Home by the Sea

by JoAnn Ross

  Since he wanted her to make the decision on her own, he didn’t reveal that if forced to, he’d behave like the pirate everyone seemed to think he was and kidnap her. He figured if he couldn’t get her to forgive him by their first-month anniversary, he wasn’t the man he saw in the mirror when he shaved each morning.

  “Thank you.” She managed a smile even as she felt her eyes misting up. “For being honest.” She knew it would have been easier for him to lie, to tell her what she’d wanted to hear.

  He caught her chin and turned her face back toward him. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re the first woman who’s ever made me consider tying up anchor.” That was the absolute truth.

  His words stayed with her the rest of the day. The more she thought about them, the more Grace suspected that perhaps, if she pulled out all the stops—if she agreed to marry him if only he’d agree to forgo his plans—he might change his mind.

  But her victory would prove a shallow one, she knew, because eventually, perhaps years from now, he’d look back on this day and resent her. As he’d have every right to do.

  A very strong part of Grace longed to just say yes, to throw caution to the wind and sail off to Alaska with Lucas, trusting in her heart. But although she’d written several romances using love-at-first-sight as a plot device, Grace couldn’t quite believe in it. Despite Lucas’s romantic tales about his family’s history.

  She’d made a bad choice once; how could she trust herself now? Even the undeniable fact that Lucas was nothing like Robert couldn’t quite ease her concerns. Which was why Grace finally decided to put her worries away and bask in the golden pleasure of this near perfect day.

  As much as she would have loved to stop the dock, the afternoon passed all too quickly, and soon it was time to get ready for the banquet. As she turned on the shower, Grace thought how much difference a few days could make. Although she’d won the ROMI three times before, on each previous occasion, Robert had been the one to accept the gold statuette, along with the applause and admiration of the romance community. But if Roberta Grace won tonight, Grace would also be standing on the stage. It would her moment in the sun.

  Before she’d arrived in San Francisco, winning had been the uppermost thing in her mind. Now, with Lucas in her life, the award no longer seemed that important. Not nearly as important as the decision she would soon have to make. The decision that had her feeling more and more like Cinderella, with the hands of the clock racing toward midnight

  She was standing beneath the shower, enjoying the hot water sluicing over her body, when the glass door opened, allowing a billowing cloud of steam out and Lucas in.

  “I thought, in the interests of saving water, I’d join you.” As if it was the most normal thing in the world for him to be doing, he plucked the bar of soap from the shelf, rubbed it into a froth between his hands, then began spreading the luminescent bubbles over her breasts.

  How was it that all it took was the touch of this man’s hands on her body to make her head spin and her knees weak? “I’m all for conservation of precious resources,” she managed to gasp as he lifted her up.

  “Put your legs around me, Gracie.” He pushed her back against the tile wall of the compact cubicle. Water was streaming over them, hot and pulsing. “Now take me, darlin’. Take all of me.”

  His hands were digging into her hips, his strong legs were braced wide apart to hold them both up, his mouth was racing over her face. “Oh, that’s good,” he murmured as she took him even deeper, her body tightening around his like a hot velvet fist. His teeth nipped at her neck and made her blood swim. “That’s very, very good.”

  All it took was his mouth sucking hard on her breast to cause a responding pull in her center. When he scraped his teeth against a nipple, stimulating it to a point just this side of pain, the orgasm ripped through her. Feeling as if she’d been caught in an undertow, as if she was drowning, Grace could only grip his shoulders, nails biting into wet hot flesh as climax slammed into climax.

  The water was hot. But Grace was hotter. As he felt her inner convulsions, Lucas felt as if his boiling blood was about to blast out of his veins. He covered her mouth with his as he drove harder, deeper, capturing her cry as he gave in to his own explosive release.

  Together they sank to the tiled floor in a tangle of arms and legs as the shower continued to pelt down on them.

