Close Proximity. Donna Clayton

told you the prosecution would want to look at Dad’s finances. They were hoping to find some unexplainable deposits, searching for a secret stash—”

      “But there’s none of that here. Every penny is meticulously recorded. Every deposit in his bank account is either his salary or his yearly bonus from Springer. It’s all accounted for. It’s all thoroughly legit. The man is innocent as a newborn lamb. Surely they’ll see that.”

      Libby knew by Rafe’s use of “they” that he’d meant the attorneys who were trying to convict her father.

      “To them, the only thing this proves,” she told him, “is that Dad is smart enough not to deposit unexplained funds in his bank account. For all they know, he’s got a big, fat Swiss bank account.”

      “If they’re allowed to present that line of reasoning,” he cut in, “how are we ever to prove his innocence?”

      “Proving his innocence isn’t our job,” she explained. “It’s the other side’s job to do the proving. Dad’s innocent until proven guilty. That’s the beauty of the U.S. court system. Our job is to refute any evidence they present.”

      “True. But if a man with such an upstanding character as David Corbett can be arrested, then it only shows one thing—this legal system of ours can be unpredictable. It can be crazy.”

      She nodded, smiling. “Yep, I agree. Sometimes it’s both those things. But it’s all we’ve got so we’d better decide to work with it.”

      He stretched his neck one way, then the other. Then he lifted his arms and reached high, elongating the muscles of his well-formed arms and torso.

      It was impossible for Libby to keep her gaze from dipping to his massive chest. Working with Rafe during the evenings as they read over the first batch of evidence that was provided to them was so hard for her. With his long, flowing hair, his powerful build, those amazingly intense mahogany eyes, he was more attractive to her than any other man she’d ever met.

      Even Stephen.

      And she hadn’t imagined ever wanting a man as much as she’d thought she’d wanted Stephen back in her law-school days. The rat! She shut down the dark memories, refused to give them an opportunity to rear their ugly heads. Instead, she focused on the man sitting at the dining room table with her now.

      Rafe’s eyes were closed, his chin tipped up, as he stretched the kinks from his muscles. My, how she’d love to run her fingers down the naked length of him. She could only imagine how hard, how sculpted his body would feel.

      Libby tightened her grip on the chopsticks until she feared they’d snap in two.

      “I could use some more wine,” she told him. “How about you?”

      She stuck the sticks into the now tepid Chinese vegetables and set down the container where it wouldn’t stain the papers that were stacked on the table.

      “Sure.” He got up and turned to go into the kitchen.

      Soft blue denim hugged his butt. And what a nice, tight butt it was, too.

      Libby grinned. She was being so bad. She knew it, and it was so unlike her.

      She was not looking to get involved with Rafe. Her experience in the past had made her resolve not to get involved with any man. Relationships were just too painful.

      But what harm was there in checking out the view? she wondered, her smile widening.

      What she’d really like was to see the slick, black river of hair flowing free against the bare flesh covering the wide, strong expanse of his muscular back. To feel those silken tresses against her own naked flesh. A loose and languid chuckle rose in her throat and she did her best to stifle it.

      “What has you grinning from ear to ear?” he asked, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, the open bottle of wine in his hand.

      Her eyes widened a fraction and she felt a sudden flush of embarrassment at having been caught in the midst of such naughty, purely erotic thoughts. Her smile disappeared in a puff like dry, brittle paper in fire. One instant the extremely carnal imagery was there, the next it was gone.

      “Nothing,” she told him. She slid her wineglass away from her. “On second thought, I think I’ve had enough wine for one evening.”

      He corked the bottle. “Then I should go. It’s nearly midnight and you need to be at the courthouse by eight in the morning. I’ve stayed too long as it is.”

      After setting the merlot on the table, he reached for his jacket.

      “Rafe—”

      When his rich russet gaze landed on her, she found it hard to breathe, nearly impossible to speak, so great was the wave of gratitude that suddenly engulfed her.

      His eyes held an intensity, a power, a raw force, that she’d never in her life experienced.

      What a ridiculous notion, she silently chided herself. The only thing that was wrong with her at the moment was that she’d had too much to drink. She was tired and stressed to the max.

      Nevertheless, she was compelled to reveal her thoughts to him.

      “I want to thank you. You’ve been such a great help to me this past week. Without you, I’d have been all alone in this.”

      For long seconds he just stood there. She found her mind roving over the different opinions she’d formed about him. He was a proud man. And she found that pride to be almost overwhelmingly appealing. He was intelligent and diligent. Detail oriented. He’d worked hard to attain his dream of having a horse ranch. He was self-sufficient, from what she could tell, asking help from no one, although he’d been quick to offer her father assistance when it was needed.

      Rafe James was a man to be admired. And Libby was discovering that she might be coming to admire him way too much.

      “I’m glad I could help,” he said. “I really am.”

      The very air seemed to hum with some sort of undercurrent, Rafe thought as he stood there, jacket in hand. And the hum was growing louder—and harder to ignore—with each passing day.

      She was a stunningly beautiful woman with her sun-fire curls and those amazing aquamarine eyes. And although his body pulsed with desire for her, she had more than mere physical beauty going for her. She was one hell of a lawyer.

      When the two of them had first broken into the boxes of evidence provided by the court, she’d angrily lamented that the prosecutor had sent none of the important documents.

      “I won’t let them get away with these delaying tactics,” she’d promised.

      And she hadn’t, either. She’d filed a complaint with the judge the very next day. A complaint that ultimately caused the judge to lecture the opposing counsel. A chagrined prosecutor had stiffly promised Libby that more of the evidence would be forthcoming.

      However, even though Libby seemed so very confident wearing her professional hat, Rafe couldn’t deny his suspicions that, deep down inside, she was as fragile as a sparrow, her self-esteem tenuous and delicate. He couldn’t say why he felt this way. He just did.

      Maybe it was the small, self-deprecating asides she was in the habit of murmuring to herself when she thought no one else was listening. Or maybe it was the doubt that often shadowed her lovely gaze.

      Whatever the reason, he knew he was often swamped by the urge to shield her. From the world at large. From the reporters who were so willing to place guilt even before the trial had begun. From the worry of the case. Even from herself and the long hours she insisted on working.

      And that inclination to protect her, more and more often, seemed to weave itself amid the potent attraction he felt for her. As the days wore on, he was becoming less able to clearly delineate his feelings. All he had to do was look at her, he was coming to realize, and sentiment churned, his blood heated. Where she was concerned his emotions were becoming mysterious,