by JoAnn Ross
“I appreciate the compliment, ma’am. But I think I’ll pass.”
She shook her head. “What a waste.” Finally, she turned to Grace. “You look absolutely stunning, dear. I loved that dress the first time I saw it.”
“It’s new.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean on you. I ran into Buffy and your ex leaving the hotel, and she just happens to be wearing the same gown. Isn’t that an amazing coincidence?”
Grace tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. But it did. If any other woman were to show up wearing the same dress, she would have shrugged it off. But Buffy wasn’t just any other woman, and since publishing was a very small, incestuous world, and everyone was aware of the sordid story, she knew she’d just been catapulted into the center of attention for the evening.
“It certainly is.” She was proud of herself when she managed to keep her voice mild. And vaguely disinterested.
“Obviously, you and Buffy have more in common than just books and men,” Geraldine decided. Her brocade bag began to ring. “Oh, damn.” She paused, took out a cellular phone and flipped it open. “Geraldine Manning,” she barked, obviously irritated by the interruption.
She rolled her eyes as she listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. Then cursed beneath her breath. “All right. I’ll be right there.”
The publisher sighed heavily and shook her head. “I’m sorry, they want me on the ship. It seems they have a problem with the guest count. Dammit, George, I thought you were taking care of that.” She sighed again. “Grace, Lucas, I’ll see you both in a bit, at dinner.
“I’m so looking forward to hearing exciting tales of your previous bodyguard adventures, Lucas. If I can’t get you on the cover of a book, perhaps we can think of a way to turn your true-life stories into a novel.
“Or better yet,” she murmured, giving him another calculating perusal, “an autobiography. With you to promote it, the copies would literally leap off the shelves into women’s shopping bags.”
Before Lucas could assure her that he had no intention of entering the publishing business, she’d taken off with long, purposeful strides. They watched as she appeared to be giving the editorial director a tongue-lashing.
“The lady’s not exactly going to win any awards for employer of the year,” Lucas said.
“It appears George doesn’t have the nerve to stand up to her,” Grace said. “But I’d bet any slasher writer would love a glimpse into his fantasy life.” She shook her head. “It’s a shame, really. I’ve heard, through the grapevine, that he was very well thought of when he was heading up the diaper company. And Tina assured me, when the takeover first occurred, that he truly loves books. And was looking forward to marketing them.”
“Now he’s relegated to acting as pet-sitter to a cross-dressing mop of fur,” Lucas murmured. “I gotta tell you, Gracie, darlin’, you did choose one peculiar business.” He smiled down at her. “So, do you want to run back to Sausalito before dinner?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“To change clothes.”
“Oh.” The idea of racing across the bridge, then back again, just because her nemesis was about to show up in the same dress, seemed ludicrous. And unnecessary. Because just by showing up with Lucas, she’d already guaranteed that every writer, editor and agent on board would be watching them.
“No. It’s not that big a deal.”
“Especially since you look a damn sight better.”
“You haven’t even seen my competition yet.”
“I don’t have to. There’s not a woman at this conference who can hold a candle to you, darlin’. Especially that skinny little beanpole, Bubbles.”
Grace couldn’t help giggling a little at that. “It’s Buffy.”
“Yeah. Right.” He grinned down at her. “I’ll have to keep that in mind. Wouldn’t want to offend anyone.”
She laughed again. Then, feeling incredibly lighthearted for someone who’d been receiving death threats, she found herself actually looking forward to the evening.
The cruise ship was as elaborate as a five-star hotel. The tables set up beside the huge windows were draped in white damask, and the banquettes and chairs were covered in ivory brocade. Candles flickered in antique silver holders in the center of the tables, and the light from the huge chandelier over the parquet dance floor bounced off sequins and crystal beads, splitting into rainbows that flashed like miniature strobe lights.
