Home by the Sea

by JoAnn Ross

  “I agree,” Jamie said, bestowing a warm look on the subject of their discussion. “After all, who knows what might have happened if Lucas hadn’t been with Grace this evening?”

  Vaguely remembering hearing a second shot as she’d been pinioned beneath him, Grace had been thinking much the same thing.

  “You’re right, of course,” Geraldine said from a cloud of blue smoke. “But I’m still stunned that you’ve been going through all this, Grace, and didn’t tell us.”

  “I wasn’t overly concerned until another letter was waiting for me here at the hotel,” Grace admitted. “Since I’d seen this classified advertisement, I called the agency on a whim.”

  “You found a bodyguard in the classifieds?” Tina asked the same question Jamie had asked earlier.

  “Actually, as impossible as it sounds, I did.”

  “Are you any good?” Geraldine asked Lucas.

  “He was good enough to save my life.” Grace spoke up, earning a faint smile from the man whose body she imagined she could still feel against her own.

  “That could have been a fluke,” George volunteered.

  “I doubt that,” the second detective said. “S. J. Slade runs a first-class private protection agency. And Kincaid’s one of her top operatives.”

  “Even so, there are so many people at the conference, it seems as if it’s going to be impossible to keep whoever fired that shot from trying again,” Tina said with a frown. “Perhaps you should just cancel your participation, Grace,” she suggested. “No one would blame you for going home.”

  “And leave Robert to accept my ROMI if I win?” Grace folded her arms. “Not in this lifetime. I refuse to cave in and surrender just because some crazed reader appears to have gone off the deep end.”

  “Well, now that we have that settled,” MacDonald said, with ill-concealed impatience, “perhaps you can fill me in on these letters, Ms. Fairchild. There’s a very good chance that a would-be murderer is still in the hotel. And I’d like to begin my investigation sometime in this century.”

  “I’m sorry.” The gritty suggestion that her would-be assassin might be lurking somewhere dose by chilled Grace’s blood again.

  “I’ve received four over the past two months. The latest was waiting for me when I arrived at the hotel this morning.”

  “Obviously it’s someone who knew you were going to be here.”

  It was the same thing that Lucas had suggested earlier in the bar. Grace gave him the same answer.

  “Terrific.” The detective rubbed his jaw. “Advance publicity and two thousand potential suspects.”

  Not having an answer for that, Grace stood up, went into the bedroom and returned with the slender stack of envelopes.

  A silence settled over the room as he turned his attention to the letters, then passed them on to the other detective.

  There was more questioning. Although Grace was definitely uncomfortable discussing personal problems, she related the facts of her divorce, since she knew that Lucas would tell if she didn’t. As well as her threats from Kevin.

  “So, who all knew about these letters?”

  “Jamie,” Grace said, wishing she hadn’t involved her best friend in such an unsavory situation. “And Tina. And, of course, I told Lucas—Mr. Kincaid—this afternoon.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  MacDonald turned to Tina. “If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’d like to ask you a few questions. And you, too, Ms. Manning.”

  “Of course,” Tina said.

  “Anything I can do to help,” Geraldine said. She stabbed her cigarette out in a crystal ashtray etched with the crown logo of the hotel, then promptly lit another one.

  Although both women consented without hesitation, Lucas noticed that neither of them appeared overly thrilled by the circumstances, either. He got the feeling that rather than appearing concerned for Grace, they were mostly peeved at having been dragged into the investigation.

  Eventually, everyone left and Grace once again found herself alone with Lucas. Fortunately, after the adrenaline burst that had come with being shot at had faded away, she’d been left with an exhaustion that almost—but not entirely—overcame her attraction to him.

  “How are you holding up?” He was sitting across from her, sprawled out in a wing chair in a way that reminded her of a lazy lion. But from the speed with which he’d thrown her to the floor, Grace knew looks were decidedly deceptive.

