leave, too. I convinced myself that there was something lacking in me that kept my parents from loving me. So I became the model daughter, always minding the nannies and tutors hired to care for me.”

  “Did that get any response from your dad?”

  “He was never around me long enough to notice.” She stared out at the dark water. “He remarried a few months after he divorced my mother. His new wife was French and disliked children. I wasn’t allowed at their wedding.”

  An old, familiar ache settled in Allie’s belly. There was no way to explain how lost she had been. How confused she’d felt at seeing her father with another woman as though her mother had never existed.

  “That marriage lasted two years. He wed again. Divorced. Some affairs followed. A couple more marriages. Five total. He was engaged again when he died of a heart attack.”

  “Busy guy.”

  “Always too busy for me.”

  She set her glass on the top of the rail, then curled her fingers into her palms. When she’d told Liz and Claire about her childhood, the telling had hurt. Tonight, although she still felt the echo of the old pain, it had been easier to relate the details of her past to Rafe, which was just one more disconcerting fact where the man was concerned.

  She shrugged. “Told you it was a long story.”

  “So you did.” He turned his back to the water and leaned against the railing. “No wonder you shy away from relationships.”

  “Through all those years, a lot of people came into my life. The only ones who stayed were the servants whom my father paid to be there. I don’t remember ever seeing him happy with my mother or any other woman. Truly happy.”

  “So you decided to take the safe approach.”

  Why did hearing him say what she knew was the truth sound a little too close to cowardice? “What I decided to do was never place my hopes, my needs or my wants in anyone else’s hands. My life is just the way I want it. The way I need it to be.”

  “I thought the same about mine. Then we crossed paths again.” He slanted his chin. “When we kissed in the back room of your shop, the attraction was there. It was hot, heavy and it was mutual. Do you agree?”

  In the moonlight his face was stronger, more attractive, than it had a right to be. His eyes as dark as the water flowing in the river behind them.

  “Yes, the chemistry was there.” And if he hadn’t pulled back and stopped the kiss, she still wasn’t sure she would have. “It is there. That doesn’t change things.”

  “The hell it doesn’t.” When his gaze drifted to her mouth, she felt a jolt of lust. Okay, so maybe it did change things, she admitted. Heart hammering, she looked him square in the eye. “What do you suggest we do about it?”

  “Compromise. We see each other, but we get rid of most of the risk.”

  “How?” The word was almost a plea.

  “We take this on a day-to-day basis.” He skimmed a fingertip over her jaw. “We go out only if the mood strikes us both.” When his finger trailed down the length of her throat, everything inside her turned hot and sensitive. “By the end of the evening, we should know if we want to see each other again. Or not. We take things from there.”

  She shivered when he whispered the last words over her lips, which were trembling with the need he aroused in her. She tried to catch her breath, to make sense of her response with a mind that felt suddenly numb.

  “That sounds…too easy,” she said, her voice thready. Why did she have to want him so much? “Like there’s a…catch.”

  “Could be.” His hands came to her hips as he spoke, rode up to just under her breasts. His lips brushed over hers, brushed again. “For instance, one of us might want to move faster than the other.”

  Her hands rose to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt while raw, primal need sprang free inside her. No other man had ever affected her so intensely and on every level. If this thing between her and Rafe had been only physical, she liked to think she would’ve found it easier to step away as she knew she should. As she’d told herself she would. But for her, there was apparently no stepping away from this one man.

  “You’re moving just fine, Diaz.”

  His lips curved into one of his rare smiles. “It feels fine to me, too,” he said as one of his arms slid around her waist to lock her against him.

  And when his mouth lowered to hers, she found herself meeting him.

  His kiss was hot. Burning hot. Frankly sexual. Warm, moist lips meeting hers, open, inviting, offering. He traced his tongue slowly around the edge of her lips, then slipped deeper, probing, exploring. She tried to catch her breath and caught his instead, hot and flavored with the taste of tonic and lime.

  The heat flowed down over her, followed by his hands. He ran his palms over her back, chasing shivers, setting off new ones, sliding lower.

  She tangled her hands in the silken strands of his black hair and slanted her mouth across his as needs too long ignored sprang to life. Desire swelled inside her, pushing aside sanity, blazing a trail for more instinctive responses. Arching against him, she lost herself in the kiss, in the moment.

  His hand streaked over her bottom, kneading, stroking. When his fingertips grazed the bare skin between the hem of her halter top and waistband of her shorts, her throat burn
ed dry.

