An Unforgettable Lady

by Jessica Bird

  Watching Grace and Mr. Charm flirt during dinner had really gotten on his nerves. And that Pepsodent grin the man was sporting when he'd said goodnight to her had been the kicker. Smith couldn't help wondering if Walker was looking so damn cheerful because he planned on spending the night with Grace.

  Smith wrenched a hand over his hair and caught his reflection in a mirror. He looked like a caged dog and wondered what the hell was wrong with him.

  You're jealous, stupid.

  "I am not," he muttered, turning away.

  He told himself to get real. He had no claim to Grace. He had no reason to care what she did after dark. Who she did.

  Smith had turned her down so she was moving on. And why shouldn't she have a fling with some two-bit, Hugh Grant look-alike? She was a beautiful, vibrant, young woman, free to do what she wished.

  He cursed out loud, thinking that was a great rationale, real logical. Too bad it hit him like a pair of brass knuckles.

  The idea of her with Jack Walker put him in a commando kind of mood. He wanted to go find Walker, drag him out behind the house, and rearrange those pearly whites of his. Which was utterly ridiculous.

  Still, getting physical on something was damn appealing.

  Smith looked across the room, sized up the highboy in the corner and rejected the temptation. The thing would have been a fine opponent, for an inanimate object, but he'd feel like an idiot trashing the place. He wasn't a rock star, for God's sake.

  No, he was just a sexually frustrated man who was going to have to try and sleep across the hall from the woman he wanted .. . while she was making love to somebody else.

  Oh, hell. She was not the problem. The trouble was this possessive streak he had going. After years of not giving a crap what anyone else on the planet was up to, let alone who they were sleeping with, he couldn't believe he was finally interested in someone else's love life.

  But damn, he'd managed to pick a bad time for the transformation.

  Smith groaned as a thought occurred to him. He needed to give Grace a panic button in case something happened in the middle of the night. They were out of the city, but being at Willings didn't guarantee her safety.

  He walked over to his bag. When he'd found what he was looking for, he gave himself a lecture. He wasn't going to waste a second in that room of hers. He was going to give her what was in his hand and then get the hell out of there.

  He had no interest in meeting up with Walker.

  After all, he had faith in his self-control. But he wasn't going to push his luck.

  * * *

  Grace was sitting at the vanity in her bathroom when she thought she heard a knock at her door. She put her hairbrush down and listened.

  When another knock came, she traded the towel she'd wrapped around herself for a silk robe and went to the door. She was surprised to see Smith standing in the hall.

  Going by the expression on his face, his mood hadn't improved.

  "Mind if I come in?"

  "Please." She stepped back, acutely aware that she was naked under the robe.

  When he shut the door, his eyes lingered on her damp hair but his voice was gruff and standoffish.

  "Take this." Smith held out a small black box the size of a pager. "It's a panic button. Press it and I'll come."

  "Thank you," she said, examining it.

  He turned to go.

  "Smith?" She hadn't meant to speak, but his name just jumped out of her mouth. As he looked over his shoulder at her, her heart began to pound.

  There were so many things she wanted to say to him. None of them were easy. Few made sense. And he didn't look like he was in the mood for talking.

  "Never mind," she muttered.

  There was a long silence between them. And then he turned around, his mouth lifting in a humorless smile.

  "You seemed surprised it was me knocking at your door. Expecting someone else? "

  She frowned. "No."

  "You sure about that?"

  "Who would—you mean Jack?"

  "Seems like just the kind of guy who could juggle two women well. Probably discreet, too. Good choice, if you're looking for an affair."

  Grace pulled the lapels of her robe closer together. "I'm not looking for one."

  "You sure about that, Countess?"

  His eyes were glittering as he looked her over and she was confused but drawn by the change in him. Sexual energy started coming off him in waves of heat.

  "John?" she whispered, aware that it was an invitation of sorts.

  He shook his head, although she wasn't sure whether it was to turn her down or because he was disappointed in himself.

  "You are so goddamn beautiful," he said, his eyes moving over her face, down her neck, over her body. "I almost hate you for it."

  "I don't want you to hate me."

  "Yeah, well, it'd be easier to handle than what I'm feeling now."

  "What are you feeling?" Her voice had gone breathless.

  "Like I want you naked and underneath me."

  Involuntarily, Grace took a step toward him and, in a blur of motion, he took her into his arms. His lips came down on hers in a kiss that was hard and full of demand. Opening her mouth, taking him inside of her, she moaned. This was what she had wanted for so long, since that night that they had almost made love.

  And tonight, she wasn't going to turn back.

  She felt his hands loosen the robe and slip underneath, on to her skin. As he brushed over her breasts, she strained to get closer to him. Grabbing the front of his shirt, she fumbled with the buttons.

  Suddenly, there was a sharp knock at the door.

  "You decent? I hope not," Jack said, throwing it open. "I brought the wine—"

  Grace and Smith pulled apart, panting. As she yanked her robe back into place, she could feel the blood rush into her face. In the awkward moment that followed, she thought of the contractors who'd interrupted them that morning so long ago.

