by JoAnn Ross
Jamie’s eyes narrowed, then began to dance. “Grade—” she drawled the nickname, seeming to enjoy it immensely “—has sworn off men.”
Lucas nodded, pleased. “That’s good to hear.”
Not that he was concerned about any competition. Since he’d been seven years old and opened that lemonade stand in Raintree to buy his first bike, he’d always attained everything he wanted. As he’d watched Grace from across the room, he’d decided he wanted America’s most beloved romance author. And he fully intended to have her.
“Lucas,” Grace murmured, so as not to be overheard by the other writers at nearby tables, “I’ve already told Jamie the truth. You don’t have to lie to her about our relationship.”
“Who said I was lying?”
While Grace stared up at him, Jamie Winston’s amused gaze went from Lucas to Grace, then back to Lucas again. Then finally settled on Grace. “Well, honey, for someone who’s always avoided conferences, you’ve definitely found a way to make a huge splash at this one.
“And as much as I’m a sucker for real-life romance, I’m afraid I have an interview with Milan television in…” She glanced down at her watch. “Ten minutes ago.” Her smile was quick and bright. “Fortunately for me, the Italians, bless their hearts, are never on time.”
She stood up with amazing grace for a woman who made a habit of gaining fifty pounds with every pregnancy, then losing it in the first six postpartum weeks, something Grace could have hated her for if they hadn’t been such close friends.
“I’m sure we’ll run into each other before the conference is over, Lucas.” Jamie bent down and brushed her lips against Grace’s cheek. “I’m thrilled for you,” she murmured. “I have a feeling this is going to be your most successful conference ever. And I’m not talking about the fact that you’re a shoo-in for the ROMI.”
“Lucas is just kidding,” Grace insisted, shooting a frustrated look at the bodyguard, who, dammit, was grinning devilishly back at her. “Tell her, Lucas.”
“Don’t bother,” Jamie said blithely. “Because I’d never believe it.” She shifted her gaze from Grace’s distressed face to Lucas again. “Grace is my best friend in the world. Break her heart and I’ll hire a mobster to break your legs.”
“You know, I almost think I believe you.”
“You should. Because I mean every word.” Warning given, she waggled her fingers. “Television Milan awaits. Have fun, you two.”
Lucas watched as she paused to chat briefly with Alice Vail on her way out of the lounge. “Nice lady.”
“The best,” Grace said absently. His nonchalant manner almost had her believing she’d imagined his outrageous remark about running off any men in her life.
“You’re lucky to have such a good friend.”
“I know.”
She tried to read his expression, which had turned frustratingly inscrutable. Surely she couldn’t have invented the male interest that had darkened his eyes, thickened his drawl. Then again, she’d been under a great deal of stress lately. Perhaps she really was having a nervous breakdown.
“What did you mean by that?”
“By what?” Appearing oblivious to her turmoiled thoughts, Lucas took a bite of barbecued-duck pizza.
“What you said to Jamie. That threat about running off any men in my life.”
“Oh, that.” He shrugged. “Of course I meant it. But it wasn’t a threat, Gracie. Merely a statement of intent.”
“You’re kidding.” Amazed yet again at his matter-of-fact attitude, she let out a huff of breath. “I know you are.”
“Well, that makes one of us.” He tucked the errant strand of hair behind her ear again, pretending not to notice the way she stiffened at his touch. “Believe me, sugar, I may not have been a Boy Scout all my life, but I’d never lie to a woman about my intentions.”
“I have no reason to believe you. Since I don’t know you,” she added.
“True enough. But don’t worry, we can take care of that. I promise, darlin’, that by the end of the conference, we’ll be old friends. Old very close friends.”
His easy drawl slipped beneath her skin in a way that set her nerves to humming again. For some reason she’d figure out later, when this strange fog cleared from her mind, Grace had to fight the urge to smile.
“Well, no one can fault you for your confidence.”