Champagne flowed, tuxedo-clad waiters rushed between tables and kitchen with silver trays laden with epicurean delights, and a mouth-watering array of pastries had been set up in towering tiers on the dessert table at one end of the dance floor. And if that wasn’t enough to send even the most stalwart of chocoholics into endorphin overload, boxes of San Francisco’s famed Ghiradelli chocolates had been placed on each table.
But Grace didn’t need champagne to feel as if she was floating, didn’t need any melt-in-the-mouth eclairs or chocolates to feel high. Just being with Lucas was enough to make her wish she could stop time right here and now. Even the murmur of an entire room of women when Buffy had arrived at the ship wearing the same frothy white gown Grace had paid a fortune for couldn’t dampen her pleasure.
“You know,” he murmured in her ear as they swayed together on the dance floor, “I think I should be paying you for this gig.”
“Why?”
“This hardly feels like work.” His hand pressed against the small of her back to hold her even closer. The feel of his muscular thighs against hers was enough to make Grace light-headed. For the first time in her life, she understood all too well why her heroines felt like swooning whenever they were in dose proximity to the hero. “And I sure can’t remember ever dancing with a client.”
The British film star had wanted him to. Both vertically out on the dance floors of the mind-numbing number of dubs she’d dragged him to, and horizontally back at the hotel afterward. But that didn’t count, since Lucas hadn’t had any trouble turning her down.
“You’re supposed to keep a dose eye on me,” Grace reminded him. As she tilted her head and looked up at him through her fringe of lashes, she realized she was actually flirting. Something she hadn’t even realized she’d known how to do.
“No problem with that assignment.” He chuckled and spun her around in a complex series of steps that made her feel like Ginger Rogers. “I’m not going to be putting in for hardship pay, that’s for sure.”
The song ended. He dipped her, bending her back over his arm so deeply that she was physically vulnerable and would have fallen if he suddenly released her. But Grace trusted him implicitly.
Their eyes met. And held, exchanging intimate messages too numerous and complex to catalog. Grace wasn’t certain, but she thought her heart had ceased to beat as well. And she realized, on some distant level, that she was holding her breath.
They could have been the only two people in the room. Lucas was the one to break the suspended spell. “This was a mistake.” He pulled her back up and began shepherding her through the couples still crowded together on the dance floor.
“Dancing?”
“No. This damn cruise. I should have at least arranged to have a lifeboat ready so we could bail out of here.” He shook his head. “I never realized until tonight exactly how long three hours could be.”
She laughed at that and was amazed at the sultry sound coming from her lips. Where on earth had this siren come from? she wondered. “Poor darling. Didn’t your grandmother Fancy ever teach you that patience was a virtue?”
“Yeah.” His good mood restored, he flashed her that dazzling buccaneer’s grin. “But I’ve never claimed to be a virtuous guy.”
Even as she returned his smile, Grace knew that to be a lie. Lucas was the most honorable man she’d ever met. And the sexiest, which reminded her exactly how long it had been since he’d kissed her.
“It’s getting a little stuffy in here,” she murmured.
“What would you say
to taking a stroll around the deck?”
He rewarded her suggestion with another grin, more wicked and suggestive than the previous one. “Sweetheart, I thought you’d never ask.”
The night was cool and foggy, making the lights of the city look misty and romantic. In the distance, the lonely sound of foghorns tolled.
“You sure you want to do this?” he asked as the cold tendrils of fog wafted by like silent ghosts.
“Absolubely.”
“As your bodyguard, it’s my job to keep you safe. And well. I sure wouldn’t want you getting a cold.”
She fluttered her lashes, feeling amazingly like a sultry combination of Eve, Salome and Scarlett. Like every femme fatale ever born. She felt, Grace thought headily, like the kind of woman who could handle a man like Lucas Kincaid. The kind of woman who could wrap big strong heroes around her little finger.
“With you to keep me warm, I’ll be fine. Besides, I wanted to get you out of there before Anne tries to drag you away. She’s been eating you up with her greedy eyes all night.”
