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.