“I hope that’s the end of it, and I really hope and pray they find whoever shot you,” Collins said.
Logan walked in and heard what she’d said. “Jane told me that Martin guy was the shooter.”
His eyes were red, and it was obvious he’d been crying. No one mentioned his condition.
“I thought so, too,” Olivia said. “But until there’s absolute proof, Grayson is going to continue to provide protection for me. He doesn’t care if I want a bodyguard following me around or not. He’s extremely stubborn.”
“What’s absolute proof?” Logan asked. He walked to the side of the bed and kissed Jane’s forehead.
“A confession would seal it,” Jane suggested. “But he obviously isn’t talking.”
“Finding the weapon would also do it. If they could trace it to Martin, Grayson would be convinced,” Olivia said.
“When do you get to go home?” Collins asked Jane.
“Hopefully tomorrow,” she answered. “Olivia, will you be around in a couple of weeks?”
“For the Dracula room? Absolutely.”
“Why is the doctor waiting so long?” Collins wondered.
“He wants me to finish some meds first.”
Olivia yawned again. “I’m exhausted. I’m going home. Come on, Collins. Let Jane visit with her brother.”
Olivia waited until she and Collins were in the elevator before talking about Jane’s condition. “She’s losing her hair.”
“I saw it on the pillow,” Collins said.
“She doesn’t want us to know.”
“We could try to talk to the doctor who’s covering for Dr. Pardieu, but he has to hold her confidence, and if she wants to keep it secret, he can’t tell us anything.”
Several heartbeats later, Collins took Olivia’s hand and whispered, “It’s back, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” Olivia allowed. Determined to be more positive, she added, “And maybe not.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Olivia had suffered a week from hell. The phones never stopped ringing; the threats never subsided, and because of the disruption she was inadvertently causing at the office, she’d been forced to work at home. By Friday, she was feeling like a caged orangutan.
She pretty much looked like one, too. She continued to shower and brush her teeth every day, but getting dressed didn’t seem all that necessary. Her new uniform was a pair of baggy sweats and an old faded T-shirt. She didn’t bother with a bra or shoes and didn’t do much of anything with her hair. Every morning she put it up in a ponytail, but by nightfall, most of it was hanging around her face. Her eating habits weren’t much better. She walked around with a bag of chips—the unhealthy kind—and a Diet Coke.
She was sitting cross-legged on the floor with her laptop balanced on her knees and a pencil clutched in her teeth. She had just reached for a potato chip when there was an unexpected knock at the door. She stuck the pencil in her hair, popped the chip in her mouth, and went to answer it.
When the door opened, Grayson took one look at her and started laughing.
She dared him to criticize her. “What’s so funny?”
He wasn’t about to tell her. In her present frame of mind, she wouldn’t believe him if he told her that, no matter how she dressed, she was beautiful to him. Her face scrubbed clean and dressed in clothes that could pass for bag lady rejects, Olivia could still grace the cover of any glamour magazine.
The phone was ringing as he shut the door behind him and locked it. Another caller was leaving a threatening message.
“How many . . .” Grayson began.
She shoved the bag of chips into his hand. “Hold that thought,” she said as she rushed into the study to listen to the rest of the message.
The voice was an angry growl. “You got that, bitch? Bill and me are gonna hurt you because you took all that money. We’re gonna . . .”
Olivia picked up the phone before Grayson could get to her and yelled, “It’s not ‘Bill and me’—it’s ‘Bill and I are going to hurt you’—dumb ass.” She slammed the phone down.
“Okay, sweetheart. I think it’s time for you to get out for a little while,” Grayson said calmly. He put his hands on her shoulders and guided her out of the study. She was as stiff as an ironing board.
“How can you want to be seen with me?” She sounded pitiful. She realized she was feeling sorry for herself, but the phone calls were getting to her, and so was the isolation. She hadn’t stepped outside her apartment since Monday.
“I’m hoping you’ll change your clothes and put on shoes,” he answered drily, as he pushed her along into her bedroom.
“I’m going to have to change my name,” she said, “and move to Europe where no one knows me. That’s what I have to do.”
“It will get better,” he promised.
She scoffed at his prediction. Grayson turned her around and tilted her chin up. “Snorting isn’t ladylike, sweetheart.”
Ignoring his comment, she said, “Do you know what’s really ironic? Natalie and my mother haven’t gotten all these hostile calls.”
“Have you talked to them?”
“Only once. Natalie’s been leaving her own horrible messages for me. I picked up yesterday when she called, and it was more of the same. She and Mother have gone into hiding, so these threatening calls aren’t reaching them.”
“Do you want them to get the threatening calls?”
“No, of course not. I’m just saying . . .”
The tenderness in his eyes warmed her heart, and suddenly the whining and complaining weren’t all that satisfying.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“I’m taking you out to dinner.”
“Do you have your gun with you?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
“Okay. If you want to risk it, we’ll go to dinner.”
