by Jessica Bird
Feeling like she'd been tackled from behind, Grace sat down in a chair, wondering what in the hell all that was about. And why he hadn't followed through on what his eyes were promising her.
She frowned. How had he known it was her birthday?
Her eyes restlessly moved around the room as she tried to deal with her confusion. And then she saw, face open on the couch, her diary.
Oh, God.
She went over and looked at what he must have read.
Yup. Her little birthday wish.
Grace grimaced, feeling like a fool.
A wrinkle in time, she thought, closing the cover. That's what she needed. So she could go back to three o'clock in the morning and remember to take the thing down the hall with her.
A wrinkle in time or half an ounce of common sense.
chapter
12
Standing in the shower, Smith let the water run down over his head and his shoulders. It was hot enough to sting his skin but he needed some distraction and physical pain was always a good one.
He'd been lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling in the dark as she'd left her room the night before. When she came back down the hall, the pause she had taken in front of his door had been a temptation he'd barely resisted. He could still feel the sheet balled up in his fist as he'd let her go to her bedroom alone.
As soon as she'd settled down, it was his turn to pace around the penthouse. While walking from room to room, he'd thought about the fact that they were both sleepless and edgy although not necessarily for the same reason. That hesitation in his doorway could have been because of fear, but he wanted to believe there was another reason for it. He wanted to believe she couldn't sleep because she was as sexually frustrated as he was.
It was right about then that he'd passed by the couch and saw a small book lying face up on the cushion. He'd bent over, looked at the elegant, neat script, and smiled when he finished reading it.
He'd love to be her goddamn birthday present.
Smith turned up the water a little hotter.
Christ, he thought. He wanted her. And, in spite of the fact that she'd pulled away before, she obviously still wanted him. What would be so wrong if they gave in to the urge? Just once?
Okay, it violated every professional standard he'd ever set for himself. But he was pretty goddamn tired of the frustration he was battling day and night.
Smith braced his arms against the marble wall and leaned in, feeling the muscles in his back stretch and the water hit behind his neck.
He liked clear divisions. Safe and dangerous. Smart and stupid. He'd always believed that life was pretty simple if you took care of business and made the right choices. It wasn't as if right and wrong were hard to discern.
For example, sleeping with a client was both dangerous and stupid.
Smith turned and let the jets pound into his back. He rolled his shoulders around, trying to loosen the tension, even though he knew it wasn't going to do any good. Nothing had eased him recently and he could feel the pressure building in his body. He suspected that the only release would be spending a night in bed with Grace.
Or maybe a week.
At least he'd know she was safe from the killer, he thought grimly.
As he stepped from the shower, the tactician in him came out. What he needed to do was assess the situation dispassionately. Review the assets and liabilities. Plan for conflict.
He'd been a Ranger, for God's sake. He was trained to reason himself out of no-win situations.
Smith turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Picking up a towel, he started to dry off.
She wanted him. He felt the same way. Those were assets.
All right, maybe assets wasn't the right word. But it was reality.
He moved on to liabilities. That list was much longer.
First, there was the professional relationship. Waking up next to a client had sure as hell never been a career goal. He knew damn well that sex always carried with it the risk of emotional involvement on the woman's side but this was especially true when it came to someone he protected. It wasn't that he was such a great catch but people in vulnerable situations could easily get attached to their protector and sex would only encourage the inappropriate connection.
And then there was the way he ran his personal life. After he slept with someone, he left. There was no cuddling or snuggling or affectionate whispering in the dark. Usually he took off because he had to catch a plane, but on those rare occasions when he wasn't leaving imminently, he'd get the hell away from them because he felt trapped. The emotional aftermath of sex always felt forced to him. He just had nothing to say to the women.
Other than good-bye.
Grace might be one hell of a sophisticated woman but she clearly wasn't a player. He suspected she'd only give herself to a man she had some kind of emotional connection with and that was why she'd pulled back the night he'd almost had her. When she'd tried to explain, he hadn't wanted her to share her feelings. He knew damn well that confidences bred intimacy and he did not want to encourage that.
With any woman.
Smith let out a curse.
Talk about new and uncharted territory. He'd never thought about the ramifications of sleeping with a woman before. Previously, it had been a binary exercise. If he wanted one, he had her.
And then kept on going.
Smith tied the towel around his waist and wiped the steam off the mirror with his forearm.
He looked at himself with a hard, unflinching stare.
So what was the answer?
He had every confidence that he could sleep with her and not become emotionally compromised. Mostly because he was incapable of forging intimate relationships. His lifestyle had him jetting around to different parts of the world at the drop of a hat, to destinations he couldn't divulge. And if the constant dislocation wasn't a problem, his line of work sure as hell was. He didn't want to come back to someone who had had to live for a month without hearing from him, wondering all the time if he wasn't coming home at all.
Too much pressure.