  Even though Rafe hadn’t said it out loud, she knew where this was going. And she wanted to go there. She wanted this man more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

  Rafe’s blood pounded a hard primal beat as he gazed down into her vivid blue eyes. She felt lean and warm in his arms, and he wanted her. Against her lips, he murmured, “Should we take this inside?”

  She stared up at him for a moment, long enough to have his chest going tight before she whispered, “Yes.”

  He raked his fingers through her hair. “You’re sure?”

  In answer, she fused her mouth to his.

  “Good enough,” he groaned.

  Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her across the deck and into the house. Made it through the kitchen to the living room, which was a major accomplishment, considering the way her teeth savaged his throat.

  He paused. “Bedroom, couch or floor?”

  “Okay.”

  He shifted and joined their mouths in a deep, mutual exploration that left both of them breathing even harder than before.

  “Bedroom,” he said finally. “This first time, we need a bed.” He craned his neck. “Which way?”

  “Upstairs,” she panted. “Second floor.” One of her hands locked on the back of his neck while the other fought to open the buttons of his shirt. “First…door on…right,” she added against his mouth. “Now.”

  “We’re going.” With her arms wrapped around him like silken rope, he started toward the stairs, ran into the corner of one of the sofas and knocked them both back against the banister.

  He muttered an oath. “You okay?”

  Her response was to shove his shirt off one shoulder and replace fabric with teeth.

  Desperate to feel her, he streaked a hand beneath her halter top. He sent up silent thanks when all he found was hot, bare flesh.

  With his hand closed possessively over one soft breast and their mouths fused in a tongue-tangling kiss, he carried her up the staircase, arms and legs banging against the wall. When they surged into the dimly lit hallway at the top of the stairs, Rafe jerked off the halter, pressed her back against the wall and fastened his mouth on one hard, tight nipple, suckling greedily.

  Her low, throaty moan filled his senses, as potent and drugging as whiskey.

  While he fed on her, she shoved the shirt farther down his arms, then dug her nails into his shoulders. “We aren’t…going to make it…to the bedroom,” she breathed.

  “Don’t bet on it.” He dragged her away from the wall and took the brunt when they rammed into the bedroom door.

  “Hurry.” She nipped his jaw, then scraped her teeth down his throat while the word pumped like a pulse in his blood. Hurry. Hurry.

  They reeled into a bedroom where moonlight streamed through a pair of French doors. He saw the silhouette of a bureau, desk and bookshelf. Beyond them, the sleigh bed was a veritable lake of smooth linens and pillows. Here the scents that were uniquely Allie were stronger than ever; he could smell her smoldering perfume, a cunning female fragrance meant to make a man lose his mind.

  It was working.

  With her clinging to him like a burr, he crossed the room and tumbled with her onto the bed.

  If he’d gone insane with need, so had she. As though in silent agreement, neither gave thought to gentleness, to soft words or slow hands. They tore at each other, kicking off shoes, dragging off clothes while feeding on each other with greedy kisses.

  Rising over her, he kneed her thighs apart. He was keenly aware of every inch of her heated flesh, of every soft, supple curve, all there for his exploration and taking. Feeling a primitive need to conquer, to possess, he caught her wrists in one hand and stretched her arms over her head, arching her breasts upward. He dipped his head, suckled.

  The feral purr that sounded in her throat went straight to his head like hot whiskey.

  Their want of each other, need for each other was huge, ruthlessly keen. Right now it was all that mattered.

  To please her, and himself, he skimmed his free hand over her belly, down between her spread legs. He cupped her, found her wet and hot and unbearably arousing. Hunger for her pumped inside him. His fingers plunged into her while he gorged himself on her flesh.

  Her breath strained as her head tossed restlessly back and forth within the frame of her upstretched arms. When she breathed his name, heat saturated him, as though a furnace door had been thrown open and the roaring blaze enveloped the room.

  With his fingers impaling her, he could feel every pulse beat pounding inside her. His thumb circled the bud between her thighs, an erotic massage of her throbbing flesh.

  His fingers withdrew, entered her again, then again. Sweat slicked her lush curves; he felt her muscles clench, the spasms boil swiftly upward.

  “Again,” he murmured. He sensed himself edging toward the boundaries of control while his fingers continued moving inside her. His thumb stroked her flesh until he shot her back up that slippery, heated path.

