by Jessica Bird
Christ, what a hypocrite he was. Telling her that she deserved better than the way her husband had treated her only to lay on the silent treatment after they'd... made love.
Made love. Those were the right words, he realized.
The night before had been about so much more than a good lay, and he was struggling to come to terms with his response. Things like sticking around or even wanting to be with a woman again after he'd had her once were not what were usually on his mind the morning after.
He wanted to talk with Grace. He did. He just felt like he had to get his mind straight. He needed something to say that made sense to him.
Well, at least he knew where the hell to start. He needed to apologize for not handling his confusion better. A little introspection was one thing. Shutting her out completely was unacceptable.
As the plane landed on the tarmac and the reverse thrusters began to slow them down, he looked across the aisle. Grace was going through her monthly reports and had spread papers out everywhere on the seat next to her, on the floor, across the built-in table to her right. She was dressed casually, wearing a well-fitting sweater and a pair of light wool slacks, but she still managed to look elegant.
He never would have imagined being attracted to someone who was so refined. Or so expensive-looking.
He tried to narrow down why she was so different from the other women he'd known. All kinds of images came to mind. Her reaching out to touch his scars, her chin kicked up in the midst of her fear, her shy eyes as she stripped for him. She was such a contradiction, assertive yet vulnerable, regal yet down-to-earth, passionate yet reserved.
And she was sexy as hell. All he could think about was taking off her clothes so he could taste her again.
The plane pivoted, sending a shaft of sunlight through the cabin. As the flash traveled around, it fell on the count's sapphire engagement ring. The gem sparkled brilliantly.
A rich man's fancy jewels, he thought. On a rich man's fancy woman.
He wanted her to take them off, but knew he had no right to be possessive. Especially after the way he'd treated her.
"Grace?"
She didn't look up and her voice was brisk. "Yes?"
"I'm sorry."
He watched as she circled a paragraph and wrote something in the margin. "About what."
"This morning."
She looked up toward the front of the plane, as if she'd just noticed they'd landed. "Don't worry about it."
She began picking up the papers, shuffling them together into neat piles and putting them into folders.
"Grace. Look at me." When she didn't, he unbuckled his seat belt and went over to her. "I'm honestly sorry that I hurt you this morning."
Her hands stilled. There was a long pause.
"You didn't hurt me. I hurt myself because I knew what the rules were." She looked up at him, her eyes somber. "You told me all along what you wanted and what you could give. My ego made me look further into what you did to my body than I should have."
"Grace—".
"Are you going to leave?"
"No." He frowned. "What makes you think I might?"
"That's pretty obvious, isn't it?"
"I'm still going to take care of you," he said, meeting her eyes directly. "Nothing's changed."
She took a deep breath and let it out. "Unfortunately, I suppose that's true."
The plane came to a standstill.
"I wasn't prepared for what happened last night," he said grimly.
"Look, you don't owe me anything. Apologies or explanations." She shot him an overly bright smile. "I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself. You should just forget about it."
Throwing off her seat belt, she reached down for her purse, gathered her folders in her arms, and rushed off the plane as if she couldn't wait to get rid of him.
Christ.
He knew that getting involved with her would be one hell of a complication. Now he was acting like a head case, she was hurt, and they were back in New York, where the killer had probably spent the weekend sharpening his knives.
If this job were going any worse, Smith thought, someone would be bleeding.
Eddie was waiting for them in front of the terminal and he helped get the luggage into the Explorer. The man was in a sunny mood.
"I was surprised you came back so early," he said as they got into the car. "What with the good weather and all."
Smith grunted while Grace offered the man a tight smile,
"Say, how are the creative writing classes going?" she asked him.
Eddie smiled into the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the curb. "They're going real well. We're doing dramatic tension right now."
How appropriate, Smith thought.
The ride into the city was quiet and strained. When they slowed to a stop in front of the penthouse, Smith got out first and was looking around as Grace stepped onto the sidewalk.
When the release on the back hatch popped, Smith went around to pick up their luggage. He'd grabbed Grace's bag and was pulling it free of the car when she went to take it
from him and stumbled on the curb. He had just slipped his arm around her waist to keep her from falling when they heard her name being called out.
They both looked to the sound just as a photographer leaned out of a car window and started snapping pictures. With the flashbulb going off like a strobe light, the car careened into traffic.
Smith cursed and almost ran after the guy but he didn't want to leave Grace. Even as he trained his eyes on the license plate, he knew it was too late. The pictures had been taken and there wasn't much he could do about it.
As he looked at Grace, he saw exhaustion settle into her eyes.
"It's going to be everywhere tomorrow," she said, wearily.
* * *
It was past eleven o'clock when Grace decided to take a warm shower in hopes of making herself sleepy. She was on her way to the bathroom when the phone rang and she let it go into voice mail. There was no one she wanted to talk to at this hour.