When he was working, he needed to think about his clients safety and his own. There was no room for worrying about some woman who might mourn him. This was why, at the age of thirty-eight, he'd never been married and had never spent more than a string of nights with any one woman.
Smith was alone in the world, except for his people at Black Watch, and he liked it that way. He didn't get lonely because he never stopped moving. And because he had no family, there were no guilt trips on those damn holidays that seemed to come around every fifteen minutes. He was free.
But what about Grace's emotions?
If they were going to make love, she had a right to know what to expect. Which was nothing but some really great sex.
Smith got dressed with an efficiency that had been drilled into him by the Army. Shaving took a total of three minutes from the time he picked up the can of shaving cream to when he put down the razor. His hair was so short, he didn't even need to brush it.
He was about to leave when he caught sight of a splash of lavender silk hanging on the back of the door. He pictured Grace in it and imagined slowly peeling the delicate material from her skin.
What if he got emotionally involved, he wondered idly.
He didn't think it was even remotely possible but he shouldn't overlook the risk. What if he made love to Grace and began to care about her? He'd already come to respect her. And he found her attractive on so many levels.
Christ, for the first time in his life, he was actually thinking about how sex would affect things between him and a woman. That was how different things were.
So what did it all mean for him? Although it was best if she didn't get emotionally attached, it was goddamn critical that he didn't. Neither of them could afford his objectivity to be compromised and, with the heart engaged, the mind could weaken. Doctors didn't treat family members for precisely this reason.
Compar
tmentalization had to be the answer, he thought, touching the nightgown.
Fortunately, it was a technique he excelled at. His ability to segment his thoughts and his emotions meant that he could go into situations with a clear head and a calm body and stay that way after the bullets started flying. All he had to do was shut off portions of himself and suppress his feeling.
It was a matter of will.
He told himself there was no reason he couldn't distance himself from Grace emotionally. In the unlikely event he felt anything for her.
Smith gripped the silk tightly in his hand.
He wanted her, but he wasn't prepared to lie to get her into bed. He'd give her the choice. He'd be up-front with what he could offer, which was nothing but physical contact, and she would choose for them.
After all, she was a grown woman. He'd spent enough time with her to know that she was smart and honest with herself. If anyone would be able to make an informed decision, it would be Grace.
When Smith opened the door, he was smiling.
"Smith?"
He turned toward her voice.
She was standing in the doorway to her dressing room, her silk shirt partially tucked into the waistband of a black skirt. She'd obviously been waiting for him.
"About what you read... out there." Her eyes struggled to hold his but she looked away as she flushed.
"I didn't know it was your diary until it was too late," he said, unable to keep the smile off his face.
"Yeah, well, ah..."
Smith went to her, stopping only when he could see the flecks of yellow in her green eyes.
"I liked your idea of a birthday present," he said. His voice was even lower than normal.
Her eyes widened.
He bent his head down so he could talk in her ear. "Even though I shouldn't, I want you to want me."
He brought up his hand and touched the pulse beating at the base of her throat with the pad of his thumb. Her heart rate was fast, so fast the beats blurred into one another.
"I think I've been wrong about us," he said, moving his fingers to her collarbone. Her skin was warm and smooth.
"About what?” she croaked.
Her eyes were luminous as they looked into his, full of fear and anticipation.
He put his lips closer to her ear.
"Tell me," he whispered, "what you want me to do to you."
Her breath left her mouth on a gasp.
He moved her hair aside and slowly, deliberately, took her lobe in between his teeth. "What do you want?”
Her hand rose to his shoulders and she pushed him away.
"John," she mumbled. She cleared her throat. He could see her willing herself to be strong and, as he watched her leash the fire in her blood, he respected her for it. Her voice was clear when she finally spoke. "Why don't you tell me what you mean."
He took a step back and shoved his hands in his pockets.
"I don't think there's any reason we shouldn't.. .” He was going to say, have sex but that seemed a little tough. "Be lovers."
And how about right now, he thought. Let's ditch the clothes. Dive into each other.
Grace's hand came up to her throat. “What's made you change your mind?”
Good goddamn question, he thought, knowing she deserved an honest answer.
"Because I want you like no other woman I've ever met," he said roughly.
Before she could reply, he went on, reminding himself of what else he had to tell her.
"Look, I can give you pleasure. But you need to know, the job ends and I'm out of your life. No permanence, no happy ending." He stared at her, willing her to take him seriously and still go to bed with him. "Until that happens, I can promise you, no one will make love to your body like I will."
He heard the desire vibrate in his own voice.
"Think about it," he said before moving away from her. "And let me know what you decide."
* * *
Grace watched him go.
He couldn't have surprised her more if he'd told her he was Superman.
She'd assumed he'd forgotten about what had happened in her bedroom that night, that he'd brushed it aside with the same casual disregard he treated most things. Obviously, he hadn't.
The idea that he wanted her was deeply satisfying. What he was proposing was less so.
Could she really have an affair? A short, intense relationship based on a physical connection and nothing more?
