by Jessica Bird
Shoring up her courage, she stuck her head out of her door and listened for sounds that anyone was moving around in the house. Silence seemed to stretch in all directions so she figured Jack and Blair were likely celebrating their engagement privately. Her mother wasn't home yet, either.
Rapping on John's door softly, she waited with her breath held. There was no answer.
Frowning, she knocked a little louder.
When there was still ho response, she stuck her head inside.
"John?” she said into the darkness.
She went through the door. As her eyes adjusted, she could see shapes inside the room. The bed, the highboy some of his things like his bag and his windbreaker. The door to the bathroom was open and she saw, in the glow of the night-light, a towel bunched up on the marble counted and another hanging off the shower door. There was a razor and a can of shaving cream next to the sink.
Feeling like an intruder, she returned to her bedroom and left the door open so she'd hear him come back. When he hadn't returned twenty minutes later, she began to get worried. She went over and picked up the panic button.
Holding it in her hand, she wondered whether she should use it. With a curse, she put the thing down on the bureau next to her. She wasn't in any danger, after all. She just wanted to know where he was.
A half hour later, she was getting antsy and worried, wondering if something had happened to him. It was hard to imagine what could take down a man like John, but things happened.
She thought of Cuppie, Suzanna, and Mimi.
Awful things most certainly happened.
And he'd made it clear that the kind of people who might want to hurt him wouldn't do it with cruel words or threatening innuendos.
She told herself not to be ridiculous. What kind of bad guy was going to hunt John down in Newport, Rhode Island? And who'd even know he was at Willings?
Time passed. And her reasonable side got ambushed by the terrible pictures flying through her head.
Grace looked at the panic button. If she activated it, and he didn't come, she'd know he was in trouble.
Yeah, and then what was she going to do? Arm herself with a hairbrush and go hunting for him in her nightgown?
No, she'd go get Jack, she thought. They'd figure out what to do.
She went over, picked up the panic button and pressed the red pad.
In a nanosecond, Smith came crashing through the balcony doors, wood splintering and falling to the floor as he broke the lock. His gun was drawn and his eyes were black as hell while he scanned the room. As she looked him, she knew without a doubt that he was capable of deadly force.
And that she'd made an awful mistake.
"Oh..." Words failed her. "Shit."
After he'd looked around the room and over her body, he demanded, "What's wrong?"
Grace felt badly. And foolish. "Er—nothing."
"Why the hell did you hit the panic button then? "
"I'm so sorry. I didn't know where you were and—"
"Jesus," Smith swore as he tucked his gun into its holster. "That thing is not a pager."
"I know. I really shouldn't have used it unless I had an emergency." She offered him a chagrined smile. "Believe me, I'm never touching that thing again."
"No, I want you to use it. Just make sure there's a good reason to." He went over and inspected the door. "This is going to need a serious repair job."
Shaking his head, he shut the doors and propped them closed with a chair.
"What were you doing out on the porch? " she blurted.
"Did you need anything?"
There was a long pause. She met his eyes.
Do it, she thought. Just say the words.
"I need you."
Before he could get a word out, she approached him.
"You told me that we could have one night together. I know you've regretted the invitation but you have to admit the two of us are driving each other crazy. If you're worried about being distracted or whether Fm going to get hurt, do you honestly think things can get any more complicated? Whether you want to admit it or not, we are involved, John. I think we should stop talking. And start making love."
With sharp movements, he took off the jacket he'd worn to dinner, as if the room had suddenly grown hot.
"You know I’m right," she said softly.
His eyes fixed on the door to the hall and, when he finally moved, she was sure it would be to leave. Instead, he came over and wrapped his arms around her.
"God help us," he said.
Grace raised her mouth for his kiss but he pulled back his head.
"If we spend the night together, it won't change the ending," he said. "I’m still going to leave."
Staring into his eyes, she said, "I know. But you're here now, aren't you? So shut up and kiss me."
With a sardonic smile, he murmured, "Are you getting tough on me?"
"Yes." She pulled his mouth down to hers.
As their lips touched, she heard a groan of need rise from him. His tongue dove into her mouth and she met the thrust passionately. The kiss quickly took on a wild edge.
Roughly, he stripped her robe from her shoulders and then she felt her nightgown drift down to the floor. As the cool air hit her skin, she circled her arms around his shoulders but stopped when she felt the gun. He pulled back and took off the holster and then his shirt. As he undressed, his eyes never left her face and she relished the expanse of his chest and his ribbed stomach. She reached out, touching warm, male skin.
"I want to see you," he said, moving her over to the bed and into a pool of light. As he looked at her, she heard a hiss and was stunned by the dark need in his face. He sat, or perhaps it was even collapsed, onto the bed.
He reached up and took her breasts into his palms, his thumbs rubbing the nipples, which were already taut. They peaked even further with his touch and her head fell back as a moan of desire escaped her. Leaning forward, he took the tip of one breast into his mouth and she gripped his shoulders, then his neck, then his head. His mouth went lower, down the flat plane of her stomach and over to her hip, his teeth gently nipping at her skin.