  Grace drew in a ragged breath and felt as if her lungs were burning. “I may never move again.”

  “One of us is going to have to.” He glanced up at the showerhead. “Before we run out of hot water.”

  Water streamed over her face as she followed his gaze. The faucet handles looked so very far away. “I should think that would be your job. Since you’re the one supposedly taking care of my body.” A job he’d done so magnificently well.

  “Good point.” Lucas pushed himself to his feet, twisted the chrome faucets and grabbed two fluffy towels from a heated rack right outside the door.

  Not certain whether she was ready to try standing on her own, Grace willingly accepted his hand as he reached down and pulled her to her feet, then wrapped the oversize white towel around her. “Oh, it’s warm.” She snuggled into it.

  “Only the best for America’s most beloved romance writer.”

  Her smile touched her eyes as she met his teasing gaze. “Speaking of the best…”

  She left the rest unsaid, but a man would have had to be blind not to read the message in those gleaming emerald eyes.

  “So how long is this awards banquet supposed to last?” he asked.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Lucky for us, the award for best historical novel is early in the program.”

  “Lucky,” he agreed, as he brushed her lips with his and wished that they were merely two ordinary people, getting ready for a night on the town. Unfortunately, their circumstances were far from ordinary.

  As he left her to dress, Lucas was all too aware that someone was out to murder the woman he loved. And tonight would be the killer’s last opportunity.

  * * *

  TINA WAS WAITING in the lobby when Grace and Lucas arrived.

  “I have good news,” she said to Grace in greeting. “I had drinks with George Dwyer earlier this evening. It was, all in all, a wonderfully productive meeting.”

  “Was Geraldine there?” Grace asked.

  “No. But that doesn’t matter. Because it seems that as editorial director, he’s been given final approval on what Penbrook publishes.”

  “Is that standard operating procedure?” Lucas inquired.

  “Darling, believe me, nothing is standard procedure in the publishing business. And you’re right, it’s a little unconventional, but then again, a diaper company publishing books isn’t exactly the norm, either.

  “Anyway, Grace,” she said, smiling like a sleek Siamese that had just caught a very succulent pigeon, “he’s agreed to everything. And even offered a higher advance than I’d expected for a three-book contract.”

  The number she revealed was nearly twice what Grace had dared hope for. “That’s very generous.”

  “Generous, ha! You’re worth it, darling. And the advertising budget is triple your previous ones. And here’s the pièce de résistance. He’s agreed to promise—in writing—that Penbrook will never publish a romance under the Roberta Grace name not written by either you or Robert, whoever wins the court case. Which of course will be you, once the facts are on record.”

  Since Grace refused to let herself believe that she wasn’t going to win the court case, she felt as if an enormous load had just been taken from her shoulders.

  “That is good news,” she said, hugging the agent. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me, Grace,” Tina said. “That’s my job.”

  “Congratulations,” Lucas said, as they continued walking across the lobby. “I take it this was what you wanted?”

  “More than I wanted. And it’s a relief to know that Penbrook stil
l wants me.”

  “They’d be nuts if they didn’t,” Lucas said, giving her a slow, sexy smile that set her blood to simmering once more.

  Grace heard her name being called again, and turned to see Jamie headed her way, looking resplendent in a black silk maternity dress studded with jet bugle beads. Grace felt a stab of disloyalty as she found herself wondering what the evening gown must have cost.

  “I just wanted to wish you good luck,” her friend said, embracing her in what Grace knew had to be a genuine hug. “Not that you need it, of course.”

  “Thank you.” Her emotions were on a roller coaster. Wasn’t this conference bad enough without momentarily distrusting her best friend? She hugged Jamie back. “I love you,” she said. Her eyes misted, her throat choked.

  “Ditto,” Jamie said. She backed up and touched a finger to her own moist eyes. “Now, go get ’em, girlfriend.”

  The awards banquet was held in the Golden Gate Ballroom, where the earlier attempt on Grace’s life had taken place.