  He swept his jeans off the floor, pulled a foil packet from his billfold.

  Her hands settled on his. “Let me.”

  He gritted his teeth while she sheathed him.

  “Now.” Her lips trembled. “I want you inside me now.”

  She held his gaze as he thrust inside her, his heart crashing like thunder. He slid deeper, each move fueled by increasing urgency, increasing greed.

  Need tore at him, clouding his mind, his vision. She arched higher to take him in fully, her hips meeting his thrust for thrust as their bodies mated. Her muscles clenched around him at the same moment his body convulsed.

  With the earth moving beneath him, he buried his face in the golden fire of her hair and surrendered himself to her.

  Chapter 11

  The dream jolted Rafe awake.

  In his mind, it hadn’t been the walls of Allie’s bedroom closing in on him but the iron bars of his prison cell. Black, cloying memories twisted his insides into knots. His fingers curled into the sheet. He felt the nausea roll in his stomach, the familiar cold sweat break out on his skin, and the unfamiliar sensation of a woman wrapped around him.

  “Are you okay?” she murmured, her voice foggy with sleep.

  He bit back a strangled curse that he’d woken her. The last thing he wanted was for her to witness him battling the demon from his past.

  “I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Be back in a minute.”

  He wasn’t fine. He’d had the dream often enough to know that trying to reason with the panic that tightened his throat and made his lungs strain was wasted effort. The monster clawing at his insides wasn’t going to stop until he got outside where the air was clean and there were no walls caging him in.

  Her palm moved against his chest. “Your heart is hammering.” She lifted her head. Enough moonlight streamed into the bedroom that he could see the concern in her eyes. “Bad dream?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “I’ve had it before. I just need some fresh air.”

  His teeth clamped tight on an oath, he eased away from her. He forced himself to ignore her soft protest, to disregard the silky warmth of her skin that tempted him to tug her back into his arms. He had to get outside. Now.

  He grabbed his jeans off the floor and jerked them on. Earlier when they’d come up for air, he’d opened the bedroom’s French doors that led to the second-floor balcony and spotted a wicker chaise lounge.

  That was as good a place as any to wait for the overwhelming wave of claustrophobia that always accompanied the dream to ease.

  His bare feet sank into carpet so thick it would muffle the sound of a jack hammer as he moved toward the open doors. Stepping outside, he gripped the railing that ran the length of the balcony. The air he dragged into his lungs was clean and sharp and he couldn’t get enough of it. As usual, it took only a few minutes for the panic and grinding nausea to begin to fade.

  He scrubbed a hand across his stub
bled jaw and turned back toward the bedroom. Allie was on her feet now; in the moon’s pale glow, he could see every lush curve of her body. When she bent and swept his white shirt off the floor, the glimpse of her gorgeous backside shot heat to his loins.

  That his body reacted to her while he was still trying to shake off the remnants of the dream was testimony to the hold she already had on him. He warned himself that he was rapidly approaching quicksand. A few more steps and he could end up in over his head. If he wasn’t already there.

  A disquieting thought for a man used to having a handle on himself and the world around him.

  Except for the damn dream.

  He settled on the cushioned chaise lounge. Easing his head back, he took a series of long, deep breaths while watching the big moon skim in and out of fat gray clouds. It had been five years since he’d been locked in a cell. Five years. Yet, each dream dragged him back to that trapped existence, making it seem so real that even the clang of the cell door sliding shut behind him echoed in his head.

  “I brought you some water.”

  Allie stood beside the lounge, her hair a golden tangle around her shoulders. The hem of his white dress shirt skimmed her soft-as-silk thighs.

  She looked sexy and decadent.

  “Thanks.” He accepted the glass; the cool water felt like heaven against his parched throat. “Sorry I woke you.”

  “I’m sorry you had a bad dream.” Her hand settled on his shoulder, squeezed. “Do you want to be alone?”

  Knee-jerk reflex put the word yes on the tip of his tongue. Yet her touch moved something deep inside him, and in a heartbeat of time, he felt himself take another step toward that quicksand.

  At that instant, he couldn’t make himself care.

  “Company would be good.” He set the glass on the floor then reached up and snagged her wrist. “As long as you don’t mind staying out here for a while.”

  “I don’t mind, as long as you share the lounge.”

  “Deal.” Shifting his legs wide, he tugged her down so that her bottom settled in the V of his thighs. “Lean back,” he said. “Use me for a cushion.”