No. The fact was she didn't understand her change of mind—or heart—any better than he did. And she didn't want to examine it too carefully. At least, not now. He quietly repeated the question. "What changed your mind?"
"Why is that important?"
He tunneled his fingers into her hair, lifting her face to his. "I want to know."
"It's not important."
"It is to me."
She walked two fingers up the phenomenal breadth of his chest, loving the tendrils of coarse black hair that curled over it. She practically shivered, remembering the rough feel of his completely masculine torso against her breasts, the sensation of his midnight beard against her thighs. And his demanding, enchanting tongue when it found her…
She sighed contentedly. "I'll tell you what's important."
"Hmm?"
"I liked it."
A slow smile lit his face, his eyes glinting. "I could tell."
"No, I really liked it." She lowered her voice to the faintest whisper. "I want to do it again."
He responded with an easy sway of his hips, a relentless erection stabbing her tummy. "That can be arranged."
"And again," she said.
This time he just raised his eyebrows.
"And a couple more times after that."
He started laughing.
"And then after dinner," she continued. "Before we go to bed again."
He laughed so hard the bed shook.
"You have created a monster," she announced, unable to keep the pride and victory out of her voice.
He managed to stop laughing and tried to look serious, but there was moisture and mirth in his eyes when he finally could talk. "I always knew I was the luckiest guy in the world." He shook his head in dismay. "I can't even believe my luck."
She pressed herself against the length of him. It was so much easier—and way more fun—to do it than talk about why. She snuggled into his neck, her gaze locked on the simple gold earring. She just wanted to … flick her tongue over it. She started to slide her hand over the rippled muscles of his back, reaching her mouth toward his earlobe.
"Uh-uh." He held up one finger to stop her. "You haven't answered my question."
The man was crazy. "I realize I'm no expert in the field, but don't guys generally prefer sex to conversation?"
"I'm not like other guys."
Wasn't that the truth? "Then you've answered your own question, Colin."
He gave her a perplexed look. "I don't follow."
"You're not like other guys." She tipped the earring with her finger, as the perfect punctuation to that statement. "That's what changed my mind."
"Really?" He gave her a dubious look. "And here I thought it was my remarkable architectural skills."
Laughing, she wrapped her legs around him and let him pull her on top of him. "Oh, those are wonderful, too," she said, easing her body over his so that his chest hair tickled her breasts. "I particularly like your horizontal structure compression member. It did a number on my expansion joint."
He rolled his eyes at her puns, then he blew out a breath that was half laugh, half amazement. "I can't believe this is happening."
"Believe it." She leaned over and yanked the nightstand drawer open. "How many did you buy?"
He grinned. "Evidently, not enough." He slid his hands over her backside and adjusted her to their perfect fit. "We'll send Lenny for more."
"No!" she gasped. "We will not."
He stated laughing again. "Oh, it's okay to do it morning, noon and night, but don't let anyone know." He flipped her over on her back, seized her hips between his legs and encircled each of her wrists with a gentle, but firm grip. "I'm not ashamed of this."
"It's just … private," she insisted, trying to tug her hands free.
He skimmed his hands down the insides of her arms in one long sweep until he reached the sides of her breasts. "We can keep it private, Gracie." He rubbed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples, sending electrical impulses straight through her. "But he'll figure it out soon enough when we don't come out of this room for ten hours."
The reminder of Lenny brought much needed wisdom to her overloaded senses. "I'd better go to my own room."
"Don't even think about it, honey." Colin flicked his tongue over the budded tip of her breast. "He won't do a bed check."
"But he gets up early and makes me coffee."
He lifted his head and gave her a skeptical look. "Does he bring it to your room?"
"No, but if I don't show up for it, he might wonder." She didn't want to get caught. Not like this. Not yet. "Let me get a robe from my room, run down and get a couple of cups of coffee, then I'll be back. Then I can stay … under the covers for a while. How's that?"