The lopsided ponytail was driving him to distraction. He pulled the elastic band free and handed it to her. “That’s better,” he said. He traced the side of her jaw with his fingers, leaned down, and kissed her.
“Sometimes you overwhelm me,” she whispered. How could this gorgeous, sexy man want to be with her? He could have any woman in the world, and yet here he was.
“Overwhelm, huh? I like that.”
He looked a little too arrogantly pleased with himself. “Only sometimes, Grayson.”
“We have a reservation at Veronique’s in ninety minutes. You’re wasting time.”
She was astounded. Veronique’s was the hottest restaurant in D.C. It had received rave reviews and had been booked solid every night since it opened.
“It takes six months to get a reservation there. How did you—”
“Olivia?”
“Yes?”
“Wear the white dress.”
She gasped. “But that means—”
“I’ll explain everything in the car. Get moving.”
He didn’t have to tell her again. She was already stripping out of her clothes in the bathroom before he pulled the bedroom door closed behind him. She showered and washed and dried her hair in record time. It took her longer to do her makeup. She was going for the pouty, sultry look. Her dark, smoky eye makeup made the color of her eyes more intense. After applying her red lipstick, she dropped her robe, sprayed perfume, and slipped into her lacy undergarments. Next came the dress. It was probably sinful to love a piece of clothing as much as she loved this dress, but it was so perfect. It was made in 1960, but it had never been worn . . . until tonight. She’d paid a fortune for it at a vintage shop, and it was worth every dollar. It had a low-cut square neckline and long tapered sleeves that came just below her wrist. The straight skirt was short, just to her knees, and the fabric clung to every curve of her body. This dress was so spectacular, it would make a
ny woman look and feel like a temptress.
And she was ready. After one last inspection in the full-length mirror, Olivia took a deep breath and opened the door without making a sound.
Grayson was standing by the window. His head was bent, and he was going through his text messages. He glanced up and saw her, and his reaction was instantaneous. His mouth suddenly went dry. He couldn’t swallow, and breathing was impossible. She was stunning. He was so aroused, he would have sworn his blood was on fire coursing through his veins.
Olivia didn’t need to hear any compliments. His smoldering eyes said it all.
A minute passed and then another, and he still hadn’t said a word. He slowly began to walk toward her. The way he was looking at her made her heart race. If he were a panther, she was his prey, and every nerve in her body tensed in anticipation.
For Grayson, the primal need to touch her overrode caution. He stood in front of her, one hand on the small of her back, the other at her neck. He roughly twisted her hair around his fist, forced her head back, and growled, “Open your mouth for me,” a scant second before his mouth covered hers. His tongue thrust inside, stroking hers, forcing her to respond. He savored the taste of her. For this moment in time she was completely his. No one else could have her. She belonged to him.
The scorching kiss ended. He lifted his head, and staring into her eyes, he slowly rubbed his thumb across her lips. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll get your coat.”
Olivia could barely get her wits about her. She hurried back into the bedroom to collect her evening bag. The kiss so rattled her, she’d almost forgotten it. She caught a glimpse at her reflection in the mirror. Her lipstick had stayed on her lips. Impressive, she thought. Especially considering the way Grayson had tried to devour her. Just thinking about that kiss made her heartbeat quicken.
Grayson helped her with her coat and locked the door for her. He still hadn’t said a word about her appearance, and for some reason she was inordinately pleased by that fact.
He had parked illegally in front of her building again. John was standing behind the counter talking to a policeman at the door. She slowed to greet them, but Grayson had her elbow and was in a hurry to get her in the car. Were there angry people outside waiting for her? Sleet was spitting across the windshield. Who would stand outside in this weather? She could feel a dark cloud closing in on her mood and rebelled against it. Not tonight. She was not going to be pessimistic and worry about anything. She was going to have the most wonderful evening with Grayson. No worries. No complications.
Once they were on their way, he finally spoke. “I’m gonna want you to keep your coat on during dinner.”
She laughed. He didn’t join in. “Oh my . . . you’re serious? I am not keeping my coat on while I eat.” She laughed again. “So, you like the dress?”
“How about I tell you what I wanted to do to you when I saw you standing in the doorway?”
Her face felt warm, and she knew she was blushing. “The dress isn’t inappropriate . . . is it?”
His slow smile caught her by surprise. “No, the dress is beautiful.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
He decided he might as well tell her the truth. “It’s you. You’re the problem.”
Turning toward him, she folded her arms defensively. “Would you care to explain?”
“It’s the way you fill out the dress. It hugs your perfect, voluptuous body, and the sensual way you move in it . . . hell, it should be illegal.” His voice was becoming more intense. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever known, and in that dress . . .” He shook his head. “Just keep the coat on.”
He thought her body was voluptuous? She fought the urge to look down at her chest. Wait a minute. . . . Was voluptuous a code word for “fat”? No, it couldn’t be. Grayson wouldn’t be looking at her that way if that’s what he meant. He was telling her she looked hot. She smiled at him to let him know she appreciated the compliment, but he returned her smile with a frown.