  “You’re wrong,” Grace said as the entered the vast room. “Jamie’s too good a friend to ever think about what you’re accusing her of.”

  “She’s only on the list, Grace. And not at the top. Especially since she didn’t seem to be faking her affection.”

  “Of course she wasn’t.”

  “On the other hand, those tears could have been the result of a guilty conscience,” he suggested. “The same way yours were for momentarily doubting your best pal.”

  Grace wasn’t entirely comfortable with the way Lucas seemed to be able to read her mind so well. “You don’t know everything about me,” she retorted archly.

  “True. I figure we can work on that on the way to Alaska. And for the next fifty years or so. However, I do know that you’re the most gorgeous woman in this hotel tonight.”

  His look, his deep drawl, which seemed to literally melt its way into her bones, the touch of his roughened fingertips against her cheek expunged Grace’s brief irritation.

  For tonight’s festivities, the costume-pageant theater seating had been replaced with linen-draped tables adorned with elaborate floral centerpieces. Bottles of champagne were nestled into silver buckets on each of the tables, and sterling silver flutes, engraved with the RNN rose logo and this year’s conference dates, graced each place setting. Up on the raised stage, a twelve-foot-tall, gold-painted figure of a woman—an oversize replica of the ROMI—looked down on the proceedings.

  Although the shadows beneath the eyes of most of the RNN members revealed a lack of sleep these past nights, none of the writers appeared at all tired. On the contrary, the anticipation in the air was electric. This was the night they’d traveled from all parts of the globe to take part in, both the high point and the culmination of the three-day conference.

  “I don’t understand,” Robert complained to the others seated at the table that had been reserved for the Penbrook Press group. “It’s not like Buffy to disappear.”

  “Perhaps she finally got smart,” Tina suggested dryly.

  “That’s right,” he retorted, “when you can’t think of anything constructive to say, fall back on sarcasm. With an attitude like that, I have to wonder about your negotiating skills.”

  “You never had any complaint before.”

  “Children, children,” Geraldine chided, tapping her spoon against her crystal water goblet to get their attention. On the chair beside her, Dalai, resplendent in gold lamé for this stellar occasion, visibly perked up, as if hoping for some tidbit. “This is a special evening for all of us. Why don’t we try to bury our individual hatchets for the time being?”

  “I’d love to bury the hatchet,” Tina drawled. “And I have just the idea where.”

  “That’s it!” Robert threw down his napkin and was on his feet in a shot. “I’ve had just about enough…oh, my gold!”

  The rest of the table followed his gaze to the doorway, where Buffy Cunningham Radcliffe stood, dressed in an oversize pair of jeans that bunched up around her feet, which were clad in oversize black rubber boots. A badly stained T-shirt hung down to her knees and what appeared to be kelp was tangled in her matted blond hair.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE BUZZ OF CONVERSATION dropped off, table by table, as she made her way to the front of the banquet room.

  “Buffy?” Robert went to take her in his arms, then noticeably backed away as he caught the pungent odor of fish emanating from her clothing. “What happened to you? I’ve been worried all day.”

  “What happened?” Her voice was ragged, but shrill. “What happened?” she repeated.

  That she was on the verge of hysteria was more than a little apparent. Grace exchanged a look with Lucas, who shrugged his shoulders.

  “Someone tried to kill me, that’s what happened!”

  “What are you talking about?” Lucas demanded. Grace felt his fingers tighten on hers. “When? How?”

  “Last night. During the fireworks.”

  “I was looking all over the ship for you,” Robert said.

  “Well, you should have thought to look in the bay. Because that’s where I was. After someone pushed me overboard.”

  “Surely you’re mistaken,” Geraldine said, her eyes wide. “Who on earth would want to kill you?”

  “I can think of one person,” Robert said, shooting an accusatory look at Grace.

  “Watch it, Radcliffe,” Lucas warned.

