by Jessica Bird
"You bet your ass."
"I didn't know senators were allowed to swear."
"Doesn't count up north. Have to get 'em all out when I'm up here." The woman stood and the table fell silent.
Smith looked over at Grace as her friend spoke.
"And now, I'd like to propose a toast. If you all could pick up that glass of Bradford's finest, let's toss back a little bourbon for our dear friend, Grace. All love on your thirtieth, darlin'."
As a flaming birthday cake was brought in, Smith put his glass back on the table without having tasted it. He was thinking that Bo had a point about alcohol and love and finding a little transitory relief in the bottom of a bottle. He was so pent up, he could have used a few shots, but he never drank on the job.
That, at least, was one rule he was still hanging onto hard and fast.
An hour later, the party started to break up. People dispersed until only Bo, Grace, and Smith were standing in the foyer of the suite.
"Thank you," Grace said, raising a hand to her temple She squinted and looked up at the chandelier as if she was bothered by the light. "This has been lovely."
"I think you better get on home." The senator smiled "You never could hold your wine."
"I didn't think I had that much."
"Much is a relative term, darlin'."
After the women hugged good-bye, Smith offered his hand to the senator. "Good to meet you."
"Likewise," she replied. "Get her home safe, will you?"
Smith nodded, thinking he wasn't the only one watching over Grace.
When they emerged from the hotel, Grace paused and looked up at the sky, drawing her wrap around herself. Overhead, a hazy moon hung over the city, its radiance dimmed by the glow of the street lamps and the skyscrapers.
"It's warm tonight," she said, taking a deep breath. "Let's walk a hide."
Smith positioned himself between Grace and the street and shot a holding motion to Eddie, who was waiting in the Explorer.
As they walked toward Fifth Avenue, their footsteps over the sidewalk were in synch, the sound of their shoes rhythmic and slow. Taxis passed by, their red taillights glowing, and occasionally another pedestrian would come their way. A soft breeze was blowing at their backs, periodically sending a whiff of her perfume his way.
"I've always liked the way the city looks at night," Grace murmured, looking up at the buildings.
Abruptly, she caught the toe of her shoe in a crack and lurched forward.
Smith grabbed her around the waist and felt her relax against his body. She was warm and soft and his fingers tightened around the narrow span of her waist. He didn't want to let her go, even though walking with his arm around her wasn't smart. All they needed was a photograph of the two of them together and there'd be even more complications in her life.
"We shouldn't be so close," she muttered a moment later.
When she shrugged away from him, he let her go.
"After all," she said, in a louder voice, "I'm a married woman. A goddamn married woman."
Smith looked over at her. She was frowning.
" Bo isn't, you know. Married, that is."
He resumed scanning the street and the sidewalk. "She mentioned that her husband had died."
"Three years ago." She paused. "You two seemed to get along well at dinner. She's beautiful, don't you think?"
He cocked an eyebrow, wondering where she was taking the conversation. "She is."
"Tell me, Smith." She repositioned her wrap with a sharp movement. "What makes a woman beautiful to you? What was beautiful about Bo?"
As they strolled under a street lamp, the light fell over Grace's delicate features and Smith knew exactly what his definition of beauty was. Before he could frame an appropriate response, she spoke up.
"Oh, don't answer that." Grace batted her hand about as if to erase the question. "I don't know why I asked. Probably to torture myself."
She seemed surprised by her own admission and said in a hurry, "Bo's husband was a wonderful man and she loved him deeply. Now that was a marriage that really worked. 1t was cruel, that it ended so soon."
Smith's instincts came to attention.
Glancing behind them, he felt, and then saw, a shape disappear into the darkness. Nonchalantly, he released the button on his tuxedo jacket in case he needed to get to his gun.
"I think it's time to head back," he remarked, taking Grace's arm firmly. She looked up at him. Not wanting to alarm her, he said smoothly, "It's getting late."
"Someone is following us, aren't they?" she whispered.
"Maybe."
He could tell she was frightened by the tension running through her body and the tight hold she took on his bicep but she showed no outward signs of fear. She just kept walking with her head up.
Good girl, he thought.
Smith looked around casually, searching for an opportunity to get her off the street. They came up to a lively restaurant.
"Let's go in here," he said, drawing her into the fashionable eatery. As soon as they were inside, he flipped open his cell phone and called Eddie.
Through the thicket of people waiting to be seated, the maitre’d made a beeline for Grace with a wide smile. "Welcome, Countess. Will you be joining us this evening? "
As Grace struck up a conversation, Smith stayed by her side and looked for Eddie out of the wide windows that faced the street. When the black Explorer pulled up, he took her arm and ushered her outside. They had just stepped free of the door when a man jumped out at them. Smith covered Grace with his body as a flashbulb went off.
Moving before the blinding light had dimmed, Smith pushed her into the Explorer, slammed the door and went after the paparazzo. He caught the man in three strides and dragged him into the alley next to the restaurant. As the guy started yelling, Smith grabbed his camera, stripped out the film, and bulldozed him against the brick building.