“It’s a Kincaid trait Along with our natural-born charm.”
“How strange,” she said, beginning to enjoy herself, “I haven’t noticed that.”
“You probably haven’t been paying close enough attention,” he said helpfully. “Give me time, Grade. I’ll grow on you.”
“Like algae.”
He laughed, appearing absolutely unwounded. “So, your friend Jamie’s a writer, too?”
“Yes.” Grateful for the shift in subject, she bit into the fluffy fried dough of a shrimp tempura and could have wept, it was so good. “I met her at a conference, actually, when I first began writing.”
“I guess that makes you competitors?”
“Competitors?”
“Yeah. Obviously, you’re both in the business to sell books. What happens if one of you tops the charts?”
“We buy enough champagne to float a battleship and celebrate.”
“So let’s say that you had a book that made number one on the bestseller lists the same week she didn’t make the top ten. Would that prove a problem?”
Grace was puzzled at the way the easy, flirtatious conversation had suddenly turned oddly serious. “Not at all. Our friendship has never been based on numbers, and besides, we don’t even write the same sort of books.”
“They’re both romance.”
“True. But hers are short contemporary stories for Harlequin’s Temptation line and mine are historicals. But it wouldn’t matter. Because we still only want the best for each other.”
“And she feels the same way?”
“Of course.”
He took another bite of pizza without taking his gaze from hers. He looked inclined to ask another question when a cocktail waitress appeared beside the table, pad in hand, pen poised.
“What would you like to drink?” Lucas asked.
“I’ll have a glass of chardonnay.” Grateful for the interruption, Grace ignored Lucas and gave her order directly to the waitress.
“And I’ll have a Coke,” he said. “Thanks.”
Grace reluctantly gave him points for not watching the young woman’s long slender legs, clad in black stockings, as she walked away.
“And here I would have guessed you to be a Southern Comfort man.”
“You would have guessed right, once upon a time. These days I don’t drink period.” He picked up a mushroom stuffed with Dungeness crab and popped it into his mouth. “You mentioned buying enough champagne to float a battleship? Well, I used to drink enough to float an entire flotilla.”
“But you stopped?”
“Yeah. One day about eighteen months ago, I poured the booze down the drain and have been on the wagon ever since.”
“Wasn’t that difficult? Quitting cold turkey?” Having researched alcoholism for a book she’d written, Grace suspected there was a great deal Lucas wasn’t telling her.
“It came down to life-style. I got tired of waking up every morning with the mother of all hangovers. So I decided the best way to avoid the hangover was to avoid the alcohol in the first place.”
“Why did you drink?”
“Because I was a drunk.” Lucas decided this was neither the time nor the place to discuss the nightmares that had haunted him after his final mission.
The waitress returned with their drinks. The smile the long-legged brunette bestowed on Lucas was warm, inviting and caused an unfamiliar jolt of jealousy Grace had never experienced when she’d been married to Robert. Even when he’d run off with Buffy, Grace had honestly been more devastated by the loss of her editor than her husband.
“So.” Lucas lifted his glass. “T
o a successful conference.”
Since she now had a very good idea what he’d consider successful, Grace decided the time had come to inform him yet again that she had no intention of warming his bed the next few nights.
“Speaking of that—”
“There you are!” The all-too-familiar male voice cut into her intended speech. “How the hell did you do it? That’s what I want to know.”
Grace looked up at her former husband, took in his face, which was as red as a boiled crab, and wondered what she’d ever seen in this man. Oh, she supposed he was handsome enough, in what she now knew to be a pseudointellectual sort of way. He was tall and lean, but without Lucas’s rangy strength. His eyes, reddened by the contact lenses he’d taken to wearing for television appearances, were currently shooting furious sparks, and his lips were pulled into that thin, disapproving line she remembered all too well.
“Do what?” She did not bother with pleasantries, since there was absolutely nothing about this man she found pleasant.
