Character Take on Mixing Money and Romance

Please welcome Rafe Archangeli, hero of Mad Dog and the Archangel.
Kat will be giving away a Funky Bag and a Toiletries Bag from Kats Kustom KarryAlls, filled with author swag to one random commenter on the tour. US and Canada only, please.

Good morning, Carrie Ann. Many thanks for inviting me to visit your blog today. I always appreciate attention from a beautiful, talented woman; from the looks of your blog you are both lovely and versatile. Nice dress, by the way, it enhances the color of your eyes and the line of your neck. I believe the neck is the most sensuous part of a woman's body, don't you? The long, fluid lines, fragrant with her special scent, supple from habitual use of lotions and balms. 
Alas, I digress from the topic of mixing money with romance.
It is my feeling, at least it always was until I came home to Summerville to bury the man who saved my life a few years ago, that unless a guy wants to wake up some morning and find his dick in a noose, he should avoid all near occasions of heavy attraction. Yeah, yeah, it's just as easy to get your gonads in a vise grip over a poor girl as a rich one, but who wants to take the risk?
Heightened emotions not only interfere with concentrating on the fine details, they are the best way to ruin a perfectly good scam. Success at conning the rich and shameless out of their wealth depends on several factors. First you want to make sure the mark can afford to lose a few million. Second, it's crucial, to me anyway, that they are clearly and truly shameless. Taking money from those who don't deserve to have it in the first place is always a lot more fun than fleecing some poor schmo who happened to fall into a lucky break and won the lottery. Makes my heart go putty pat to screw somebody out of a few bucks.
Physical appearance [on the female marks] doesn't matter one  bit to me though I know it might rank high with other artists of my ilk. I fleece 'em not screw 'em. Nuh uh. Not this guy. Trust me, sex will screw up a plan faster than grease runs through a goose. I ought to know. My latest mark, prior to this little trip down memory lane in Summerville, is named Shelby Lawrence Ainsley Goddard. I barely escaped her talons with my Gucci shorts intact. The woman is a leech as well as a lech. And loaded with enough Botox and silicone to float an armada.  
Again, I digress. I came to Summerville to bury my friend, Deege Thurgood. He saved my life a few years back; I owe him big. Should have kept the lines of communication open over the years, I know, but things happen. Know what I mean? Living life on life's terms as we say in the rooms of AA. And life just sort of got in the way of me dropping a dime on old Deege to tell him I'd just celebrated ten years clean and sober thanks to him. Not taking the time to say thanks is something I'll regret for the rest of my life.
On top of money, no matter who has it, sobriety is the second reason to avoid romance. Fastest way to watch a woman turn a sickly shade of green is to have a guy admit he once drank, snorted, sniffed and rolled every illegal substance known to man and a few that weren't. Even if said guy comes equipped with a notarized bill of perfect health from the Surgeon General of the United States, mentioning a history of drug abuse dooms a romance quick as spit. Been there and done that, too many times to count.
Now that I think about it, maybe I should have used that line with Shelby Goddard. Would have saved a lot of blood, sweat and tears. Of course if I did that, I'd have missed out on her check with all those lovely zeroes to the left of the decimal point.
But, I suppose you want to know about Amazing Grace Dunavan. The night we met I had no idea she was one of the Eastman Industries Dunavans. If I had, I'd have ignored those hip swinging hips and gutsy laugh, tipped my hat to her and been on my way. But when it comes to the Samba, that woman dances like a whirling dervish. If I didn't know better I'd swear she just came off the beach at Ipanema. It wasn't until later that she had spent time in Rio de Janiero but not on the beach.
I mean, can you picture it―a con man and a nun?
Nope. Mixing money and romance is a sure killer.Thanks for having me, Carrie Ann. I appreciate the invite.Rafe   
About Kat:
Over the years I've had the honor to work at a number of occupations: operating room nurse, malpractice insurance investigator, forensic nurse examiner, victim advocate, wife and mother. Five years ago I became Nana for the first time and, believe me, it's the best job ever!
          Even if I sometimes wish they'd remain in the closet, the years I spent in the OR and labor floor, and later advocating for victims of sexual violence, contribute significantly to the voice of my writing. You don't  spend thirty years playing loyal serving maid and mind reader to egotistical surgeons, then twelve years haunting police stations, Emergency Rooms, and criminal courts without developing an internal alarm system for covert misogyny, rampant apathy, and overwhelming bigotry. 
          I retired my stethoscope and speculum a few years ago but continue to advocate quietly for marginalized populations through Amnesty International and Doctors Without Borders.                     I like hearing from readers. You can contact me through my website: www.KatHenry.com, or blog: www.WildWomanAuthor.blogspot.com                                Blurb
Rafael Archangeli returns home to Summerville to bury an old friend, collect his inheritance, and then return to the only life he knows—conning wealthy women out of their money. In Rafe's world, money not only equals success, it goes a long way to obliterate the stigma of his past.
Grace Dunavan, former nun turned community activist, gave up worldly goods a long time ago with no regrets. But she's never known a man with the raw appeal of the Scourge of Summerville: Rafael Archangeli.
Their first meeting is like an errant strike of lightning, fierce and stunning in intensity, and takes both by surprise. Has Grace turned Rafe into a changed man? Or is he using his inheritance to pull off the biggest scam of his life?
ExcerptSafety First.
A personal motto that served Grace Dunavan well for the past thirty-something years. She never picked up strange men. In fact, she rarely dated men, strange or otherwise. And wasn't she the first to preach the wisdom of obtaining a detailed history—family, medical and sexual before contemplating a walk on the wild side? With any man, including the brother of her best friend.
Especially one whose thick mop of jet colored hair, hooded black eyes and razor-sharp cheekbones, all of which held undeniable appeal for a good girl who always did what the nuns and her parents dictated. With a name like Archangeli he should be a protector, not a walking advertisement that proclaimed: I've Been There, Done That; Let Me Tell You All About It.
As he helped her into her coat, Grace heard Gaby murmur something about an attorney who was trying to track down Rafe. None of it made sense. What woman in her right mind could think straight when faced with a man who redefined potency?
It was a night of firsts for Grace: leaving a party with a man she'd never met before; admitting how and where she'd learned to drive; breaking the land speed record for contemplating her first one night stand.   
Kat will be giving away a Funky Bag and a Toiletries Bag from Kats Kustom KarryAlls, filled with author swag to one random commenter on the tour.  US and Canada only, please.
Follow the tour here.