"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" Smith pressed his forearm against the guy's throat as he smiled amiably.
"I'm going to sue! That's my film—"
"Here, take it." He shoved the exposed negatives into the guy's pocket.
"Let me go!"
"Not until you promise to leave her alone."
"It's a free country! You can't hurt me. If you do, I’ll sue her!"
The man continued to struggle, his face growing red with anger. Smith held him easily, wondering how long it would take before the guy tired himself out.
"She's public property!" The photographer sneered. "Although why anyone would care who's fucking an ice princess like her—"
Smith stopping smiling. "What did you say?"
"I said—"
Smith shifted his weight, pushing his forearm harder against the man's throat and cutting off his words. "On second thought, I don't think it's in your best interest to repeat it. I might get upset and then things would get ugly."
"Oh, yeah?" the guy choked out. "What are you going to do?"
Smith put his face down close to the photographer's and the man fell completely still. "You don't want to know what I'm capable of."
The guy began to look worried, his eyes shifting up and down the alley as if he were looking for help. There was no one around.
Smith kept him trapped against the brick wall so he had plenty of time to imagine all sorts of grim injuries. He was kind of hoping the paparazzo would say something else, something that would give Smith an excuse to hit him. Hard.
Hearing a lowlife talk about Grace like that had really pissed him off.
"You had enough?" he asked the guy.
The nodding was fast and furious.
"I'll just assume you and I are in agreement about the countess. If I see you around again, I'm going to do a hell of a lot worse than rip the film out of your camera. Got it?"
When Smith let go, the photographer slumped against the building and grabbed his throat. Smith turned and started walking away.
"I'm not afraid of you!" the man called out whe
n there was a good distance between them.
A single glance over the shoulder shut the guy up.
When Smith got into the Explorer, Grace stared at him in silence. She seemed to be in shock and he couldn't blame her.
"You move so fast," she murmured, as they pulled away from the curb.
"When I have to. Eddie," he said, "take us around back when you drop us off. In case our little friend with the flashbulb called any of his buddies."
The day before, at Smith's request, Eddie had scouted out the back entrance to the building. There was a walkway that wound through the basement and came up into the lobby. It looked as if they were going to have to start using it.
As they were speeding through traffic, he felt Grace looking at him.
"That photographer .. .Did you hurt him?" she asked in a small voice.
"No."
There was a pause. "Are you sure?"
So that was the reason she was eyeing him like he was a stranger. She'd never seen someone haul another person into a back alley and come out alone.
"Yeah, he's going to be fine."
While she wrapped her arms around herself, Smith was glad she didn't know what he'd wanted to do to the guy.
Ten minutes later, Eddie pulled up behind the building and Smith squired Grace in the back door and through the musty smelling corridor to the lobby. The doorman was asleep at his station and Smith rapped the guy sharply on the shoulder.
"Get up. They're not paying you to sleep," he said roughly.
The guy shook his head, although whether it was from shame or just as a way to wake up, Smith wasn't sure.
He pushed the elevator button and cut off the doorman's apologies. "If you can't stay up, find another shift or another job."
Grace's voice was much more gentle as she offered the man a soothing smile. "That's okay, I know your new baby's probably running you ragged."
The two talked about the man's family until the elevator came.
As Smith and Grace rode up to the penthouse, he watched her eyes dim again and he didn't blame her for being shaken. Getting jumped by a rabid photographer and watching her bodyguard manhandle a guy was no fun for anyone.
Smith thought back to what had happened in that alley. He'd been ready to let loose on the photographer, really hurt him. Making sure the picture never saw the light of day didn't seem to go far enough, considering the man had scared Grace and then insulted her.
In retrospect, his reaction was disturbing. Defending a client was one thing, avenging Grace's honor was altogether different. He reminded himself that she was paying him to protect her, not be a hired thug.
As they stepped into her home and he shut off the alarm, Smith knew they were heading for trouble. All kinds of lines were getting blurred with Grace and his clarity of mind was a casualty neither of them could afford.
She deserved to have him at his very best. He owed her that.
And wouldn't have settled for anything less himself.
* * *
Grace heard the door shut as she walked into the living room.
"You need anything? " Smith asked her.
She turned around. He was waiting for her to speak, a tall, dark shape lit from behind by the hall light.
She couldn't get the confrontation with the photographer out of her mind and kept seeing the scenario end in a different, violent way. When Smith had lunged forward to shield her with his body, only God knew whether it was a camera or a gun pointed at her. Still he'd been prepared to take whatever was coming, whether it was a bullet or a knife or a fist or a flashbulb.
She thought of how easily the outcome could have been fatal. And how, in that moment as he surged ahead of her, John had been willing to give his life for her. She was grateful and angry at the same time because, if he was willing to do that for her, surely he put his life on the line for his other clients. Didn't he care that he could get himself killed?
Suddenly, looking into the future seemed a pointless exercise in optimism. He was with her now. Tonight they were together.
And she wanted him.
To hell with happy endings, she thought.