And then, as if He couldn't stand it any longer, he pulled her forward on top of him. His arms gripped her body tightly and his arousal was thick and hard, pressing into her. She reached down in between them, searching for his belt buckle, as he continued to kiss her. With one fluid motion, he rolled her over, pulled back and took off his pants. The first moment she felt him totally naked against her, Grace felt a surge of heat that was almost pain.
Time halted as he explored her body, kissing her neck and her breasts, covering her skin with his hands. She thought dimly that no one had ever taken such care to arouse her before and she felt herself come alive.
"I need you to touch me," he growled against her mouth.
With confidence she never would have thought herself capable of, she began to stroke him, from his wide shoulders and his chest, down the rigid contours of his stomach, to the curve of his hip bones. When she went lower, taking him in her hands, he braced himself against the headboard as spasms wracked his big body. Marveling that she was the one he needed so badly, she began to pleasure him.
She didn't get far. With a flash of movement, he grabbed her and drew her to him, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, his hands going over her back restlessly. She sensed that he was trying to be gentle but that his need made him rough. She wasn't afraid. She only wanted more.
"I can't hold out longer," he groaned against her mouth. He rolled over on top of her and his eyes bored into hers as his weight pressed her down into the mattress. Arching under him, feeling a swelling, pulsating need at her core, she brought up her knees. He settled in between her legs with an expression that was close to anguish.
John pulled back, looking down into her eyes. "Are you sure?"
She nodded and pulled him to her mouth.
With an aching slowness, he entered her, filling her body with a lush thickness tha
t was her undoing. She cried out and he swallowed her incomprehensible words as he began moving inside of her. Harder and faster he mastered her body until they came together, exploding with hoarse cries, holding on tightly to each other.
In the stillness that followed, a glow settled in her, but she wasn't sure what he was feeling. She glanced at him from under her lashes. His eyes were shut and the harsh planes of his face were startlingly relaxed.
"You okay?" he said.
She smiled. "Yes. I am."
He looked at her, stroking back a strand of hair from her face. "You're one hell of a woman."
"Really?"
"Yes. Really." He kissed her. Long and slow.
She reached up and grabbed onto his back.
As he grew hard inside of her again, she sighed and gave herself up to the pleasure.
* * *
Grace woke up alone and she could tell it was late in the morning. The sun, which was streaming in through the windows and wandering lazily across the floor, had reached as far as the end of her bed. She stretched, feeling all kinds of new sensations, and smiled to herself as she looked at the mess they'd made of the bed.
After making love to John all night long, she felt like a new woman. He'd been everything she'd hoped he would be, both passionate and tender, and he sure as hell knew how to use that hard body of his. It had been the single most satisfying night in her life.
Looking across the room at the chair that was braced against the French doors, she did wonder how she was going to explain the damage, however.
She was just getting up and drawing on her robe when she heard a knock on the door. She was surprised to find her mother standing outside in the hall.
"This is early for you," Grace said, trying to smooth down her hair. She was well aware it was a matted mess.
"No, it isn't. You slept through breakfast."
Her mother stepped forward, forcing Grace to move out of the way. Her eyes went to the broken door. "I thought I heard something in here last night. What happened?"
Grace shrugged. "I locked myself out on the terrace by mistake."
“Why didn't you use the door at the end of the hall? "
"That was locked as well."
Carolina went over and inspected the broken handle. “I will have to get Gus up here to repair this."
"Do you want something?"
Her mother turned. "Why is the bedroom that I gave Mr. Smith uninhabited?
Grace hesitated. "Because he's not staying in it."
"And where is he staying?"
"Across the hall."
There was a terrible pause. Grace straightened her shoulders as her mother's eyes turned cold.
"Is there any particular reason his original room was not to his liking?"
"Mother—"
"You lied to me, didn't you ?" The words were whispered fiercely.
"About what?"
"About—about... that man being your lover!"
Not exactly, Grace thought. Yesterday, he hadn't been.
"Mother, you're blowing this out of proportion."
"Am I?" Carolina pointed a finger at Smith's coat, which was hanging over the back of a chair. "Then perhaps there; is another explanation for why your bed is in disarray and that man's jacket is in your room."
Grace prayed her flush wasn't as obvious as it felt. "We went for a walk. I was cold and he gave it to me."
"And you expect me to believe that?" Disgust cut lines through her mother's carefully tended forehead.
"You know, this conversation didn't go well yesterday. And it's not getting better with time."
"Is it too much to ask that you fulfill your obligations as-a member of this family and behave like a lady?"
Grace sighed in exasperation. "For heaven's sake, this isn't the Victorian era."
"And more's the pity," Carolina said with bite. "Back! then, people understood the importance of manners and appearances."
"Just who do you think I have to impress, Mother? Other than you, that is."
