An Unforgettable Lady

by Jessica Bird

  A howling need hit him in the gut just as she caught his reflection in the glass. He heard her breath suck in with a hiss and she seemed to take a moment to steady herself before she turned. When she did, he saw her fine features were tight with tension.

  "You move so quietly," she said.

  He shrugged. "No sense announcing myself with a marching band."

  Her lips lifted in a smile and Smith felt his chest constrict. He wasn't someone who got preoccupied by beauty but he found himself absorbing hers through his skin. She warmed him.

  He resented the effect.

  "What's going on?" he said sharply.

  "Have you heard the news?" The treble of fear was in her voice, making it higher than he remembered.

  "About Suzanna van der Lyden?" He nodded.

  She wrapped her arms around herself. As she moved, diamonds shimmered.

  “I can't believe it." The countess turned back to the view, as if she didn't want him to see her struggle for self-control. "God, how her family must feel. She has a young son. Had."

  Her eyes flashed over her shoulder. She measured him for a long time, as if trying to delve into the space behind his eyes, into who he was as a man.

  "Can I trust you?" she asked with quiet urgency.

  "With your life, Countess."

  There was a pause. She turned back around to him. "My husband and I have separated. We're getting a divorce."

  She watched him closely, obviously wondering whether his word was his bond or a fiction. She was no doubt worried he might go to the papers and he didn't blame her. The separation of the Count and Countess von Sharone was going to be big news.

  After a moment, she continued. "I am not prepared to announce it, not until the divorce is worked out. That's why I didn't tell the police I was being followed."

  "You think your husband's stalking you?"

  "He might be paying someone to keep an eye on me."

  "Is he still in love with you?"

  She shrugged. "I doubt it. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't try and find something to use against me."

  "And you?"

  "Still in love? No. I married him because I was supposed to." She let out a harsh laugh. "My father liked him. My mother liked his family. I thought there were worse things in life than marrying a handsome man from a royal family."

  She looked back out of the windows. "I was wrong, of course. You should never marry for anything less than love."

  Smith frowned.

  "No offense, Countess, but do you honestly think you can keep news like this a secret? After that wedding you had?" He remembered reading about it on a plane as he flew to God only knew where. Hundreds of the world's uber-wealthy had attended the festivities in Europe. Her dress alone had cost over $100,000 if the papers had gotten the figure right.

  "There are issues here at the Foundation and I need to be perceived as strong and in charge. If news of my marriage breaking up gets out now, people are going to assume I'm on the verge of an emotional breakdown."

  "Are you?"

  "Do I look like a nervous wreck to you?" Her voice was steady as she met his eyes in the wall of glass.

  He shook his head. In that red dress, she looked enticing as hell, that's what she looked like.

  The harsh laugh came again. "Good. I've learned in the last month to relish that particular illusion."

  "Why don't we sit down," he said, abruptly. "You look like you're about to fall over."

  Those graceful shoulders moved back and he waited for her to fight him. She would no sooner admit she was tired than she'd let out the fear she was holding in so tightly.

  But instead of arguing, she settled behind a large desk and he took a seat across from her. He waited for her to speak again, waited for her to formally ask the question he was prepared to answer.

  * * *

  Grace was determined not to break down in front of Smith but she felt as if she might shatter and fall to pieces at any moment.

  She'd spent the preceding hours thinking about how to best take care of herself and the only answer she came up with involved him. When she'd left the Met, but couldn't bring herself to go home because she was scared to be alone, she'd dialed his cell phone number.

  He was the one she wanted, the only one. He was a tough ass, hardheaded son of a bitch capable of making a killer turn and flee. He would keep her safe. With him protecting her, maybe she could get through a day without having an anxiety attack. Maybe she'd be able to concentrate on her job again. Maybe she could have part of her life back.

  Her eyes flickered over to him. He'd chosen a chair just beyond the pool of light cast by the desk lamp. He looked dangerous in the shadows, so still and watchful. She couldn't see his eyes but knew they were on her. Even in the midst of her fear, she felt a surge of warmth and had to remind herself they had business to discuss.

  Grace cleared her throat. "I'd like to hire you."

  She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  He shifted in the chair, his leather jacket creaking softly.

  "How far are you willing to go?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "What accommodations are you willing to make? "

  Her eyebrows rose. "As in?"

  Impatience flared in his tone. "Changing your schedule. Restricting your activities. Leaving the city."

  Her eyes widened. "I can't leave the Foundation. We're getting ready for the Gala and—"

  Smith shook his head resolutely and began to get up from the chair.

  "Wait a minute." Grace put some command in the words. " Where are you going ?"

  He froze, suspended by his arms over the seat of the chair. The look he gave her told her he wasn't used to being ordered around.

  "I mean, please don't leave. You're the best. And I want the best." More softly, she added, "I need you."

  He got to his feet and looked down at her from his full height. When he put his hands on his hips, his jacket stretched tightly across his shoulders.

  No doubt he was all solid muscle, she thought. Actually, she already knew that, having been against him. Held by him.