Taking courage from the lingering effects of the wine, Grace approached him slowly and let her wrap fall from her shoulders. In the dim light, she saw him follow the silk as it slid down her arms, past her waist and onto the floor. When his eyes came back to hers, they gleamed.
She reached out and touched the satin lapel of his tuxedo, letting her fingers float down the material. Easing herself against his body, so that her breasts pressed into his chest, she stretched up to his ear.
"Make love to me," she whispered against the skin of his throat.
She felt a shudder go through him.
The hesitation that followed was not encouraging.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"This isn't right," he said, removing her hands. "I'm sorry, Grace."
She frowned in confusion, struggling to touch him again. " You told me I could choose. And I have."
"I never should have put you in that position." He stepped away from her.
Grace stared at him, unable to comprehend what he was saying.
As he met her eyes unrelentingly, she got angry.
"Goddamn you." When he remained silent, she demanded,
"Why did you do this to me? Did you just want to see me beg?"
"Of course not."
"So why? If I'd known this was just some kind of game—"
"It has never been a game," he said fiercely.
Frustration made her lash out. “ Well, then I never pegged you for a coward. If you really are king of the one-night stands, what's the big deal with a little sex? You've done it before and managed to survive the experience with your I-am-a-rock routine still intact."
With lightning speed, his hands gripped her arms so hard it hurt.
"Don't press me, Grace. I'm not in the mood."
"Then get in a better one. Kiss me," she murmured, looking up into his eyes.
"Stop it,"
"No.”
With a surge of power, he pinned her arms behind her and pushed her back against the wall.
"Christ, is this all you want?" He pressed his arousal into her body.
She looked at him boldly "Tonight? Yes."
His eyes closed. And then they snapped open and his lips came down on hers.
His kiss was hard and she wanted it that way. Pulling her arms free, she grabbed on to his jacket and wrenched it from his shoulders as she felt his hands come up to the bodice of her gown. There was a tearing sound as he ripped the delicate chiffon from her body and covered her breasts with his palms.
His mouth was hot and hungry over hers, his tongue thrusting inside of her as he pressed against her body. Digging her nails into his back, she moaned.
At the hoarse sound, he froze. Looking into her eyes, he pushed her away abruptly.
Raking a hand over his short hair, he bent down and picked up her wrap.
“Go to bed," he told her, throwing it over.
Grace caught the silk but refused to cover herself, aware that her breasts were bare and he was having a hard time not looking at them. "You want me."
Smith came back at her in a rush, planting his hands against the wall on either side of her head with a loud noise. As he leaned in close, she felt no fear as his eyes passed over her body.
"Yeah, I want you. So bad it fucking hurts. Satisfied?"
"Not even close," she said softly, her words dripping with intent. She reached up and stroked his cheek.
His gaze narrowed on her lips but then he closed his eyes and stayed like that for a long time.
When he looked at her again, he was cold as ice. He calmly stepped back.
"What changed?" she whispered.
"You're not thinking clearly tonight. And I wasn't this morning."
He turned away and walked into his room. She heard his door shut quietly and realized it was the first time he'd closed her out.
In
the silence, reality came back and hit Grace so hard she felt like crying out. She looked down in mute shock at the ruined gown. With fumbling hands, she pulled the bodice back up so that her breasts were covered and went to her room.
She couldn't bring herself to look at his door as she passed by.
* * *
Grace's first thought the next morning was that maybe it had all been a crazy nightmare. Then she looked over and saw the torn dress hanging off a chair.
Oh, God. She really had tried to seduce him and he really had turned her down.
Groaning, she went into the bathroom and took two aspirin. After having a shower, she threw on her thick robe and went out into the hall.
His door was ajar.
"Smith?" she said softly. When there was no answer, she walked into the room
One bed had been slept in, or at least sat on. Two pillows were propped against the wall and a book was splayed out on top of the covers. The other bed was neatly made and had his leather jacket and the tuxedo draped at the foot of it.
She was about to leave when she saw his wallet on the antique bureau. Next to it were his gun, holster, and a set of keys.
“ Looking for something?”
Her eyes flew up to the mirror over the bureau. He was standing in the doorway with a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked rakishly handsome, wearing only a white T-shirt and that pair of low-hanging black pants. Her mouth went dry as she thought about kissing him and she wanted to curse. There seemed to be no end to her vivid imagination or her willingness to throw herself at him. After last night, she should have learned a thing or two.
"Shower's free," she said.
She left quickly, trying not to notice the wide berth he gave her when she walked by him. As she went to her room and began to dress, she decided that she'd gone from one extreme to another. From an ice queen to a harlot.
Not exactly an improvement, she thought ruefully.
* * *
When Grace and John came into the office on Monday morning, Kat looked up from her desk with a grin. "The place has been hopping today. Mr. Lamont has already stopped by twice. There are ten messages for you to return. Oh, and the caterers called. They said Fredrique had come by and discussed the Gala menu with them. They seemed a little confused, but they're sending you a first pass on the food anyway. I think they were under the impression he wasn't involved this year."