  She and John had god-awful timing, she thought. Or maybe it was the rest of the world with the problem. Either way, it was maddening.

  Jack's brows shot up into his forehead. "I didn't mean to—”

  "I was just leaving," Smith growled. As he strode past the other man, Jack stepped out of his way.

  After the door was slammed shut, her friend looked at her ruefully. "I didn't know you and he were—ah... It sure as hell explains a lot."

  Grace cleared her throat and wondered what she should do. She wanted to rush across the hall to John and disabuse him of the conclusion he'd obviously jumped to. However, if the look on his face as he'd left was anything to go by, the last thing he'd want would be a visit from her.

  In the meantime, her friend was waiting for an explanation.

  "Ah—we're not together. Or at least, it's not what it looks—looked like." She paused. "Oh, hell."

  She went over to a window and stared out at the ocean. Moonlight was falling on the waves, dancing across the swells.

  "What's going on, Grace?"

  She threw up her hands, feeling like she couldn't keep up the guise of being happily married any longer. "You might as well know that Ranulf and I have separated."

  Jack let out a low whistle. "I'm sorry. When did this happen?"

  "A month ago. I'm filing for divorce."

  " Because of the man who just left?"

  She shook her head. "No, it doesn't have anything to do with John. Ranulf and I should never have gotten married in the first place."

  "Jesus, I really am sorry." There was a pause and then Jack let out a soft laugh. "Is it all right for me to say I never really liked Ranulf? For all that fancy lineage of his, he wasn't good enough for you."

  "That's sweet of you to say." She turned to her friend, a sad smile on her face.

  "So who's this Smith guy?"

  "It's complicated. But there's nothing ... going on between us." She shot him a dry look. "In spite of what you walked in on."

  "You sure about that? I think I under
stand now why he's been looking at me as if I had a bull's-eye on my chest and he was carrying a fistful of darts. He's being territorial. Over you."

  Grace shook her head. "Look, I don't want to talk about him, if you don't mind. It's..."

  "Complicated. I can tell."

  She smiled softly. "Listen, my mother doesn't know about Ranulf, yet. So keep it quiet. I'm going to break the news to her before I leave."

  He shook his head. "This is going to be a long weekend."

  "I've been thinking that from the moment we came over the bridge."

  Jack hesitated. "I need to say one more thing about John Smith, though."

  "Yes?"

  Her friend's expression was very serious as he nodded at the door. "Be careful with that man. Your heart is in your eyes when you look at him."

  Grace felt a chill pass over her skin. Clearly, Jack saw through her brave front and her little white lies.

  "It wasn't like this with Ranulf," she whispered. "It hasn't been like this with anyone."

  Jack put the wine and the glasses down and came over to her. "We don't get to pick who we fail in love with."

  Grace sighed unhappily. "I'm not in love with him."

  Jack put an arm around her and she leaned her head on his shoulder for a long while. When she pulled back, he smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  "Why don't we save the wine and reminiscing for another time."

  "Thanks, Jack. You're a good friend."

  He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. As he was pulling away, his cell phone went off. Somehow, he managed to answer it, pick up the bottle and glasses, and leave without dropping anything.

  Grace shut the lights off and got into bed. Her last thought was of the anger on John's face as he'd turned away.

  She'd give him some time to cool off and then she'd talk to him.

  * * *

  As Smith shut the door to his room, he felt like an idiot. A stupid idiot.

  A vision of her in that goddamn silk robe taunted him with what he had been denied.

  That Walker and she were together at this very moment was—

  He was having trouble finding the right words.

  Jesus.

  And he'd thought getting through dinner was bad? Being cooped up in a room across the hall from the bed she was putting to good use was intolerable.

  He disarmed himself with jerky motions, thinking the last thing he needed was to be anywhere near a gun.

  What he needed was air.

  Using the door at the end of the hall, he went out and walked around on the terrace until he had a full view of the ocean. Hearing the waves and feeling the cool, damp air on his face, he took a couple of deep breaths while trying to remember when he'd felt so out of control.

  It had been awhile.

  He'd had a damn fine stretch of being on top of his game until he'd met Grace. Courtesy of destiny's vicious little whim, he was feeling a lot of things, but in control wasn't one of them. He was frustrated. Horny as hell. Juiced up with aggression.

  Smith braced his hands against the railing and leaned forward. Staring off into a dark, star-studded horizon, he realized he was searching for some kind of answer in the night sky and this surprised him. He typically wasn't one for moments of reflection and the yearning he felt was as unfamiliar as the ache in his chest.

  Turning away from the silent heavens, he faced the house, only to realize he was standing outside Grace's bedroom. Through the glass, he saw her talking with Jack and then he watched her step into the other man's arms.

  Pain ripped through him, sleek and cold.

  His first instinct was to tear down the door and rip the two of them apart. To keep from acting on the impulse, he reached behind and gripped the cool wood of the railing until his palms burned.

  When she lifted her head from Jack Walker's shoulder and met the man's eyes, Smith absorbed the image like it was a stain. With terrible clarity, he saw her body arching toward Walker's, her blond hair tumbling in waves down her back, her arms reaching up and coming to rest around the man's shoulders.