She struggled to get up, but he pinned her with a long, demanding kiss. "Don't take too long," he murmured into her lips, deliberately sliding himself between her legs. "My I beam is lonely."
"Oh. That's bad. Very bad, Colin." She elbowed him away with a grin, climbing out of the bed and snatching the T-shirt. She tugged it over her head, without even turning it right-side-out, a move that elicited another heartfelt laugh from him. Blowing him a quick kiss, she slipped out the door.
In her room, she glanced at the bed that had been turned down by the butler, but not used by the guest. What would Leonard think?
He'd think she'd made her bed, of course. She quickly pulled the covers up and smoothed the pillow cases. Nothing odd about that. She was a certified neatnik. When she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth, she saw herself in the mirror.
Well, she used to be a certified neatnik. If he looked too closely at her, ol' Lenny would know that she'd transformed into someone else overnight.
Knotting the ties of her bathrobe, she tiptoed downstairs, smelling the rich aroma of Leonard's brew by the time she got to the living room. She wouldn't have to lie to the butler, if she saw him. He'd ask if she had a good night and it would certainly be the truth to say, yes, as a matter of fact she had. The best night of her life.
Fighting a sly smile as she turned the corner, she heard his smooth British accent from the back office, adjacent to the kitchen.
"Absolutely, sir. I'm watching for that very thing."
Was he talking to Adrian? Grace paused, biting her lip and listening for a second.
"Of course, Mr. Harrington. There'd be no doubt of that."
Mr. Harrington? Her father was on the phone? At six-fifteen in the morning? She stifled a groan. Checking on her progress, naturally. She took another step toward the coffee, but stopped at the sound of Leonard's voice, unable to resist eavesdropping on a conversation that involved her father.
"Oh, no, sir, not at all," he said seriously.
What had her dad asked? He probably wanted to know if she'd "developed a rapport" with the competition yet. Well, Lenny the answer is a resounding yes. An excellent rapport. Didn't he hear that rapport shaking the rafters of the carriage house last night? She stifled another little giggle, but caught herself when he started talking again.
"That's true, sir, but you cannot possibly control the outcome, as I warned you and Mr. Gilmore when we worked out the details of this arrangement a month ago."
This arrangement … a month ago?
Was her father behind this from the beginning?
Leonard chuckled softly, and Grace willed the blood to stop rushing in her ears so she could hear. "Not to worry, sir. I rise at dawn daily. You may continue to call and I'll inform you of any progress. That's been our plan from the beginning, and Mr. Gilmore is delighted to assist you."
All the terror, self-loathing and nausea she'd been expecting hit Grace with the force of a tsunami wave.
She laid her hand on her chest as though she could stop the hammering of her heart. It couldn't be. It couldn't be.
Her father had arranged this with Adrian Gilmore. The ice-cold shock of it made her start to shiver as she backed out of the kitchen slowly.
Why? Was she some kind of pawn
in their weird game? Was he testing her? Were they trying to make it look like a legitimate bid, when H&H had the business all along?
She spun on her bare foot, ready to scamper up the stairs and hide in her room. She couldn't face Leonard, she had to be alone to figure this out.
"Oh, Miss Grace, good morning to you." She stopped at the sound of his clipped greeting.
Slowly, she turned to face him. He looked chipper, his thinning hair slicked back, his butler's uniform of a white shirt and black pants as stiffly pressed as always. Normal. Smiling. "Good morning, Leonard."
If he noticed the chilliness in her voice, he ignored it. Instead, he opened the cabinet and pulled out a coffee mug. "Didn't you want any coffee this morning, ma'am?"
She stared at him. Wasn't he going to tell her who he'd been talking to? "Uh, yes. I would. Thank you." She took a deep breath. "I thought I heard you on the phone, so I was leaving to give you some privacy."
"Not necessary, ma'am. It was just Mr. Gilmore's office in London. It's midday across the pond and they've no concept of the time difference, I'm afraid."