  The swirling desire that broke through her anxiety wasn't an improvement and she wanted to curse. Why couldn't she be blindsided by calm? Tackled by a wave of peacefulness? Swept off her feet by tranquility and relaxation?

  But no. Her relief pitcher was lust.

  "Please," she said. "Don't go."

  "Lady, I'm the best because my clients tend to live longer lives. The reason is because they do what I tell them to." His tone was bored, even though his expression was intense. "I have zero interest in arguing with a client over what I have to do to keep them alive,"

  "You don't understand." Grace got up so she could at least come close to looking him in the eye. "I need to be here right now."

  "You'd rather plan a party than take care of yourself?" His voice was dark with disapproval as he began to turn away. "Look, I can recommend someone who'll do what you want. There are plenty of big pieces of meat who can trail after you."

  She rushed around the side of the desk, placing herself between him and the door.

  "Hear me out." Before he could argue, she pointed to the bust on the desk. "That's my father. I'm in this office because he's dead but only because he said so. I'm at war with the board and his second in command. I leave now and I get put out to pasture as a figurehead.

  "I've got a bunch of throwbacks in my boardroom. My father's right-hand man is turning them against me because he wants to be in charge. If I disappear now, I'm going to lose control of this foundation because they're going to push me out. It will be the first time a Hall hasn't been in charge and I can't let that happen." Her eyes implored him. "There's a lot more at stake than just a party. But I just can't live in fear any longer. It's killing me."

  He studied her for a moment. "Are you prepared to be completely honest with me?"

  "I told you about my husband, didn't I?"

  She'd felt uncomfortable talkin
g to him about her marriage. Smith was, outside of her lawyer, the only person she'd told and she hadn't liked revealing the truth. The tabloids would pay a mint to get their hands on that kind of copy, but what choice did she have? She had to trust someone and John Smith hardly seemed the type who'd sell out for money. He seemed to have too much dignity for that.

  "Are you aware of anyone who would want to hurt you? Any enemies?”

  Grace frowned. "As I said, Lou Lamont wants my job. He's aggressive but I can't believe he'd—"

  "You'd be surprised what people are capable of. Anyone else?"

  She shook her head. "Not that I can think of."

  "Do you have any lovers?" The words were curt.

  "Good Lord—why do you ask?"

  "If I'm going to work for you, I need to know everything."

  "Are you taking me on as a client?" she countered.

  There was a long silence. "I’ll need to be with you all the time."

  "Of course."

  His eyes, vivid blue and glowing, narrowed into beams. "If I do this, you're going to have to be completely honest with me and do what I say."

  At the moment, she didn't care if he wanted her firstborn.

  "Absolutely."

  "Then yes, I'll protect you."

  Grace took her first deep breath in weeks. "Thank God."

  "Now answer my question," he demanded. "Do you have any lovers?"

  She frowned. "No, I'm not involved with anyone."

  “Was there anyone else during your marriage?”

  "I can't imagine why that would be—"

  "Don't tell me you need a crash course on crimes of passion.” His voice was clipped, like a drill sergeant's.

  He was used to being obeyed, she thought. Like her father had been. Like her husband had expected to be.

  And she'd just agreed to do anything he told her to.

  Out of the frying pan and into the fire, she thought grimly.

  But she was through with meek compliance. He was going to protect her and she was relieved to be his client, but that didn't mean she'd allow him to bully her around.

  Unfortunately, he did have a valid reason for wanting to know about her love life.

  Grace took a deep breath." I was faithful to him. Always."

  A fleeting emotion traced his face. Had it been disapproval?

  And most people thought fidelity was a virtue, she thought.

  "So what happens next?" she asked.

  "I get on your security guys here at the Foundation. You start coming and going in an unpredictable manner. I move into your apartment."

  She stopped nodding in agreement. "Move in?"

  "I can't watch you if I'm not around you," he said dryly. "And it's not like the madman who's after you only works a day shift."

  Grace was dumbfounded. It had never occurred to her he'd need to be that close. "Are you sure that's necessary?"

  He gave her a dark look. "Is there a problem?"

  "You're talking about living in my home." She raised her hand to her neck, feeling exposed. "I don't know anything about you."

  “I’ll bet you don't know much about the guy who does your taxes, either."

  She pictured her accountant, who wore half-glasses and came up to her collarbone. Eugene Fessnick, CPA, sleeping in her guest room was not the same thing. At all.

  "But you're... different."

  "I'm more on the level of the types who service your car, right?"

  She frowned, ready to correct the mistaken impression that she thought she was better than he was, but he didn't seem bothered by what she'd said. He didn't care what she thought of him, she realized. To him, it was utterly unimportant. He was focused on the task at hand. On her safety. Nothing more.

  Except she didn't want to come across as the kind of person people often assumed she was. Shallow, snobby, privileged. She'd worked hard to combat that image. Her "common" touch, as her husband had put it, had been yet another reason Ranulf had been dissatisfied with her as a wife.

  She shook her head. "That wasn't what I meant. You're just—"

  Smith turned and started walking to the door. "You coming, Countess? Or do you want to spend the night in your office?"