  “I’m fine. Thanks to you.” She gripped her hands together to keep them from trembling. “You saved my life.” It was still a stunning thought—not so much that Lucas had protected her, but that someone had attempted to kill her in the first place.

  She leaned her head against the back of the sofa, closed her eyes and began massaging her temples, where the headache that had threatened earlier was now throbbing.

  “I was just doing my job.”

  It took an effort, but she opened her eyes. “Is that all it was?”

  “What do you think?”

  “That’s just the problem. I don’t know what to think about any of this.”

  “It’s going to be all right, Grade. You’re going to be all right.” He got up from the chair and came around behind her, replacing her fingers with his larger, callused ones.

  “I believe you’re going to keep me safe.” His touch was so extraordinarily tender. “But there’s more going on here. You have to understand, after Robert I swore that I wasn’t going to let myself get involved again. Not that we’re involved,” she said hastily. “I mean, not really, but—”

  “Of course we are.” His hands moved to her braid, unweaving it so his fingers could massage the back of her head, the nape of her neck. “just because neither one of us were looking for this doesn’t mean we can deny it, either.” His palms moved to her tensed shoulders as he began working out the knots.

  “It’s only chemistry,” she murmured. His clever, soothing touch made her want to purr. “Sex.”

  “Don’t knock chemistry. It’s what makes diamonds different from coal. Gold from brass. Some of the most potent physical reactions in the universe are the results of chemistry.” Drawn by the scent of her hair, which reminded him of summer sunshine and ocean breezes, he kissed the top of her head. “And since you brought it up, sugar, I’ve never been one to discount sex.”

  “I’ll just bet you haven’t.”

  “It’s different with you.” He brushed her hair aside and touched his lips to her neck, in that surprisingly sensitive little hollow right behind her ear he’d discovered earlier. “This morning I’d quit my job and was on my way to Alaska.”

  “What’s in Alaska?”

  “Whales. Jagged, snow-capped peaks shimmering with glaciers thrusting upward into an unbelievably blue sky. Grizzlies. Wolves. And scenery so wild and unspoiled it’ll take your breath away.”

  “What are you going to do there?”

  “Sail. Soak up the sights. Play. Want to come with me, Gracie?”

  Her life had been so centered around work these past years, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d played.

  And it had been even longer still since she’d skimmed across the waves with the sea breeze blowing in her hair and the spray of saltwater on her face. It sounded heavenly. And impossible.

  “I don’t think so. I have books to write—”

  “You can write them in Alaska.” His lips skimmed down her neck, leaving a sparkling trail of flames. “The scenery and the solitude will inspire your creativity.”

  “It sounds lovely.”

  “Better than lovely. It’ll be an adventure. Just think of it, sugar, you and I in Alaska, sailing along the empty miles of coastline, exploring hidden inlets, diving overboard to swim naked in the sea—”

  “We’d freeze.”

  “Nah.” His hands moved over her shoulder and down her arms. “I promise, I’ll keep you plenty warm enough.”

  Of that Grace had not a single doubt. “I have respo
nsibilities.”

  “Screw them.” The suggestion rumbled in her ear even as it tried to take root in her heart. “So far, in the last few hours, I’ve met your rat ex-husband, your agent, your publisher and a hunk of a cover model who’s ticked off at you because you decided to dump the clinch covers. From what I can see, there are an awful lot of people sitting back getting a piece of the action.”

  “It’s not like that.” She pulled out of his arms, turned around and went up on her knees on the couch so she could look him directly in the eye. “What you see as exploitation, I see as teamwork. Except for Robert,” she explained. “We all have one goal in mind, to put out the best story we can.”

  “And what if one of the team members is trying to kill you?”

  “Surely you don’t suspect Geraldine or Tina?”

  “Right now I suspect everyone who was in that room tonight. And so should you.”

  “I can’t live that way.” She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, Lucas still reminded her of one of her heroes. But not a pirate. His rugged face had turned gladiator grim. “Not trusting anyone.”

  “That hunk in the plaid skirt threatened you.”