  Walker stroked her face and then slowly bent down toward her lips.

  Smith wheeled away, heading back to his room.

  He didn't want to see any more for fear of what his reaction might be.

  chapter

  16

  Early the next morning, Grace went to the gardens looking for a little peace of mind. As she wandered among the flower beds that had been prepared for the coming winter, she remembered what they looked like in full bloom. Planted in a studied manner, the tea roses and the foxgloves, the peonies and the lilies, the many hybrids that her father had enjoyed cultivating, all of them blossomed into a great profusion of color and life in the summer months.

  As she continued down the lawn, the sound of the ocean grew more insistent. Overhead, a few gulls surfed high above the water as the dawn's rays fanned out across the pale blue sky. It was chilly and she was glad she'd put on a thick sweater.

  At the edge of the property, overlooking the drop to the sea, there was a shingled bathhouse, white-trimmed, green roofed. It had a shallow porch with two white wicker chairs on it and she sat down in one, hearing the weave creak as her weight was accepted in the seat. She kicked off her flats and stretched out her legs so that her heels rested on the railing.

  Wiggling her toes at the arriving sun, she watched as a gull shifted direction and came in for a smooth landing,a couple of yards away. She was about to tell him she wasn't a good bet if he was looking for breakfast when she realized she wasn't alone.

  Grace shifted in the chair and saw Smith standing at the other edge of the property under the arms of an old maple tree. He was leaning up against the trunk and staring out at the ocean. She wondered how he knew she'd left the house. She'd been so quiet.

  Figuring she had nothing to lose, she got out of the chair and walked over to him. When he didn't acknowledge her approach, she was tempted to leave him alone.

  "Hi." She wasn't surprised when all he did was nod at her. Wearing a black T-shirt under his leather jacket and a pair of well-washed jeans, he was very handsome in the morning light, in a hard and remote kind of way.

  "You know, Jack is just a friend," she blurted.

  He frowned. "Who you sleep with is none of my business."

  "I'm not—" When he shot her a look of disbelief, she let out an exasperated breath. "You know, I feel pretty asinine defending myself over something I haven't done."

  When he didn't reply, frustration got the best of her. "Come on, John. Why don't you just admit you're upset? And while we're at it, why can't we talk about what's happening between us? "

  He sounded disinterested when he answered her. "Unless you want to alter the terms of our employment agreement, there's nothing to say about us."

  "Jack is not my lover. Last night—"

  He cut her off with a harsh laugh. "This may come as a royal surprise, Countess, but the world doesn't revolve around you. You may have an interest in rehashing your nocturnal exploits but I find the subject boring."

  He looked back out to the ocean.

  Maybe she was going about this the wrong way, she thought.

  She put her hand on his arm. "I wanted to be with you."

  Smith shrugged her off impatiently. "That's not really an exclusive club, is it? Now that you're getting free from your husband."

  Grace sucked in a breath. "I can't believe you said that."

  Smith pushed off the tree trunk and loomed over her. “You want to talk? Fine, but let's get real. Mr. Charm's got a whole lot to offer you, doesn't he?. I bet he's goddamn front and center with the flowers and jewelry after he gets his rocks off. Hell, he'd even make a great second husband. All I can offer you is a one-night stand with a member of the lower classes. Weighing your options, I think you made the right choice."

  "Excuse me," she said, hotly, "but if you recall, you were the one turning me down the night of my birthday. And I did not sleep with
Jack!"

  Smith glared at her. "That lie is a waste of breath, Countess."

  "Don't call me that," she snapped.

  "Fine. How does whore sound?”

  Grace hissed as she was blinded by anger. With a sharp movement, she drew back her hand, ready to slap him.

  "You want to hit me?" he growled. "Go ahead."

  She stood there, shaking, unable to comprehend what she was doing.

  Smith leaned in closer, jutting out his chin. "Hell, because you're supposedly a lady, I'll even make it easy for you. Aim high and follow through."

  Grace blinked and slowly dropped her hand. In a voice rough with emotion, she whispered, "God help me. I wish I had never met you." With her heart in her throat, she ran toward the house.

  * * *

  Grace closed her bedroom door and paced around, waiting for her body to stop trembling. She couldn't remember being that mad at anyone before and knew the strength of her emotions was about so much more than just the words he'd spoken or the tone he'd used. She had the sense they were circling around what they wanted and avoiding the truth. Clearly, it was driving them both mad.

  She was convinced Smith was beginning to care for her. It was the only explanation for his behavior toward Jack. And she knew damn well how she was feeling about him. The fact that they couldn't just admit what was between them upset her the most.

  Sitting down on her bed, she saw the panic button and picked it up, resenting the reminder of the real reason John was in her life. She was finding it difficult to separate her feelings for him from the reality that he worked for her. And would be leaving, perhaps some day soon. She couldn't imagine what it would be like not to see him. Even when he was frustrating the hell out of her, she wanted him around.

  When a soft knock sounded, she threw the little black box down onto the pillow and straightened her clothes.

  "Yes?"

  When John came in, she stood up, surprised.

  "This won't take long," he said, shutting the door and leaning back against it. His expression was remote.