If it was Lieutenant Marks with another gruesome announcement, he'd call John. And if it was her mother, she definitely didn't want to pick the thing up. She'd left a message at Willings with a warning about the pictures, but she didn't want to fight about the situation. Not tonight.
As she took off her robe, she had a deadweight in her stomach even though she hadn't eaten dinner. Smith had cooked up something that smelled appetizing, but she'd turned him down when he'd asked her to sit with him. If she was trying to shut him out, however, she didn't have much luck. He had a stranglehold on her mind.
He'd told her he was sorry and she believed he had regrets. They'd been pretty obvious both in his eyes and in his apology. She told herself she couldn't be surprised. And, at least he had the decency to care that she was hurt. She had a feeling he hadn't spared the effort with a lot of the other women he'd had.
She groaned, remembering again how it had felt to have him on top of her, kissing her, touching her.
God help her, she wanted to be with him again. And yes, even if it meant getting hurt in the morning.
It was hard not to be disappointed with her libido and she wondered why she couldn't be attracted to someone more reasonable. After all, Eugene Fessnick, CPA, was single. She could probably even get her taxes done for free if they were dating.
But no, she had to pick someone who was never going to settle down. Someone who was hot and passionate and managed to create chaos and havoc in her life. The El Nino, of men.
Clearly, her sense of self-preservation needed a serious overhaul.
She was toweling off when a dark shape appeared in the doorway. Quickly covering herself, she looked at John's silhouette in surprise. In the quiet stillness, he was overpowering and she sensed the tension in his body.
Had it been Lieutenant Marks after all?
She licked her lips nervously. "Is there something wrong?"
His voice was deep and husky. "I wanted to make su
re you were okay before I went to bed."
"I'm fine." When he didn't leave, she pulled the towel up a little higher and tucked the loose end in. She couldn't see his face clearly but sensed there was something upsetting him.
She frowned. "Are you okay?"
He pushed a hand through his hair. "No, I’m goddamn not."
"What's the problem?"
"I want to make love. With you. Now."
Grace sucked in her breath as words exploded out of him.
"I know I really screwed up this morning. I’m inexperienced at this whole—" He moved his hand back and forth as if he were searching for the right word. "Man-woman thing. It's a goddamn nightmare. I’m pissed off at myself and have spent all night dreaming up apologies that are like something out of a goddamn soap opera. I’m wondering where in the hell my logic's gone, I can't get rid of this ache in my chest, and if there was a way to go back to this morning and do it over again I would. Every time I close my eyes, I see you naked in my arms, looking up at me with trust in your eyes and I want to put my hand through a wall."
He started pacing. "It's driving me crazy. I’m driving me crazy. Christ, there's got to be an easier way than this. How the hell do people put up with this confusion when they finally meet someone who matters? It's like being thrown into a cave without a goddamn light. I’ve never felt so fuck-frigging disorientated in my life and, let me tell you, I’ve been in some pretty hairy messes before."
Speechless, Grace watched him as he continued to talk. She'd never heard him say more than a couple of sentences at any one time and he'd certainly never been so candid about his feelings.
"This is awful. I feel bad. You feel bad. All I want to do is hold you in my arms. I don't know what's happening to me. I only know that I want you and I wish I hadn't hurt you. And..."
He took a deep breath as he rambled to a halt.
Grace shook her head and smiled ruefully. "That's quite a mouthful."
"Well, I thought about it over dinner."
"Obviously."
It was hard not to forgive him when he seemed so sincerely at odds with himself and she could feel her body warming. But she reminded herself that even though he'd apologized for what had happened, it wasn't as if he was promising to stay in her life after the job was over.
They had tonight, though, she thought. And tomorrow morning. After he left, she was only going to have her memories.
"Come here," she said, holding out her arms.
His eyes widened, as if she'd done the unexpected, and his body threw off waves of intensity as he stepped forward. She put her hand on his chest. The warmth of him came through his shirt and she could feel his heart beating under her palm.
"I'm glad you told me all that."
His eyes closed, as if he were reliving the disappointment he felt with himself.
"You've got to believe me, the last thing I want to do is hurt you,"
Grace lifted her lips for his kiss and pulled his head down. His mouth was soft on hers, a surprisingly gentle brush, and she felt him take her left hand into his.
"Will you take off those rings tonight? " he asked.
She didn't hesitate. With careless movements, she removed her sapphire and diamonds and tossed them onto the marble counter.
John picked her up and carried her to her bed. When he put her down and laid on top of her, bracing his powerful arms on either side of her body, she felt anticipation flow through her veins like a drug. As his mouth took hers, she surrendered to the desire.
* * *
Grace was sound asleep in John's arms when the phone began to ring at six-thirty the next morning. "When it started in on a third course, she picked up the receiver.
"Where have you been?" her mother demanded before Grace had time to squeeze out a hello. "And why didn't you answer the phone last night?"
"Was that you?" Grace sat up, pushing her hair out of her face.
John stirred and moved with her, keeping his arm around her waist. She was relieved he didn't leave right away.