  “Kilt. And Kevin’s always had a terrible temper. Since his picture sells books, people put up with it.”

  “You’re also cutting off your ex’s gravy train.”

  “True. But believe me, Lucas, it would take more guts than Robert could possess in several lifetimes for him to risk a murder attempt.”

  “Maybe himself. But he could have hired that fake outlaw. The masked man who appears to have ridden off into the sunset without anyone knowing who he was. Or how he ended up in the pageant without an entry form.”

  “Do we have to talk about this now?” she complained. The headache was trying to return. “I’m going to have nightmares as it is.”

  “Okay.” Lucas reluctantly reminded himself that it was technically MacDonald’s job to find the shooter. “So, going back to my offer of an all-expenses-paid vacation to paradise, when was the last time you strolled along a beach and watched the sun set into the sea?”

  “I live in New York. It rises out of the sea on the East Coast.”

  “Sounds as if you’re due for a change.”

  Grace didn’t know whether to laugh at his tenacity or cry. The smothered sound she managed was a bit of both. “Are you always this stubborn?”

  “When I want something, absolutely.”

  “And you want me.”

  “More than I’ve ever wanted any woman in my life.” Grace made her living with words. She’d certainly written similar dialogue for characters innumerable times before. But never had any pretty words of love spoken by any man—real or imaginary—possessed the power of that single, tersely uttered declaration.

  “You’re going to think I’m a hysterical female—”

  “Not hysterical.” But definitely female, he decided, as those glorious breasts rose and fell with her deep breath.

  “That’s funny. Since I feel on the verge of a nervous breakdown right now. And, although I hate to admit it, and I know I said I didn’t want to talk about what happened, or your reason for being here, I’m scared….”

  Her voice deserted her. Repressing a shudder, Grace pressed her lips together, determined to regain control. “Oh, God.” She covered her eyes and hated how she felt Frightened, fragile, needy.

  He wanted to hold her, but knowing that would lead to kissing her, which could all-too-easily lead to something else, Lucas reminded himself that he’d been brought up to believe in an old-fashioned chivalry that had ironclad rules about taking advantage of vulnerable women.

  “I know just what you need.”

  “What?” she mumbled from behind her hands.

  “Bed.”

  “What?” Embarrassed by her crumbling composure, but surprised by his quiet, matter-of-fact statement, Grace forced herself to look up at him.

  “You need to get to bed.” He smiled as he came around to stand in front of the sofa. “And, although it’s definitely not my first choice, alone.”

  “Are you leaving?”

  Although she hated revealing weakness, Grace knew that she wouldn’t get any sleep at all if she were by herself listening for every little sound, waiting for that outlaw assassin to break into her room and kill her.

  Murder. The idea, in the abstract, was unpalatable. The thought of herself as a murder victim was incomprehensible.

  “Not on a bet. I’d stay even if I wasn’t getting paid, Grade. Because when that guy took a potshot at you tonight, he made things personal. Real personal”

  When his voice threatened to choke up at the memory of how close that shooter had come to succeeding, Lucas swallowed in an attempt to wash away the acrid taste of fury.

  “And since it’s obvious that you’re dead on your feet, although I wanted to get you out of the hotel tonight to someplace safer, we’ll save that until morning.”

  “I can’t leave tomorrow morning. I’m scheduled to give the keynote speech.”

  “Cancel it.”

  She might give in to him on protection matters. She might even allow herself to be tempted, just a little, by the idea of running away from her responsibilities and going to Alaska. But there was no way Grace was going to allow Lucas to dictate to her regarding her career decisions.

  “I can’t. No,” she amended with a toss of her head. “What I meant to say was that I won’t.”

  She was trying to come up with the best way to try to explain the importance of this speech, not only to announce her solo career in this most public of forums, but to prove to herself that she didn’t need Robert—or anyone else—to handle her career for her, when, once again, Lucas surprised her.

  “Okay. If it’s that important to you, we’ll work something out.”