She remembered what his voice sounded like, deep in her ear, and thought yes, she sure as hell could.
Grace went back into her dressing room, sat down at her vanity and began brushing out her hair.
Except, if she was truthful with herself, she knew it wouldn't be only physical on her part. She was attracted to him but her emotions were already involved.
No happily ever after.
Putting down the brush, she twisted her hair up and began pinning the chignon.
Before her marriage to Ranulf, she'd been capable of believing in happily ever after. Or at least, moderately-happy-in-a-stable-kind-of-way ever after. Now, she didn't.
The question was, it seemed, whether she could be with Smith and still keep her head together. She'd have to be able to resist looking for, and then believing in, a future that he'd explicitly told her would never happen. Because she knew better than to assume he'd change his mind if she lost her heart to him. If he told her he was going to leave and never see her again, he would. She didn't doubt it for a moment.
Grace regarded the chignon from various angles and tucked one more hairpin in the back.
If she got hurt, it would only be her own fault.
She thought about his kisses and wanted to give him an answer right away. It was tempting to tell him yes and deal with the consequences later, to go to him this very moment and fall into his arms.
But that kind of spur-of-the-moment decision-making was at the root of her problems with Ranulf. He'd asked her to marry him and she'd agreed, pushing aside her doubts. If she'd taken some time to think about the situation, she might have followed the inner voice that was telling her they were ill-matched.
This time, she would make her decision carefully. In spite of how much she wanted to be with John.
From now on, she was going to choose her way more deliberately.
* * *
At the end of the workday, Grace looked at the stack of papers on the desk and felt as if she was staring up at a mountain. The pile had grown in spite of all the things she'd delegated, thrown out, or asked Kat to file. She was tired and distracted and the last thing she wanted to do was go to the Plaza for the birthday party Bo was throwing her.
"I can't do it," she muttered.
Smith looked up from the conference table.
"I can't go out tonight," she said more loudly. "I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "Why are you apologizing to me? We weren't going on a date."
His pragmatic words stung but he was right. They weren't going out together as a couple. They were just two people going to the same place.
And she thought she might be able to make love with him and not get more emotionally involved?
All day long, her answer to his proposal had been solidly in yes territory. Yes and now. But maybe she was deluding herself.
Grace picked up the phone, dialed the Plaza, and asked for Senator Barbara Ann Bradford. As soon as Bo picked up, she said, "I'm so sorry, something has—"
Bo laughed and her smooth Southern drawl brooked no argument. "Don't even try that with me. I'm in town for forty-eight hours for your thirtieth birthday party. You will be coming for dinner, you will have a good time, and we will give you a royal razzing about getting older."
"I'm just exhausted."
"Everyone who's coming tonight is a friend. The real kind. If you end up falling asleep during dinner, we'll prop you up on a sofa. You'll be as elegant as ever, just a little more quiet."
"Maybe we should just meet tomorrow for—"
Bo'
s voice grew gentle. "Woody, you need us right now. That's why I sent you the gift."
Grace struggled to turn her father's chair around so it faced the view, wishing she were by herself. She didn't want to cry in front of Smith arid tears were milling.
"Oh, Bo, I don't know what to say."
The gift was a relic of their girlhood together, a short length of braided hair, blond and auburn intertwined. They had woven it at the age of twelve when they'd been at summer camp and had cut each other's hair.
As soon as Grace had seen the lock in the porcelain box, she'd remembered exactly where they'd been sitting as they'd put a pair of scissors to work. It had been on a dock, on the shores of Lake Sagamore. The sun had been low in a very blue sky and the breeze mild. It had been toward the end of summer, she recalled, and the warmth in the air had been welcomed because their swimsuits had been damp. She could still hear the sound of the water clapping through the crib underneath their towels.
With great chops and slices, they had transformed themselves on the outside, eager to get closer to their grown-up selves. As locks of hair had fallen onto the bleached wood of the dock, they were convinced that with shorter hair they would look older. They would be further along on the path to their great destinies.
With shorter hair, things would somehow be easier.
When they were finished, they had taken some of the strands and made the two braids, one for each of them. They had brushed off the rest of the hair into the water where it lingered on the surface like a spider's web and then floated away. They'd laughed at how funny it felt to be free of the weight that had once lain on their shoulders.
Somewhere along the way to adulthood, Grace had misplaced her braid and the ache she felt from the loss would have astonished her younger self. Having grown up, having reached that maturity she'd yearned for, it was a surprise to find herself wanting to return to that simpler life, to that moment at the edge of the lake with her friend. To that summer day that she'd believed was going to last forever.
"Bo, how did you know how much it would mean to me?"
"Because I was with you then and I'm with you now. Someday, when I'm hurting, you can send it back to me." Grace felt tears prick the corners of her eyes as Bo laughed. "Think of it as emotional fruitcake. We'll just keep mailing it back and forth to each other."