Beauty and the Bodyguard. Merline Lovelace

the tough, competitive world of fashion photography. Their later work together had solidified his international reputation and led to an appointment as a guest lecturer at the Rochester Institute of Technology, a center of excellence for photographic arts and sciences since George Eastman had rented a factory loft there in 1880.

      In his crankier moods, though, Dom tended to forget their long association, as well as his manners and his maturity. Unfortunately, he’d remained cranky since Rafe had slammed him into the concrete earlier this morning. Despite Allie’s best efforts to coax him into a better mood, he’d been terse and uncommunicative all day. When he showed up at her casita after dinner for their usual preview of the next day’s schedule, she’d hoped his enthusiasm for his work would restore his good humor. It hadn’t.

      A moment later, she winced as Dom slammed down the lid on his computer.

      “I can’t concentrate,” he announced, tucking the notebook under his arm. “I’m going to drive into town and check out the sites we’ll be using for the shoots.”

      Halfway to the door, he stopped and issued an ungracious invitation. “Want to come? With your watchdog’s permission, of course.”

      “No, thanks,” she replied easily, too used to Dom’s sarcasm to let it bother her. “If you want to start shooting by seven, I’ll have to be in makeup by six. Which means…”

      “I know, I know. You have to be up at five for your run. So go to bed and get some sleep, or even I won’t be able to disguise the lines in you face. You’re not getting any younger, you know,” he added with a touch of malice.

      Laughing, Allie crossed the tile floor and planted a kiss on the bald half of his head. “Between your camera and your computer and your creative imaging techniques, you can disguise anything. You’re a genius, Dom. A thoroughly obnoxious genius, but I love you.”

      The photographer shot Rafe a fierce look, then deliberately hooked an arm around her neck. “Yeah, well, I can tolerate you. On occasion.”

      Allie accepted his kiss, then closed the door behind him and twisted the key in the shiny new dead bolt. She turned to find Rafe’s dark eyes fixed on her. The relief she’d felt at her friend’s brief spurt of good humor vanished instantly.

      For the life of her, Allie couldn’t understand why this man should affect her so. She’d spent the past ten years enduring the intense scrutiny of a host of men and women who ruthlessly dissected the most minute details of her face and figure. Since she’d catapulted to the top of her profession, she’d learned to deflect the curious, sometimes avid, stares of her fans. Yet, from the first moment she found Rafe watching her at the party, Allie hadn’t been able to shake the sensations he generated in her.

      What did he see when he looked at her through those steel-blue eyes? she wondered.

      Just what everyone else saw, the practical corner of her mind said mockingly. A face. Two arms. A body that would have been considered bony and unattractive in the pre-Twiggy days, though a good number of men today seemed to find it sexy. Including, Allie remembered, the late-night caller who’d brought Rafe into her life in the first place. Despite her best efforts to control it, a little shiver rippled down her arms.