She frowned. How had he known it was her birthday?
Her eyes restlessly moved around the room as she tried to deal with her confusion. And then she saw, face open on the couch, her diary.
Oh, God.
She went over and looked at what he must have read.
Yup. Her little birthday wish.
Grace grimaced, feeling like a fool.
A wrinkle in time, she thought, closing the cover. That's what she needed. So she could go back to three o'clock in the morning and remember to take the thing down the hall with her.
A wrinkle in time or half an ounce of common sense.
chapter
12
Standing in the shower, Smith let the water run down over his head and his shoulders. It was hot enough to sting his skin but he needed some distraction and physical pain was always a good one.
He'd been lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling in the dark as she'd left her room the night before. When she came back down the hall, the pause she had taken in front of his door had been a temptation he'd barely resisted. He could still feel the sheet balled up in his fist as he'd let her go to her bedroom alone.
As soon as she'd settled down, it was his turn to pace around the penthouse. While walking from room to room, he'd thought about the fact that they were both sleepless and edgy although not necessarily for the same reason. That hesitation in his doorway could have been because of fear, but he wanted to believe there was another reason for it. He wanted to believe she couldn't sleep because she was as sexually frustrated as he was.
It was right about then that he'd passed by the couch and saw a small book lying face up on the cushion. He'd bent over, looked at the elegant, neat script, and smiled when he finished reading it.
He'd love to be her goddamn birthday present.
Smith turned up the water a little hotter.
Christ, he thought. He wanted her. And, in spite of the fact that she'd pulled away before, she obviously still wanted him. What would be so wrong if they gave in to the urge? Just once?
Okay, it violated every professional standard he'd ever set for himself. But he was pretty goddamn tired of the frustration he was battling day and night.
Smith braced his arms against the marble wall and leaned in, feeling the muscles in his back stretch and the water hit behind his neck.
He liked clear divisions. Safe and dangerous. Smart and stupid. He'd always believed that life was pretty simple if you took care of business and made the right choices. It wasn't as if right and wrong were hard to discern.
For example, sleeping with a client was both dangerous and stupid.
Smith turned and let the jets pound into his back. He rolled his shoulders around, trying to loosen the tension, even though he knew it wasn't going to do any good. Nothing had eased him recently and he could feel the pressure building in his body. He suspected that the only release would be spending a night in bed with Grace.
Or maybe a week.
At least he'd know she was safe from the killer, he thought grimly.
As he stepped from the shower, the tactician in him came out. What he needed to do was assess the situation dispassionately. Review the assets and liabilities. Plan for conflict.
He'd been a Ranger, for God's sake. He was trained to reason himself out of no-win situations.
Smith turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Picking up a towel, he started to dry off.
She wanted him. He felt the same way. Those were assets.
All right, maybe assets wasn't the right word. But it was reality.
He moved on to liabilities. That list was much longer.
First, there was the professional relationship. Waking up next to a client had sure as hell never been a career goal. He knew damn well that sex always carried with it the risk of emotional involvement on the woman's side but this was especially true when it came to someone he protected. It wasn't that he was such a great catch but people in vulnerable situations could easily get attached to their protector and sex would only encourage the inappropriate connection.
And then there was the way he ran his personal life. After he slept with someone, he left. There was no cuddling or snuggling or affectionate whispering in the dark. Usually he took off because he had to catch a plane, but on those rare occasions when he wasn't leaving imminently, he'd get the hell away from them because he felt trapped. The emotional aftermath of sex always felt forced to him. He just had nothing to say to the women.
Other than good-bye.
Grace might be one hell of a sophisticated woman but she clearly wasn't a player. He suspected she'd only give herself to a man she had some kind of emotional connection with and that was why she'd pulled back the night he'd almost had her. When she'd tried to explain, he hadn't wanted her to share her feelings. He knew damn well that confidences bred intimacy and he did not want to encourage that.
With any woman.
Smith let out a curse.
Talk about new and uncharted territory. He'd never thought about the ramifications of sleeping with a woman before. Previously, it had been a binary exercise. If he wanted one, he had her.
And then kept on going.
Smith tied the towel around his waist and wiped the steam off the mirror with his forearm.
He looked at himself with a hard, unflinching stare.
So what was the answer?
He had every confidence that he could sleep with her and not become emotionally compromised. Mostly because he was incapable of forging intimate relationships. His lifestyle had him jetting around to different parts of the world at the drop of a hat, to destinations he couldn't divulge. And if the constant dislocation wasn't a problem, his line of work sure as hell was. He didn't want to come back to someone who had had to live for a month without hearing from him, wondering all the time if he wasn't coming home at all.
Too much pressure.
When he was working, he needed to think about his clients safety and his own. There was no room for worrying about some woman who might mourn him. This was why, at the age of thirty-eight, he'd never been married and had never spent more than a string of nights with any one woman.
Smith was alone in the world, except for his people at Black Watch, and he liked it that way. He didn't get lonely because he never stopped moving. And because he had no family, there were no guilt trips on those damn holidays that seemed to come around every fifteen minutes. He was free.
But what about Grace's emotions?
If they were going to make love, she had a right to know what to expect. Which was nothing but some really great sex.
Smith got dressed with an efficiency that had been drilled into him by the Army. Shaving took a total of three minutes from the time he picked up the can of shaving cream to when he put down the razor. His hair was so short, he didn't even need to brush it.
He was about to leave when he caught sight of a splash of lavender silk hanging on the back of the door. He pictured Grace in it and imagined slowly peeling the delicate material from her skin.
What if he got emotionally involved, he wondered idly.
He didn't think it was even remotely possible but he shouldn't overlook the risk. What if he made love to Grace and began to care about her? He'd already come to respect her. And he found her attractive on so many levels.
Christ, for the first time in his life, he was actually thinking about how sex would affect things between him and a woman. That was how different things were.
So what did it all mean for him? Although it was best if she didn't get emotionally attached, it was goddamn critical that he didn't. Neither of them could afford his objectivity to be compromised and, with the heart engaged, the mind could weaken. Doctors didn't treat family members for precisely this reason.