“Now what?” she asked.
“How many other men have seen you in that dress?”
“This dress is a 1960 vintage—”
“How many?”
“None. This is the first time I’ve worn it. I was waiting for a special occasion, and you did tell me to wear it.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Remember the promise? As soon as you were convinced you had the right man behind bars for trying to kill me, you’d pull the bodyguards and we’d celebrate.”
“We’ve got the gun—”
She interrupted. “The gun used to shoot me?”
“Yes,” he said, smiling. “That gun.”
“Where did you find it?”
Grayson promised to tell her everything later. He pulled up to the restaurant entrance. A valet rushed forward to open Olivia’s door while another attendant came around to give Grayson a claim ticket. He told the man to keep his car close.
Veronique’s was a small bistro with a European flair. Grayson was watching the crowd as they entered. He thought every man there was staring at Olivia, and he didn’t like that one little bit. She hadn’t taken off her coat yet, but the second she’d walked in, she had their attention.
“Would you like to check your coat?” the maÎtre d’ asked her when they stepped up to his podium.
She looked at Grayson. “Would I?”
He muttered something she couldn’t quite catch before he helped her remove her coat. He took her hand and headed to the bar. Like the sea parting, men stepped back on either side, making a path for her. It was actually comical, and had he not been feeling so possessive of her, Grayson might have laughed. Instead, he decided a little intimidation was called for, and he unbuttoned his suit jacket so that his badge and gun were visible.
Olivia also noticed the stares. Her reaction was panic. Ever since the scandal with her father had hit the news, various photos of the MacKenzies had been plastered on all the media. There were quite a few pictures of her parents and her sister attending parties, and since Olivia was never with them, she hadn’t expected she’d be so easily recognized.
She turned back to Grayson and whispered into his ear. “I’m not so sure this was a good idea. I think some of these people might know who I am. They’re staring. Maybe we should leave.”
He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “It’s the dress they’re staring at.” It wasn’t just the dress, of course. They were staring at a beautiful woman.
The maitre d’ appeared and told them their table was ready. Grayson didn’t like the first choice—the table was in the middle of the room—but another was available against the wall near the back. It was more intimate.
Once Olivia was seated with a menu in front of her, she began to relax. Her back was to the other diners, and she decided she would let Grayson handle any problems tonight. If anyone wanted to get in her face and yell at her because of what her father had done, she would let Grayson shoo him away. She was not going to let anyone or anything mar her evening.
She tried to ask Grayson for the details about the gun, but he shook his head and said, “We’ll talk after dinner. Every time I think about you getting shot, I get angry, real angry. I don’t want to ruin my appetite.”
She turned her attention to the menu. Each selection was written in French with the English translation below. Everything sounded wonderful.
“I’m starving,” she admitted.
“Potato chips didn’t do it for you?”
A waiter placed a silver basket filled with freshly baked bread and a small silver disk with sweet, creamy butter on the table.
“Dr. Pardieu would like this restaurant,” she remarked.
Grayson’s cell phone vibrated. He pulled it out of his pocket to see who was calling, then quickly got up from the t
able. “I’ll be right back. I’ve got to take this.”
He wasn’t gone long. “I’m sorry, Olivia, but we have to leave. Henry’s on his way to the emergency room to get stitches. It doesn’t sound too bad,” he rushed to add when the color left Olivia’s face.
She didn’t ask questions until they were in the car. “What happened to him?”
“He went to a birthday party at one of those indoor playgrounds. I guess he tried to do a summersault into some kind of ball pit and didn’t quite make it. Ralph’s father thinks Henry will need about six stitches in his forehead. Ralph is Henry’s best friend, and he doesn’t have a brain in his head either.”
“Henry’s a smart little boy.”
“Yes, he is,” he agreed. “But he also just turned nine, and at that age, caution isn’t a word he’s familiar with.”
A few minutes later, they were walking into the emergency room lobby. Ralph and his father were in the waiting area. As soon as they saw Grayson, they hurried over.
“Henry’s getting an X-ray to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion. Who’s this?” the father asked, thrusting his hand out to Olivia.
Grayson made the introductions. “Olivia, this is Dr. Ralph Jones.”
The doctor wasn’t letting go of Olivia’s hand. Staring intently at her, he said, “I’m an ophthalmologist. A divorced ophthalmologist. Would you like to sit with Ralph Junior and me while Grayson checks on Henry?”
What the hell? Grayson thought. Ralph was hitting on her. Grayson put his arm around her shoulder and said, “She works for the IRS.”
A pallor came over the doctor, but he quickly recovered. “Someone’s got to, I suppose. Why don’t you tell me all about your job?”
“She’s coming with me,” Grayson said. “Let go of her, Jones. You don’t need to stay now that I’m here.”
Olivia softened the harshness of his command. “I’d like to sit with Henry.”
She noticed a nurse waving to her. It was Kathleen from the chemo ward. Olivia excused herself and went to say hello. “What are you doing in the ER?”
Sweet Talk Page 29
