by Jessica Bird
"Doing what?"
"Watching you."
Her eyes flashed up to his. They were full of vulnerability and an unconscious inquiry that turned him on.
She frowned, as if a thought just occurred to her. "Tell me something. Do you like what you do? "
When it came to watching someone like her, yeah, he liked it just fine, Smith thought. But he didn't answer her question.
"You'll sleep well tonight," he said instead as he headed out of her room. “And keep the door open. I need to be able to hear you."
"Smith?"
He stopped and looked over his shoulder.
"Thank you. I really appreciate—"
He cut her off, telling her the same thing he did all his clients. "Don't waste time with gratitude. We have a professional arrangement. All you have to do is pay me at the end and I’ll be happy."
Her eyes dimmed. "All right."
An odd sensation shot through his chest as he turned away from her.
It dawned on him that he'd hurt her feelings. Again.
And somehow, hurting her bothered him.
As he walked into his new bedroom, he was wondering what the hell was wrong with him. When had he started caring about the feelings of others?
About the countess's in particular?
chapter
7
Grace came awake with a wild jerk, her arms pinwheel-ing through the sheets. Straining in the faint light of dawn, her body tense, she waited for some clue as to what had disturbed her exhausted collapse.
There was only silence.
She looked around her room. She was alone for all she knew.
She thought immediately of Smith. Had he been moving around? Or was it someone else? She slipped out of bed, debating whether to go find him. When the silence continued, she didn't think she had a reason to wake him up. He was her bodyguard, not a security blanket.
Feeling ill at ease, she went over to the French doors. The sun was just about to rise and high, thin clouds brushed across the horizon. Below, the streets were still marked with glowing lamps and Central Park was a dark, dense expanse.
So they'd gotten through their first night together, she thought. And it hadn't been that bad. Only one argument caused by the intersection of his sharp tongue and her nervous fatigue. All things considered, maybe it was a triumph.
Now, if she could just figure out how to share a bathroom with the guy, she was practically home free.
Grace was about to turn away when Smith walked out onto the terrace from the living room.
Her breath caught in her throat and she leaned forward until her forehead hit the glass. Cursing, she pulled back and rubbed the spot.
He was naked to the waist, wearing the black pants he'd had on the night before. His body was everything she'd suspected it to be. He was built hard and strong and there wasn't an ounce of fat on him as far as she could see. As he moved, she watched the shifting and contracting muscles of his back. They fanned out from his spine and filled his shoulders, giving heft to his upper torso.
It was then she noticed marks on his skin. Scars. Several on his back, one that went across his side, a jagged streak on his right shoulder.
She put her hand up, as if she could soothe him from afar; and tried to imagine the kind of life he must have led. Where he had been. What had been done to him.
The need to know about his past was intense.
No wonder he was so tough. He knew a hell of a lot about physical pain.
She watched, entranced, as he moved stealthily across the terrace, sidestepping plants and porch furniture, stopping only when he stood a couple of feet from the wrought iron railing. Facing the sun, he put his two hands together and bowed his head.
Grace wondered whether any tenderness could have survived in a man like him. She thought of his hard face, his impassive eyes, that bored tone she suspected he cultivated as another guise to hide his true thoughts. She wanted to know what was under the camouflage.
When he looked up again, he began to shift through the ancient gestures and positions of tai chi. She was amazed.
He harnessed his masculine power, all those muscles and bones capable of such brute force, and disciplined them into movements that were fluid, calm. As the sun rose behind him, his silhouette pushed and pulled against the air in a graceful dance.
She stayed at the glass until he returned to his starting position. When he bowed his head again, and began to turn around, she scurried into bed, praying he hadn't seen her.
When she closed her eyes, she only saw visions of him. The sensual kaleidoscope was disturbing so she reached over and picked up her diary. Spilling her thoughts onto a page had always relieved her mind and she'd been writing in the small leather book a lot lately. Her pen flew across the page until there was nothing else to say about her attraction to him.
When she closed the book and laid back into the pillows, she thought she would just rest a moment but her body had different ideas. Much later, she surfaced from sleep in a plodding, heavy-lidded fashion. Enticing dreams seemed reluctant to let her go. Or maybe it was the other way around.
When she glanced at her clock, she groaned. She'd forgotten to set the alarm and had slept through her run. It was now 8:20 and she was late. Sitting up, she pushed her hair out of her face and stretched her arms over her head.
Again, her first thought was Smith. After drawing on a silk robe, she went down the hall to the guest room. The door was open and she knocked on the jamb. When there was no response, she peeked in.
The bed had been made and there was nothing out of place, as if no one had been in the room at all. He was either one heck of a housekeeper or he'd slept on the floor. Or maybe not at all?
She headed for the living room. He wasn't there either.
In a flash of anxiety, she wondered whether he'd left her but the thought passed quickly. He'd have told her if he was going to quit the job and, as long as he stayed, he wouldn't leave her alone.