  “You threw me across the ship’s dining room,” Grace’s former husband countered hotly. “Why shouldn’t we believe you’d be capable of throwing my wife into the bay?”

  “That’s reprehensible, even for you, Robert,” Grace interjected hotly.

  “Let me handle this, Grade,” Lucas said quietly. He turned back to Robert. “Not that I owe you any response, but I happen to be a bodyguard, not a hit man. And if you had anything but mush between your ears, you’d realize that the attack undoubtedly wasn’t meant for your wife.”

  “Of course!” Geraldine said. “Both Buffy and Grace were wearing the same gown last night. And the night was dark and foggy—”

  “Which made my would-be killer attack the wrong woman,” Grace concluded.

  “That’d be my guess,” Lucas agreed. He stood up. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  “No.” Grace shook her head. “I’m not going to allow some horrible, sick person to control my life.” She looked straight at Geraldine when she said it, receiving only a blank look in return.

  “Dammit, Grace—”

  “I’ll be all right, Lucas. After all, you’re here to protect me. And unless I’m mistaken, both Detectives MacDonald and Roberts seem to have suddenly developed an interest in romance fiction,” she said, nodding toward the two detectives, who’d taken up positions at the stairs on either side of the raised stage. Undoubtedly at Lucas’s request. “I’m probably as safe here as I’d be anywhere.”

  “I don’t know, Grace,” Geraldine said, “Lucas is a professional, and if he’s concerned…”

  “I’m not going,” Grace repeated. She looked back up at Buffy, who’d been watching the exchange with a decided lack of interest. “It must have been terrible for you,” she said. Although she had a great deal to resent her former editor for, never would she have wished such a horrendous experience on her. “How did you manage to survive?”

  “I was picked up by a fishing boat.”

  “Which explains why you smell of mackerel,” Robert said, wrinkling his nose. Dalai, on the other hand, was sniffing at Buffy’s jeans with more than a little canine interest.

  “Thank you for being so supportive, darling,” Buffy drawled. “I’m certainly beginning to understand why Grace gave you up without a fight.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Geraldine pressed. “If you were picked up last night, where have you been all this time?”

  “The boat’s electrical system was out, so they couldn’t get back to port. Which was fortunate, I suppose, since that’s why they just happe
ned to be sitting out there in the bay when I hit the water. Unfortunately, although I offered to foot the bill, the cheapskates refused to pay for a tug. So I was stuck there until they finally got the damn thing repaired.”

  “Do you remember anything about your attacker?” Lucas asked. “Height, weight, distinguishing characteristics…”

  “I don’t remember a thing except thinking I was going to die. And you and your cop pals can drag out all the bright lights and rubber hoses you want, but I categorically refuse to talk about last night—or think about it—anymore.

  “As for you,” she said, directing her words to Robert, “my lawyer will be contacting you after we get back to Manhattan.” She pulled the ring off her finger, looked inclined to toss it onto the table, then apparently changed her mind.

  “I believe I’ll apply this to what you owe me. And don’t try to use any of the credit cards, Robert. Because I’m canceling them all until a divorce court gives me my old life back. Or at least some of it,” she amended, with an apologetic frown toward Grace.

  She dragged a hand through her hair, dislodging seaweed. “And now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to go upstairs and take a long hot shower and try to remember why I didn’t go into teaching.”

  “Far be it from me to interfere in someone else’s marriage,” Grace murmured as Buffy stomped back toward the double doors at the back of the banquet room. “But don’t you think you should go after her, Robert?”

  “I don’t know.” He appeared torn. “She said she’d like to be alone….”

  “And you wouldn’t want to miss the awards ceremony,” Geraldine suggested dryly, her scorn evident to all.

  “That’s not it at all,” he lied unconvincingly. Decision apparently made, he sat back down. “I know Buffy better than the rest of you. She just needs a little time alone to calm down. It’s better that I stay here.”