"Don't be argumentative. You know people are always watching. And I assure you, there is nothing quaint or nostalgic about breaking your wedding vows." Carolina pointed to the open door, through which Smith's room was visible. "I want that man out of this house."
Grace's eyes widened. “I can't do that"
"Yes, you will."
"Mother, John Smith works with me."
"I don't care if he's your doctor or your lawyer or your garbage man. I don't want him under your father's roof."
"Then I'm going, too."
Those four words brought the conversation to a halt.
"I beg your pardon?"
Grace raised a weary hand to her temple, trying to rub away some of the tension that had crawled up her spine and into her head. "Look, I don't want to upset you."
"It's a bit late for that."
"But I think it might be better if we just go."
Carolina sniffed with disapproval. "There's no reason to be theatrical, Grace. And I'm only looking out for your best interests."
"It feels as though all you're doing is making accusations."
"Better me than the press." Carolina's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "It would be so very public, if you were to indulge in any indiscretions. You know that, don't you?"
Grace nodded through her frustration. "Of course I do."
"We may have lost your father but we still have the power of his name. I don't want anything to happen to this family's reputation."
Grace stiffened as the implications of what her mother said sank in.
"Would that be the greater tragedy for you?" she whispered. "Harder to bear than losing him?”
Carolina ignored the question. "You are the only valid heir to his legacy. I don't want you to throw that all away for some ... man. You married into royalty—"
"Stop it, Mother," Grace interrupted. "Please."
Turning away, she went over to the closet and pulled out her suitcase.
"You are truly going?”
She found her mother's shock grating. "Yes, I am."
"But what will I tell the guests? After I already rescheduled the party to this evening due to your outbursts."
With a resigned shake of the head, Grace murmured, "I'm sure you'll think of something."
As she began taking things out of the closet, her mother made a disparaging sound in the back of her throat.
"Well, if this is going to be your attitude, perhaps it is best that you go." Carolina paused at the door. "Although do me the courtesy of saying your good-byes, will you? It's the least you can do."
As soon as Grace was alone, she slumped on the bed and looked over at the clothes she'd thrown haphazardly into the suitcase. The idea that she might not ever be comfortable at Willings again, that the division between her and her mother would only get larger now that her father's buffering influence was gone, disappointed her.
But maybe staying away was the only option. There was something about her mother that sucked the will to live right out of her, she thought. All that cold elegance, that indefatigable censure, it was like being next to an emotional black hole.
When she heard the soft tones of the grandfather clock down the hall, she realized she better tell John they were leaving.
She went across the hall and knocked on his doorjamb. "John?"
He came out of the bathroom wearing a T-shirt and black pants. There was a towel hanging around his neck and his hands were gripping both ends, making his biceps stand out.
A flush sped through her but, when their eyes met and he showed little response, disappointment had her squaring her shoulders.
"Good morning," she said.
He nodded. "Morning."
She sure could have used a smile. Some hint of warmth. The touch of his hand. Instead, he seemed to have retreated into himself and she was reminded of when she'd first seen him and wondered whether there was anything behind the hardness.
"Ummm—There's been a change in plans
. We're leaving," she said.
"Fine."
She frowned. The night before, he had held her tightly against him, whispered her name hoarsely as his body had come into hers. Staring at his impassive face, she thought it was as if everything that had happened the night before had been a dream.
One of hers. Not his.
She hesitated. "Right. I'm going to pack."
"I'll be ready in ten minutes."
As he turned away, her eyes clung to his back. "John, what's wrong?"
"Nothing." The word was said over his shoulder as he walked into the bathroom.
She heard water rushing into a sink and the soft hiss of a shaving cream can.
Grace followed him. "Why are you being this way?"
His eyes were fixed on the mirror as he picked up a razor and cut a swath through the white beard he'd given himself.
"What way, exactly?"
"Talk to me, please."
"I don't have anything to say."
"Nothing?"
His eyebrow cocked as he rinsed the razor off and went back to work on his beard. "You want me to make something up?"
"Just so you know," she said roughly, "if your goal is to prove there's no happy ending in store for us, your mission's accomplished."
Going back to her own room, she realized she'd made a rash miscalculation by assuming things couldn't get any harder if they made love.
chapter
19
As the jet descended over the runway at Teterboro, Smith looked out the oval window next to his seat at the rushing ground. He'd spent the hour of air time with his eyes closed, but he hadn't been sleeping.
Ever since he'd woken up next to Grace that morning, he'd been trying to convince himself he wasn't falling in love with her. The lecture wasn't going well, even though it was based on totally rational principles. Hell, he of all people should know that one night didn't mean anything. It was just two bodies in the dark, fulfilling evolution's prime directive.
So why did he feel like his center of gravity was off?
And why the hell did he behave like such a jerk to her?
He remembered how she'd looked standing in the doorway to the bathroom as he'd shaved. Her words before she'd left had made him feel despicable.