Lenny was a liar. She felt her jaw begin to go slack in amazement, but she caught herself. Two could play this game. Now she knew. And knowledge was power.
"I hope everything is all right," she said casually, taking the cup he handed her.
"Oh, of course, ma'am. Business is booming at Burger Boy."
She gave him a faint smile and sipped. "That's good." How could she ask him for another cup? How would she explain bringing coffee to Colin?
Oh, God. How could she tell Colin of her horrible discovery? The thought made her legs weak and sent her heart plummeting to her stomach. He would hate being used like this. She knew him well enough to know being a victim in a devious scheme would go against every fiber of his being.
But Colin had been right all along. Lenny was a spy. And the whole thing had been set up long ago. By her father.
"And you'll be heading up to the studio this morning, ma'am, so Mr. Colin can have his time in the afternoon?" he asked as he approached the sink and began sprinkling water on a row of fresh herbs on the windowsill.
Edgewater. She had to work on the Edgewater proposal, trying to win business to prove herself when the "win" was probably as sealed and decided as this very "arrangement" that had been orchestrated behind her back.
What a farce. Damn her father. Damn her manipulating, untrustworthy father.
The solution presented itself as clearly as the historic drawings she'd been admiring the night before. Daddy was in for a rude awakening when it came time for the final Edgewater presentations. A very rude awakening. She couldn't—she wouldn't—be manipulated.
"Actually, Colin and I will be working together from now on."
This time, he did look surprised, looking over his shoulder with a wide-eyed expression. "Is that so?"
"Yes, it is. In fact—" she turned to the cabinet to get another cup "—I think I'll take him some coffee so we can get started nice and early."
"Oh, of course." The unflappable Lenny sounded a little … flapped. "Would you like me to serve breakfast in the studio?"
"No, thank you," she said, pouring some coffee and scooping up the mug with her free hand. She walked out of the room, adding, "We'll want complete privacy. We'll come downstairs when we've … had enough."
* * *
A week later, they still hadn't had enough. At least, it felt that way to Grace. Seven days after her change of allegiance from Edgewater to Pineapple House, the only thing that marred the intimate, newfound joy of Grace's days—and nights—was the secret that she kept from her lover.
She sat on the studio floor, her legs folded under her denim skirt, her fingers tapping to the light jazz music they'd finally agreed on. All around her were the new sketches of Pineapple House they'd been jointly creating nearly every minute that they weren't … doing other things.
Lots of other wonderful things.
Like taking showers together, one of Colin's favorite activities, especially when it involved a great deal of soap and shampoo and time. Or strolling along Cliff Walk at midnight, sharing kisses and conversation before they headed back for another night of seemingly endless lovemaking punctuated by bad puns, long cuddles and possibly another shower. And eating. Oh! Could the man eat… Gourmet dinners on the patio and picnics on the lawn and breakfast in bed.
If Leonard was aware that their relationship had turned intimate over the previous week, he was too much of a professional to show it. Of course, she'd kept all her clothes and personal belongings in her room, making her turned-back bed every morning after she'd spent the night with Colin. For all the butler knew, they had simply buried their differences and were sharing ideas. At least, Grace hoped that was what he communicated to her father every morning.
The thought of it made her chest constrict with concern. What would happen when Colin found out? Of course, this was a temporary relationship. He lived in Pittsburgh and had made his lack of interest or belief in love pretty clear. His disdain revealed itself in the form of a dozen different subtle comments, ranging from mocking his brother's recent engagement to several references to himself as a confirmed bachelor. No. She knew what this was and she accepted that.
This was purely physical. An affair. An interlude. A magical time with the most sensual man she'd ever met. But she remained certain that he would be livid if he knew they were both being manipulated in Eugene Harrington's schemes. The thought of it sickened her.
"Well, what do you know about that?"