The Queen of Romance had arrived at the last minute, resplendent in a black sequined halter top and a pencil thin leopard print crepe skirt slit nearly to her hip.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“She looked as if she’s been starving her entire life and someone had declared you to be her own personal smorgasbord.”
He chuckled, the sound rich and warm and too appealing for comfort. “If anyone’s going to be taking a bite out of me, Gracie, darlin’, it’s you.” He shrugged out of his black jacket and draped it over her bare shoulders. “Speaking of which…”
Leaning back against the damp railing, he pulled her into his arms and was about to kiss her when a voice called her name from out of the fog.
Muttering a curse beneath her breath, Grace turned and found herself face-to-face with Buffy, her husband-stealing ex-editor.
Buffy Cunningham Radcliffe was all the things Grace was not: petite, blond and, Grace reminded herself, treacherous and self-serving.
“Hello, Buffy.” Grace gave the woman she’d once thought to be a friend her coolest smile. “Nice dress.”
“I thought so when I saw it in the window at Saks.” The former editor brushed a hand down the frothy skirt. “It appears we have similar taste in more than books.”
“It appears so. Which is why, I suppose, you stole my husband.”
“About that…” Buffy frowned and dragged her hand through her sleek honey bob. “We haven’t had a chance to talk since your marriage broke up, Grace, and I feel I owe you an explanation—”
“Don’t bother.” Losing her husband didn’t hurt now because it hadn’t hurt then, Grace realized. Except for the blow to her pride. “Actually, Buffy, you’re more than welcome to Robert. Quite honestly, I’d already written him off as one of those foolish youthful mistakes, like crocheted string bikinis and learning The Hustle.”
“So you really don’t have any feelings for Robert any longer?”
“None.” Grace didn’t even hate her former husband for his betrayal, because the sad fact was he wasn’t worth the emotional energy. And never had been.
“I’m glad to hear that” If pauses could be pregnant, Grace decided this one had to be full term. “Then do you think there’s a possibility you might be willing to collaborate with him again?” Buffy ventured tentatively.
“What?” Grace felt her jaw drop. “You can’t be serious.”
“I realize it may sound like an unusual arrangement, Grace, but if you’ll just hear me out—”
“It’s not just an unusual arrangement. It’s impossible. Besides, Robert’s and my working relationship was never a true collaboration. Because, in case you haven’t noticed, Buffy, your husband can’t write.”
“Well, yes.” Buffy swiped her hand through her hair again. Another diamond Grace’s royalties had paid for flashed like a shooting star. “That appears to be the case. It’s also why he—we—need you.”
“I see. And what, exactly, would I get out of it?”
“Robert is a terrific promoter.”
“Although no one asked my opinion, I’d think that Grace’s work would pretty much promote itself,” Lucas said.
“Well, yes. Of course it does,” Buffy agreed quickly. “Grace is a wonderful writer. Probably the best in the business. But even great books need a little promotional push, especially when they first come out.
“You’ve never enjoyed appearing at conferences or book fairs, Grace. But Robert excels in being in the spotlight.
“And, of course, the fact that he’s a man supposedly writing in a woman’s genre garners even more press. The three of us had a very good partnership. It could be again.”
Grace folded her arms across the beaded bodice of her Cinderella gown. “Not in this lifetime.”
“You sound very firm about that.”
Grace wondered if Buffy was really so stupid, or merely incredibly desperate. “My feet—and the rest of me—are set in concrete.”
“I see.” Buffy sighed and looked out over the water at the landmark Ghiradelli sign, which was barely visible in the bank of fog. “I told Robert that’s what you’d say, but he insisted I give it the old college try.” She paused, then turned back to Grace. “How are you and Tina getting along?”
“Fine. As always.”
“I heard, through the grapevine, that there’s a problem with your new contract.”
“Oh?” Grace managed a bland expression even as she tried to figure out where this could have come from. “I wasn’t aware of any problems. We’re in negotiations, which seem to get more prolonged with each book, but I haven’t any doubts we’ll come to terms that will satisfy all sides.”