"Of course it was me," her mother snapped. "I thought you might appreciate knowing that I took care of your little problem. I spent most of last evening entertaining phone calls from Cameron Brast. In the middle of my party, I might add."
Grace grimaced. Brast was the publisher of one of New York's rags.
Her mother went on. "The picture of that Smith man with his arms around you will not be appearing in the papers this morning. It took all my powers of persuasion to block its publication and, courtesy of your indiscretion, I am now indebted to that odious little Brast man."
"I'm sorry you—"
"Equally outrageous, however, is the fact that your husband called me to say that some reporter had reached him in Paris for a comment. Ranulf was practically inconsolable last night. He'd tried to phone you and when he was unable to get through he called Here. Have you no shame"
Grace shut her eyes. "Mother, Ranulf and I are getting a divorce."
Carolina's swiftly indrawn breath came through the phone like a draft. "Oh, my God. It's that man, isn't it? You're leaving Ranulf for some—"
"Ranulf and I separated right after father's death. Before I even met John."
"My God... But why is he divorcing you?"
Grace was almost able to keep the frustration out of her voice. "I'm the one who's asking for a divorce."
She could practically hear the gears in her mother's brain grinding to a halt.
"But, whatever for? "
"We have irreconcilable differences."
Starting with the fact that we never loved each other, she thought.
"Come now, how different can you two be? His family is very well thought of. Perhaps you could just try again."
"That's just what Father said," Grace replied.
There was a pause. "You spoke to him about this?"
"Yes. Over the summer. He told me to go back to Ranulf and I did. Things only got worse."
"I don't understand. What happened? You always looked so happy together."
"Appearances can be deceiving, Mother."
There was a long silence on the phone.
"Oh Grace, I can't bear the thought of all this. First your father and now your marriage. When will it end?"
"I'm sorry this has upset you." It was hard to keep the disappointment in her mother to herself. She could have used some support from the woman, but knew full well that had never been how their relationship had worked.
"You know, your father and I had difficult times," Carolina said, a sliver of hope in her voice. "We worked through them. It can be done."
Grace found it hard to believe her parents had faced anything more arduous than what to wear for a dinner party.
"Mother, the truth is, I never should have married Ranulf. I had doubts from the very beginning. Even at our engagement party."
As Smith got out of her bed and walked naked into his bedroom, she momentarily forgot her mother.
"But what are you going to do? As a woman alone?"
"I'll manage somehow," Grace said with an edge of sarcasm. "It's amazing what girls are allowed to do these days. Were you aware we can vote now?"
"There's no reason to be hostile. And I must say, I am seriously distressed that with your marriage ending, your first instinct is to throw yourself into some turgid affair with that... Smith man."
"John is my bodyguard."
Her mother fell silent. "Your bodyguard?"
"That was why he needed to change rooms. He needed to be closer to me."
"Good Lord, what do you need one for? Are you okay?"
"I—I'm fine." She released a frustrated breath. Having just consoled her mother about her impending divorce, she didn't feel up to soothing the woman over the murders of her friends. "I'd better go, Mother. It's time for me to go to work."
"But today's a holiday. Columbus Day."
"I know it is, but I still have a job to do. I'll talk with you later."
Pushing the conversati
on out of her mind, Grace hung up the phone and went down the hall. She was about to ask Smith if he wanted to join her in the shower when she heard his voice drifting out of his room.
"I don't know when I'll be free. It could be another couple of weeks before I can leave New York, which means I wouldn't be able to go to the Middle East until early November."
Grace turned around and went back to her room, feeling sick to her stomach. The pain told her how much she was deluding herself. Somewhere deep inside, she'd been harboring hope that he would stay. Hearing the logistics of his leaving was a slap in the face.
She took a quick shower and, before shutting herself in her dressing room, she called out to him that the bathroom was free.
Sitting down in front of the vanity's mirror, she felt like crying. As she heard the sound of the water being turned on, she decided that what she needed to do, instead of mope around feeling sorry for herself, was to get out of the penthouse. She realized it had been days since she'd gone for a run and the idea of being free for a little bit was irresistible. All she needed was something short and quick, enough to clear her mind and help her get through the day without tearing up in front of him.
She just needed something to remind herself of her strength.
Throwing on a pair of sweats and her running shoes, she was on the street in a matter of minutes. As she stepped out from underneath the awning, she looked up. A soft rain was falling from a gray sky but the soggy day didn't bother her as she started off at a quick pace.
Out of habit, she took her normal route, heading up Central Park West and then going into the park. She picked one of the jogging trails that would keep her close to the street, yet still get her away from the noise and pollution of the traffic.
As she ran, her feet kicked up water from puddles which drenched her legs. She could feel the sweat of her skin meet the cold dampness seeping through the sweats and she pushed herself a little harder.
She'd gone about a quarter mile when she realized someone was following her.
Her first thought was that it must be John and she wanted to curse when she realized what she'd done. He was going to be irate that she'd taken off without him and had every right to be.