  “Thank you.” She might not be willing to permit anyone to take over her new, independent life, but she wasn’t foolish enough not to accept help when it was offered. “That’s very understanding of you.”

  “I’ve been known to have my moments.” He held out his hand, and as she took it, his look turned serious. “I’m not Robert, Grade. Not in any way.”

  “I know.” Any comparison between the two men would be ludicrous.

  “Tomorrow we’ll talk. About Alaska.” Lucas found himself wishing that they’d met in any other way. That he could forget about the need to protect her life and concentrate on ways to win her heart. But life, he’d found, was seldom simple.

  “I can’t go to Alaska.”

  “Hawaii then.” The idea of Grace in a bikini was definitely appealing. “Think of it, Gracie—a land of tropical flowers so bright they almost blind you, lush green valleys, volcanoes, sand that sparkles like black diamonds. And all along the coast are hidden coves where we can get naked and swim in the blue-green waters—”

  “Do all your fantasies involve getting wet and naked?”

  “Of course not. Want to hear the one about how I’ve rescued you from an avalanche, and I carry you miles through the knee-deep snow until we get to a cabin, where, after we stumble in, I light a fire and—”

  “We get naked.”

  “Of course. Because our clothes are all wet from the snow.”

  He’d linked their fingers together as he walked her the few feet to the bedroom door, and for the moment Grace allowed herself to pretend that this evening had never happened, that the shooter hadn’t existed, that Lucas was not her bodyguard, but merely a man who was walking her home after a pleasant date. A date that held the promise of more to come.

  “I knew it. Wet and naked. Admit it, Lucas. Your fantasies are stuck in a rut.”

  He laughed at that. “I guess you’re right. And you can call me a sexist pig, darlin’, but I can’t imagine how any red-blooded male could spend two minutes with you and not experience the same fantasy.”

  “Since I’m not up to giving a lecture on sexist comments, I believe I’ll just take that as a compliment,” she
decided.

  “You do that. Because it’s the truth. Want to hear a few more of my more colorful fantasies?”

  “Perhaps tomorrow.” Fatigue had returned, fogging her head and weakening her body and her resolve. If she didn’t get away from him now, Grace was afraid she’d end up inviting him to bed with her.

  “Definitely tomorrow.”

  Lucas nearly groaned as he read the sensual thoughts that were turning her eyes back to that sexy shade of green. Did the woman have any idea what she did to him when she looked at him that way? Did she realize that he was about two seconds from dragging her off to bed and doing what they both obviously wanted?

  Although it was torture, Lucas slipped his hands into his pockets, because he didn’t trust himself to touch her again. “Say good-night. Grade.”

  She gave him a look of gratitude for having once again saved her—this time from herself. “Good night, Lucas.”

  Grace went into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. It took her less than two minutes to wash her face and brush her teeth. She took her Marge Simpson nightshirt from the suitcase she still hadn’t finished unpacking, pulled it over her head and collapsed into bed. And although she wouldn’t have thought it possible, given all she’d been through in the past few hours, she fell instantly to sleep.

  While Grace slept in the neighboring room, Lucas lay on the too-short sofa, looking out at the city lights and, in the distance, the bridge all ablaze with lights, and wondered idly how long it would take Gracie and him to melt every glacier in Alaska.

  * * *

  IF GRACE WAS CONCERNED about being alone in her suite with Lucas the next morning, she need not have worried. Because when she left the bedroom after her shower, fully dressed with makeup on, she found them all back in the living room, waiting for her. Dalai was there as well, claiming the best chair, dressed today in a black leather Harley jacket and cap that made her look like a biker mop.

  “I hadn’t realized the conference had been moved to my suite,” Grace said dryly.

  “We’re not going to let you go downstairs alone,” Tina said. “Not after what happened last night.”

  “Gee, I never realized that your agenting responsibility included throwing yourself in the way of a bullet for your writer,” Grace said mildly. “I would have guessed such sacrifice would have required at least a twenty-percent commission.”