“Steal my suite out from under me.”
“What?” She shot a quick look at Lucas, who merely shrugged and turned his attention to the popcorn shrimp. Surely, he wouldn’t…he couldn’t… Could he?
“Actually, Robert, if you insist on bringing the subject up, it just happens to be you who stole my suite.”
“It was reserved in the Roberta Grace name,” he reminded her as he plucked a square of Swiss cheese from her plate. It was something he’d always done. Something that had also always annoyed her. “Which makes it as much mine as it is yours.”
“Aren’t you a little old to be claiming Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers?” Lucas asked mildly.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Lucas Kincaid.” He did not extend his hand. Grace watched, intrigued, as a spooky, silent warning seemed to rise in his dark eyes. “The new guy in Grade’s life. Who, by the way, suggests that if you want to live, you refrain from speaking that way to my woman.”
“Your woman? Gracie?” When his jaw actually dropped, Grace wondered why she’d never noticed how weak it was.
Seeming to forget his initial complaint, Robert swung his attention back to Grace. “I cannot believe that a woman with your intelligence would stoop to sleeping with some…” he paused, fuming as he searched for the right word “…hunk!” Obviously piqued, he snatched a mushroom.
It did not escape Grace’s notice that he’d called her intelligent. Something he hadn’t done since their early days together. Heaven help her for being a petty person, but she actually found herself thoroughly enjoying the moment.
“I fail to see how what I do is any of your business,” she countered, conveniently overlooking the fact that she had no intention of sleeping with Lucas. “Now, I believe you were complaining about the accommodations?”
As if remembering Lucas’s warning, Robert drew in a deep breath and forced his voice to a less accusing tone. “I just went up to the suite to make a few phone calls and discovered Buffy’s and my things being moved out. And yours moved in! When I asked what they thought they were doing, I was informed that the order had come directly from the manager. Naturally, I sought him out immediately.”
“Naturally,” she murmured, still uncertain what exactly had happened, but continuing to suspect that somehow Lucas had had a hand in it.
“He informed me that there’d been a mixup and the room was originally reserved for you.”
“He was right.”
“That’s open to interpretation.” Robert waved her statement away with an irritated gesture that caused her to notice the diamond wedding band he was wearing. The wedding band that he and Buffy had obviously purchased with his unearned share of her royalties. “And you want to know the worst part?”
“Not particularly.” Her dry tone caused Lucas to pat her knee approvingly beneath the table. The touch, while meant as encouragement, seemed intensely intimate.
“Every damn room in the hotel is booked. And since it’s the holiday weekend, the best the guy could do was get me a room at the Marriott on the Wharf.”
Lucas’s hand was stroking her thigh now, in a way that sent little sparks through her bloodstream. “That’s a nice hotel.” Grace was amazed that her words didn’t come out in a croak.
“It’s not the Whitfield Palace,” he complained.
“True,” Grace murmured, wondering at what temperature the human body melted. She was concerned that if Lucas kept touching her like this, she was about to find out.
“You know, Radcliffe, if you’re going to settle into the Marriott and make it back here for the pageant on time, you’d better get moving,” Lucas suggested. He skimmed his fingers back down Grace’s thigh and cupped her knee again. “Traffic’s always tough this time of day. And it’s hard to get a cab.”
Again, his reasonable tone belied what actually appeared to be a potential for violence in his steady eyes. As Grace watched her former husband wisely opt not to challenge that look, she couldn’t help wondering how Lucas was capable of threatening Robert at the same time his wickedly clever hand was caressing her beneath the table.
Unaware of the intimate little drama taking place between Lucas and his former wife, Robert shot Grace a lethal glare that jolted her nerves and started them jittering, then turned on his heel and marched away from the table.
CHAPTER 4
“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” Lucas asked quietly. He’d been aware of her tension, had felt her skin turn to ice.
“Yes.” Her voice was calm. As she picked up her wineglass to take a calming sip, her hands were not.