  Grace refused to follow his lead. "It's just that I don't know many people who are as... hard looking as you are. It's a little intimidating, to tell you the truth. And having you come into my home, it makes this all so... real."

  Smith paused by the door, pushing his hands down deep into his pockets and looking pointedly out into the hall. His profile was rigid, handsome. Unconcerned.

  "Will you please look at me while I'm talking to you?" she demanded.

  When his head snapped around, she braced herself for an argument. Or worse. His expression was so grim, she thought he might drop her as a client before they even got started.

  His voice was stern when he spoke. "Countess, we need to get something straight. I'm not here to get to know you, I’m here to keep you alive. That's it. If you want to talk about your inner feelings and the way we relate, call a girlfriend. You'll get more out of it."

  Her temper flared. "Well, pardon me for trying to put your mind at ease. I was trying to reassure you—"

  "Honey, my mind is always at ease."

  She shot him a derisive look. "That wasn't what it looked like the night I first met you. You seemed downright hot and bothered to me."

  "You were being a pest, Barbie."

  "Only because you were staring at me."

  "Yeah, well, you should be used to that by now. Or do you doll yourself up just because you like to play with makeup?"

  "I do not doll myself—" She lost her train of thought. "What are we arguing about again?"

  They glared at each other in silence.

  And then, suddenly, he smiled. The expression took her breath away. If he was compelling when he was serious, he was close to irresistible when he lightened up.

  Maybe she should pray for more of his dark moods.

  "What's so funny," she muttered.

  "You've got some steel under all that window dressing, don't you?"

  She flushed. "I like to think of it as strength of purpose."

  His smiled disappeared. "Well, whatever you call it, put it to good use on someone else. I don't take orders, I give them. Is that clear?"

  Grace tightened her jaw and told herself now was an excellent opportunity to stand up and be counted. "I don't mind doing what you think is best. But some give-and-take will make this whole thing easier."

  "I don't do give-and-take. Sorry."

  She cocked her head to the side. "So I'm just supposed to go along for the ride? You can move into my home, take over my life, force me to answer intimate questions about my—my—" She stuttered because she couldn't make herself say the word sex in front of him and felt ridiculous. " But I can't ever challenge you, even when you might be wrong?"

  "You're a quick study, Countess."

  "That's not fair."

  "Let's do a reality check. You need me more than I need you. So who gets to set the rules of the game?"

  "I don't think I like you very much," she said. It was true. She wasn't sure what she felt about him but like was definitely not it.

  "Good. That will make it easier on both of us."

  She frowned, thinking the comment was strange.

  "So do you still agree to the terms of my engagement?" he asked.

  She took a deep breath and slowly nodded.

  "Then let's go."

  He looked around the room, eyes training on her purse and wrap, which were on the glossy surface of the conference table. He picked them up and went back to the door.

  Grace approached him, head held high. Damned if she was going to let him know how much he disturbed her. She stopped in front of him and waited.

  "What?" he demanded.

  "Oh, I thought you were going to help with my wrap," she said, feeling foolish. Of course a man like him wouldn't worry about social graces. "Give it to me." />
  She watched him frown and look down at the hand she'd extended. He gave her the purse.

  And then, in a flash of movement, he leaned in close and slipped the red silk around her shoulders. He didn't pull away immediately. As his hands lingered on the fine cloth, her breath caught and her eyes flashed up to his.

  Her lips parted as he focused on her mouth.

  But he made no move to kiss her

  "Remember, Countess, I'm not your escort. And I'm never going to be."

  He stepped away sharply and she had to scramble to keep the wrap from falling to the floor.

  chapter

  6

  When they got to the lobby, the security guard was gone.

  "Probably on a walking tour," Grace said, her voice getting lost in the huge space. "They're supposed to do that. I'll call my driver."

  As she took out her cell phone, she looked over at Smith. His eyes were tracing every feature of the tremendous atrium and its neoclassical appointments.

  "I can see why this place is considered a national landmark," he remarked. "It was the sister of the Chrysler Building, right?"

  She nodded. "They were built within two years of each other. The elevator doors are my favorite. The Egyptian motif, all that matte silver and shiny brass. And the ceiling's not bad, either."

  They both looked up at the adorned stretch three stories above.

  He turned toward a pair of massive doors, above which "The Woodward Hall Museum" was inscribed on a pediment of white marble.

  "Is the museum open to the public every day?"

  "Except for Tuesdays."

  "How big is it?"

  "It takes up the first four stories of the building and has its own elevator system. There are three floors of exhibit space and one that houses the library, the administrative offices, and the lab where we handle conservation."

  "I’ll need a tour of the building tomorrow. And architectural renderings."

  "All right." She dialed her driver's number.

  When her limousine pulled up in front, she and Smith slipped out into the darkness. They walked across about twenty yards of granite paving stones to the street, passing by a mammoth statue of George Washington and then going down a handful of shallow steps.

  Grace glanced over her shoulder when Smith didn't walk next to her. His eyes met hers and then shifted away, as he scanned the plaza and the street around them. There were no other pedestrians and only the occasional taxi shot by on the street, but she didn't feel scared. At all.