She looked up at where he sat, perched on a stool between the CAD workstation and the high drafting table. "About what?"
He held up a finger and turned to a massive file that they'd gotten from the archives of the zoning office they'd visited the day before. "Just a sec, I want to check something."
She watched him peruse the file, click a few keys on the computer, and go back to the file. She took a minute to drink in the gorgeous image he made, loving the little wireless reading glasses he wore perched on his nose when he worked on the CAD system. His hair was down, at her request, his morning stubble unshaven. He'd shave later, she knew. Before they went to bed.
"Oh, man," he said softly.
She pushed herself off the hardwood floor and walked over to him, absently rubbing his shoulders as she peered into the computer. "What is it?"
He turned around, taking the glasses off and sliding his hands around her waist. "I love when you rub my back."
With him on the stool, they were eye to eye. Face-to-face. Mouth to mouth. "I love when you rub my front," she teased, tangling his hair around her fingers and breathing in the delicious, familiar scent of him. "What did you find?"
He shook his head, looking a little torn between the sexual play they were forever engaged in and whatever had caught his attention in the file. "Just a little glitch in the zoning law. Someone could actually make the argument, according to what I just read, that the lot where Pineapple House stood is a separate parcel from Edgewater."
"Really? How can that be?"
"Some ancient residential districting loophole, if I'm reading my New England real estate language correctly."
She looked over his shoulders to the Web page on his computer. "What does it mean?"
He shrugged. "I'm not sure. I may run it by my brothers. Cameron's an investment banker and lawyer who knows New York and Connecticut law. Rhode Island probably isn't that different. And Quinn understands every nuance of real estate known to man." He pulled her into his chest and tucked her between his legs, his hands wandering possessively under the tank top that she wore. With no bra. At his request. "Now what was that about your front?"
As always, she melted against him. The man had an absurd amount of power over her body. She refused to stop and think about it. Just as she refused to think about … the secret. Was there any way she could avoid telling him? Maybe. Maybe if they had a killer presentation that she could take to her father and demand th
at H&H offer it to Adrian. Colin would be satisfied with that; he had not insisted on ownership of the concept or the bid. He just wanted Pineapple House to be built.
If she told him what she knew about her father and Adrian Gilmore, everything might come to a crashing, untimely end. And she just wasn't ready for that. Not yet.
His hands stilled against her ribs. "What are you thinking about, Gracie?"
She struggled to find a quick answer. She'd gotten very good at avoiding anything that resembled a substantial conversation, which was so easy to do when they both let their bodies do the talking. But Colin was honest, and he expected the same from her.
The weight of worry pressed harder on her chest. She was not being honest. So far from it.
"I'm just tired," she said vaguely. "Maybe we should take a break."
"Great idea," he agreed with a kiss on her nose. "How about a trip to Willow House?"
She brightened immediately. "I'd love to see Marguerite again. Why don't we see if we can pilfer something from Lenny's fridge and take her something special?"
The thought of the butler deepened the hole in her heart. How long could she wait to tell Colin the truth?
He turned to click the Off switch on the computer. "She'd like that." He surprised her by spinning back around on the stool and taking her face in his hands, giving her a deep, sexy kiss. "Remind me to spoil you rotten in bed tonight."
How long could she wait?
As long as possible.
* * *
Colin tapped on the door of Willow House room number seven as the sound of Gracie's delightful laugh echoed down the hushed hallway. He loved that he could make her laugh so easily, even with a string of horrendous architectural puns that had become their favorite word game.
"Now that's a beautiful sound to these old ears." Marguerite's delicate voice greeted them as Colin nudged the door with his shoulder and held it open for Gracie.
He set the soft-sided cooler that Leonard had packed on the floor and made his way around the bed. Marguerite had told him when she'd moved into the house that she liked it when he sat with the window behind him because she could make out his silhouette. He'd made a point of going there as soon as he got to her room.
THE FIRE STILL BURNS Page 12