“Would you like me to go after him and rip out his cheating heart?”
His matter-of-fact tone stunned her. “Of course not.”
He shrugged. “Your choice.”
But he would have. Willingly. And enjoyed bringing it back to her on a silver platter, like some knight returning home from the Crusades. The funny thing was, Lucas had never considered himself a shining-armor kind of guy.
Which must mean, he decided with grim humor, that being around all these fancifully dressed women was playing havoc with his imagination. And being with Grace, breathing in her light springtime scent, was creating havoc not only with his mind, but his body as well.
“You’re kidding.” She stared at him, her glass halfway between her rosy lips and the table. “Lucas, please tell me you’re not serious.”
“Okay. I’m not serious,” he lied.
She gave him another longer look. Then managed a faint smile. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“Absolutely.” That was definitely the truth. He was also, he reminded himself, determined to keep her alive.
Lucas had learned to trust his instincts, and his first impression had been that Radcliffe, while full of bluster, was incapable of having the guts to actually kill anyone. But after witnessing that hot, lethal glare, as if the guy had been fantasizing putting his pale, patrician fingers around Grace’s neck, Lucas put the ex-husband back at the top of his prime suspect list.
“What did you ever see in that guy, anyway?”
“I’ve asked myself the same question.” She managed a half laugh and took another sip of wine. When he didn’t say anything, just kept looking at her with that patient, unwavering gaze, she knew he was waiting for more.
She sighed and decided to get it over with, since she suspected he wasn’t going to drop the subject. And again, rather than have him pick up false rumors, she’d rather he hear the truth from her. “I met Robert when I was a junior at Princeton.”
“Nice school.” And pricey, he thought, wondering if she was some rich man’s little princess, and if so, why her father hadn’t stepped in to rescue her.
“I was a scholarship student,” she said, unknowingly answering his question. “My father was a fisherman on Chesapeake Bay.”
“Was?”
“He died in a squall when I was thirteen.”
A tender age, he thought. A young girl on t
he threshold of womanhood. “I’m sorry.”
“So was I.” Her smile was soft and a little sad. “My mother moved us to Kansas the day after the funeral. She was—and still is—a legal secretary in Wichita. I’ve suggested she retire and enjoy her life, since I could certainly support her, but she loves her work.”
“She must be proud of you.”
“Yes.” This time the smile lit her remarkable eyes, turning them that warm turquoise hue again. “She is.”
He could kiss her, Lucas considered, as desire curled in his gut. Right now, he could just lower his head and touch his mouth to hers. It would be so easy. And so complicated, because he suspected that one kiss wasn’t going to be enough.
“You were telling me about your ex.” When he discovered he definitely didn’t like the idea of any other man touching Grace, kissing those full lips, making love to her, Lucas reminded himself that jealousy clouded the mind. Which was definitely something he couldn’t afford.
“Are you asking because you consider him a suspect?”
“That’s one reason. Another is that I’m interested in why a gorgeous, intelligent woman who obviously has so much going for her could have ever gotten tied up with such a bastard.”
“He didn’t seem a bastard when I fell in love with him.” Or thought she had. “I’d never met anyone like Robert. Most of the boys I knew in Kansas were in the cattle business. And in Maryland they either grew up to be fishermen, like their fathers, or joined the merchant marine.”
She smiled briefly at that. “There must be something in the air in that part of the country that draws people to the sea. I wanted to be a sailor when I was nine.”
“I was in the navy,” he admitted, surprising himself by revealing the fact. As a rule, he didn’t talk about those days. “And believe me, sugar, having you on board a ship definitely would have improved the view during those months at sea.”
She could have been offended. If any other man had made such a chauvinistic statement, she undoubtedly would have been. But since it was Lucas, she chose instead to be pleased by the compliment. She also decided that, since he was already cocky enough, there was no point in encouraging him by responding to his flattering words.