“That’s good to hear. So, I suppose this means you’re not in the market for new representation?”
It was her second surprise of the evening. Grace couldn’t decide whether Buffy was the most clueless individual she’d ever known, or the most desperate. “Are you actually suggesting I leave Tina and sign with you?”
“I was an editor at Penbrook for several years, Grace. I know the way they work, the way they think. I know all their little hot buttons. Whatever Tina’s getting you, I can do better.”
Grace went from surprised to flabbergasted. She couldn’t imagine Buffy being so brazen as to even suggest such a thing. Then again, she’d never imagined her long-time editor would steal her husband, either. “You can’t be serious.”
“Look, Grace—” the former-editor-turned-agent put a hand on Grace’s arm, her fingernails digging deep “—you have to understand, I’m in a bit of a bind here. Robert doesn’t want me to take on any more clients because he feels they’d take my attention away from him—”
“That sounds familiar. Robert has always needed to be the center of attention.”
“The problem is he can’t write anything even remotely publishable. And I guess he’s used to living on the Roberta Grace income, because he’s been going through my credit cards like there’s no tomorrow.” She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “To be perfectly honest, I’m at the end of my rope.”
“Try putting it around his neck and throwing him off the pier,” Grace suggested. “Look, Buffy, it’s been interesting chatting with you, and I truly am sorry that everything has gone so badly for you. But I’m not the answer to your problems.”
“You could be. If you gave up the Roberta Grace name.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Perhaps because you owe me.”
“I do?”
“I found you in the slush pile. I built your career.” As if concerned at how bad that sounded, Buffy backtracked just a bit. “You’re a wonderful writer, Grace.” Her voice had gone from strident to soft and coaxing. “You could start over again without any problem.”
Her fingers were locked around Grace’s wrist like a handcuff. “If Robert had the rights to the Roberta Grace name,” she continued, “we could hire someone to ghostwr
ite for him—”
“Someone like Anne Kilgallen?”
“Well, yes.” Grace saw the guilty look flash in Buffy’s blue eyes. “I take it you’ve spoken with Anne.”
“Briefly. And needless to say, she mentioned it right away. And I’ll tell you what I didn’t bother to tell her…. Nothing’s going to change my mind. Robert got a free ride for years, playing the part of the rich and famous male romance writer while I stayed home researching and writing the books.
“Now, I’ll accept some of the blame for allowing that to happen, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving up what I’ve worked so hard to achieve. I created the Roberta Grace name. And I’m keeping it.”
She pried Buffy’s steely grip loose. “And if you and your husband have a problem with that, Buffy, then I guess I’ll be seeing both of you in court.”
That said, she turned and looked up at Lucas. “It seems to have gotten a bit crowded out here. Didn’t they mention fireworks off the starboard side of the boat? Perhaps we could watch them from another deck.”
“Sounds good to me.” He nodded to Buffy, whose glare looked hot enough to melt diamonds.
“She doesn’t seem real happy,” he observed as they made their way to the metal stairs.
Grace shrugged. “She made her bed, she’ll just have to lie in it.” She didn’t want to think about Buffy. Or Robert. Or any of them. She just wanted to enjoy this magical night with Lucas.
“Speaking of beds—” he pulled her into a dark corner and drew her into his arms “—how long did you say this boat ride was supposed to last?”
The lingering irritation left by her encounter with Buffy faded, like fog disappearing beneath a hot summer sun. Grace laughed and lifted her mouth for his kiss.
On the other side of the deck, Buffy Cunningham Radcliffe hunched against the cold, smoking a cigarette as she tried to calm her tattered nerves and soothe her whirling mind. Immersed as she was in her turmoiled thoughts, surrounded by the cold wet fog, which felt like icy fingers on her flesh, she failed to see the figure stealing up behind her.
There was a high-pitched whistling sound, followed by a thunderous boom as the promised fireworks exploded high in the sky over the bay.