The doors onto the terrace were ajar and she walked over to them, feeling the cool breeze on her skin. He wasn't outside, but she lingered for a moment.
Everything was as she'd seen it last. The chrysanthemums were still cheery in their porch pots, their small white faces crowding through their thick green leaves. The wrought iron table, with its chairs pushed in and its umbrella wrapped in a tight bundle, was exactly where it had been last. The view was the same with the park and the buildings where they had been the day before and the day before that.
Except now there was a ghost in the familiar landscape. She saw him again in the light of dawn, moving.
"Did you like what you saw this morning?" Smith's voice, deep and laconic, came from behind her.
Grace wheeled around and fought the urge to bring her hands to her cheeks.
He was standing in the living room with a steaming mug in his hand. As he took a drink, his eyes hovered over the edge, piercing her with blue flame.
Fortunately, he'd put his shirt back on. But she was picturing his bare chest. When he looked down at what she was wearing, his mouth tightened.
She pulled the edges of her robe a little closer together, wishing she was wearing something more substantial.
Like a parka. Or a HazMat suit, for God's sake.
"Well, did you?" he prompted, one brow arching.
He seemed determined to get a response. Unfortunately, the only thing coming to her mind was along the lines of yeah, you're one smooth mover, but could you be naked next tim?
And how had he known she was watching? He'd seemed totally focused on what he'd been doing.
Smith took another sip from the mug.
"So you've found the coffee." She lifted her chin, thinking he couldn't make her admit anything she didn't want to. "Did you make enough for two?"
She gathered herself up to her full height and bustled by him, prepared to let his question drop.
His hand shot out, taking her arm, and she felt his fingers through the thin silk as
if she wasn't wearing anything at all. She looked down at them, amazed that the contact was enough to make her body kick into overdrive.
When he didn't say anything, her eyes rose reluctantly to his.
"I'm a man who likes his privacy, Countess." He brought the mug up to his lips casually, as if he wasn't holding her in place. She caught a whiff of herbal tea, not coffee. "I don't appreciate intrusions into my time."
There wasn't a lick of anger in his voice or his expression but the warning was obvious nonetheless.
She forced herself to keep meeting him square in the eye. “I was only curious about what you were doing."
"Really?" he said in a lazy tone that didn't fool her
"Yes, really."
She tried to get her arm back but, instead of releasing her, he jerked her closer. His eyes narrowed on her lips and she was amazed as hunger flared in his hard face, turning him into someone she didn't recognize. There was nothing self-controlled about what was coming out of his eyes.
She licked her lips, feeling parched, and had to look away. She glanced down at his forearm. The thick cords of muscle told her he could hold her for as long as he wanted and there wasn't much she could do about it.
"Let me go." Grace tried for something close to a command. She felt as though she should put up a protest so he didn't know the truth about what was going on under her skin. Unfortunately, the breathlessness in her voice held more invitation than rebuff.
His eyes narrowed and there was a subtle shifting in him that she sensed, rather than saw. As if he were considering a problem.
She gave her arm a tug but it was a half-hearted one. She wasn't all that interested in freedom.
Smith put the mug down on a side table and slowly raised his hand to her. She felt a soft caress move down her hair until his fingers rested on her collarbone.
"So answer my question, Countess," His voice was a low growl, delicious and provocative. "Did you like what you saw?"
Grace swallowed through a tight throat as she felt his fingertips under her chin. He tilted her face up with the slightest of pressure.
The obvious answer, the only safe answer, was no.
But she knew he would catch her lie. He was looking at her with such absorption, she didn't feel like she had any other recourse but the truth.
"Yes." The word was so quiet, no louder than her breath.
And that was when she realized she would make love with him. As crazy as it was, as dangerous as it was, if he asked, she would take him into her body and never look back. It was the perfectly wrong thing to do. Her life was already spinning out of control and falling into bed with a man like him would be like hitting the gas, not the brakes.
But she didn't care.
His grip on her arm loosened and he took a step closer, his hand going under the weight of her hair. He stroked the sensitive skin at the back of her neck.
Hesitant, she reached for him, placing her hands on the thick muscles of his shoulders. She felt the heat of his body through his thin shirt.
But the moment she touched him, he frowned, as if he'd just realized what he was doing.
He pulled away sharply.
"What's wrong?" The words left her lips on a hoarse breath.
"Are you trying to seduce me, Countess?" His voice had an edge to it.
Grace's mind, choked with sensations, churned over his words." What?"
"How long's it been since you were with that husband of yours?" he said impatiently. "Or are you just interested in trying something from the other side of the tracks?”
Anger cut through her daze. "You were the one who— just now... I never came on to you."
His eyes raked over her. "You stood at that door this morning, watching me in your see-through nightgown, looking like a hungry virgin. What the hell am I supposed to think?"
Grace put her hands on her hips. "I never looked at you like that."
He leaned toward her. "You want to try that again and shoot for the truth this time?"
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"So when you hired me last night, you weren't thinking of tacking on a little horizontal action with the security you're buying?"
Grace's mouth dropped open. She might be obstructing the truth a little but he was a goddamn revisionist.
She jabbed her finger at him in a decidedly unladylike fashion.
"You were the one with a death grip on my arm just now." The gesture made her feel stronger so she did it again and again, pushing her words through the air at him. "And I didn't ask you to touch me. Before you start playing holier than thou, you better look in the mirror. If anyone's starving around here, it's you.”
She kicked up her chin and turned away from him. She'd gone about three feet when he caught her and spun her around.
His lips came down hard on hers and she met them with equal force. She grabbed onto his shoulders, pulling herself against him, while his arms came around her. The sensation of their bodies meeting was a rush.
Groaning, he broke off from her mouth, burying his face in her hair as if he were battling himself for control. But she didn't want him to turn away. When he started blazing a trail of kisses down her neck, she let out a sound of relief and desire and her head fell back as he took her skin in between his teeth and tasted her. His mouth explored further, down over her collarbone where his finger had once been, down into the valley between her breasts.
Roughly, he pushed the robe off her shoulders so it hung in waves from the sash around her waist. His eyes seemed to feast on the sight of her taut nipples pulling at the silk that draped over them. As he brought his hands slowly around until they rested under the weight of her breasts, her breath caught. Moving only his thumbs, he began to caress her, lingering over the hard peaks until she closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure.
"God, there is such heat in you," he said with wonder.
Her eyes opened and through the haze she saw a strange expression on his face, one that was a mix of passion and astonishment. She had the fleeting thought that if he knew she was watching, he would have hidden it.
He hooked his finger under one of the thin straps that held the nightgown's bodice in place and slipped it gently off her shoulder. The lace and silk melted away from her breast, leaving it bare to his eyes. Slowly, he dipped his head and took one of her nipples into his mouth. Shuddering with need, she drove her nails into his biceps. She watched as his tongue came out and licked at her tender tip. Biting her lip, she moaned again.
Through the haze, she recognized a foreign sound. Something vaguely troubling.
Keys.
Smith pulled away from her quickly, his eyes snapping toward the door.
"The contractors," she said roughly.
Grace struggled to get the top of the gown and the robe back in place but nothing was working right. Her mind was fuzzy, her hands were fumbling and the fabric seemed dead set against behaving.
"I'll deal with them." Smith's voice was ragged and he shielded her with his body as the door was thrown open.
Grace escaped into the kitchen just as three men came barreling through her front door. As she heard male voices talking, she leaned back against the refrigerator, struggling to get herself covered.
She put her head in her hands. How had that just happened?
Well, she knew the answer to that. Take one healthy male and a woman who'd been fantasizing about him since the night they met and put them in an enclosed space. It was lust, pure and simple.
It was just a kiss, she told herself. People do it all the time.
Well, yeah. But not like that.
Christ, what was wrong with her? She was two weeks away from being thirty, for heaven's sake, and about to be a divorcee. She wasn't some twenty-year-old, capable of believing that a couple of kisses were a transforming event. That a few sparks and some heat could turn a lonely, stressed-out woman into a femme fatale and a hard man into a romantic hero.
She knew she should do herself a f
avor and stay away from him but how was that going to happen? He was supposed to be with her every waking minute of every day.
The door opened.
She looked up into Smith's face. He was back to being self-controlled, arrogant, sure of himself.
But she knew she hadn't imagined his passion. The first time he'd kissed her might have been explained away by frustration and anger. What had just happened couldn't.
"I've taken their keys and told them you'll give a call when they can come back."
"Thank you. Er—I'm going to get dressed."
"We need to talk."
She shook her head. "No, we don't. Because—because it's not going to happen again. It should never have happened in the first place."
There was a pause. "I couldn't agree more on that."
"So there's nothing else to talk about."
Smith's eyes flickered over her face. "Weaknesses that aren't acknowledged have a nasty habit of turning into liabilities."
She began twisting her engagement ring around her finger, partially out of embarrassment, mostly out of gnawing frustration with herself and the situation. When Smith looked down at the heavy stone, she dropped her hands.
"I can assure you," she said with an edge, "I have no intention of throwing myself at you. If that's what you consider a liability, I think we're okay."
When he didn't reply, she prompted, "Are you going to leave?"
His eyes darkened with resolve. "No. I don't quit. Ever. But let's be very clear. All we have between us is the job, nothing more."
"I agree completely."
"I'm glad you see it my way."
His choice of words chafed. She lifted her chin.
"It's not your way. It's the truth." Grace looked away quickly and caught sight of the clock on the microwave. "I'll make it short and sweet in the bathroom. We're late."
* * *
After she'd left, Smith went into the living room and paced around.
In spite of his Sermon-on-the-Mount pronouncement that there was only a job between them, part of him was cursing that damn doorbell. It was tough luck he had the only contractors in the city who showed up on time. Nine o'clock sharp. The bastards.
