chapter
13
Smith frowned as he saw the waiter pour more wine into Grace's goblet. He'd never seen her drink much of anything and yet she'd already had three glasses of the stuff. As she turned to her right and smiled at Nick Farrell, he thought that the stress was getting to her. She was pushing food around her plate and her laughter, as it drifted over to him, sounded strained.
His little proposition that they go to bed together had sure as hell added to the confusion in her life, he thought. So much for all his professional standards.
In a remarkable exercise in delusion, he'd somehow managed to throw out every lick of training and common sense he had in order to come to the conclusion that having sex with her was acceptable. He had to wonder why it had made sense to him twelve hours ago. Now, seeing the exhaustion that pulled Grace's skin tightly across her face, watching her drink, he was feeling...
Regret.
Which for a knee-jerk risk taker was about as common as a signpost in the desert.
"So Grace never did tell me how you two met," Senator Bradford said to him. She casually lifted her napkin and blotted her lips. Her eyes were very direct.
He shrugged. "At a party."
Going by the dry look he was given, the evasive answer didn't satisfy the senator and she was prepared to follow up. He had the sense that the woman's good manners hid an iron will and it reminded him of Grace.
"Do you know her husband?"
The mention of the man made him want to curse because it reminded him once again that not only was she a client, she was also legally married. Usually, he didn't have any qualms about adultery, figuring that if a woman wanted to cheat, it was none of his business. But the fact that Grace was someone's wife rankled and not because he was worried about hurting the count's precious little feelings.
He wanted her all to himself.
When he was surprised by his reaction, he told himself he should have known better. Nothing about Grace was typical and neither were his reactions to her.
"I asked, do you know Ranulf ?" The senator prompted gently.
"No, I don't," he said, putting down his fork and knife and leaning back in his chair. "And I don't have any interest in him."
A perfectly arched eyebrow rose. "Most people want to know him. He's considered quite an international figure."
"Based on what? Winning the heredity lottery? That's luck, not an accomplishment."
Bo studied him and then said softly, "There are some who do wonder what the allure is. Still, he cuts a dashing figure and for many good style and a royal title is enough to earn their affection. Frankly, I-was surprised that Grace married him, although I understand that her parents were very pleased."
"No offense, Senator, but her marriage is none of my business. We're only professional associates."
"Really? She can't keep her eyes off you and you've spent most of this meal looking down the table, returning the favor. Unless the two of you are merely pursuing ocular endeavors, I might presume something deeper is going on."
He glanced over at Bo who was smiling at him warmly. He couldn't help liking her even though she was irritating the hell out of him with her talk about Grace. "I think you're jumping to conclusions, Senator."
"I come from a family of bourbon makers, Mr. Smith. Trust me, I know a lot about love." She looked pointedly at Grace who was taking another long drink from her wineglass. "Affairs of the heart have kept my family in business for generations. Love has a way of making people need solace and the liquid variety seems to work particularly well. I believe that is why our Grace has been imbibing this evening."
"You might want to rethink that pronoun."
"Fine. Your Grace," she said, with a wink.
Bo rang the silver bell that was next to her place setting and uniformed waiters came into the room. As the dinner plates were being cleared, the senator leaned over to him and whispered, "I'll tell you what, I think you're her lover."
Smith cocked an eyebrow. "Well, I'm not."
He just wanted to be. Goddamn desperately. And evidently at the expense of doing the job he'd been hired for.
Bo sent him a knowing glance as she refolded her napkin and laid it neatly in her lap. "Well, I'll let you keep your secrets, but only because my momma raised me right."
He shook his head wryly. "And somehow that proper upbringing included drills on interrogation technique?"
"Oh no. Those I got from Daddy." The smile she gave him was full of delight.
Bo nodded over her shoulder to a waiter who began putting tall, thin shot glasses in front of each guest. They were about three inches in height, an inch in diameter and were filled with amber liquid.
She reached over and put an elegant hand on his arm.
"Just don't hurt her, okay? She's had quite enough of that already. Even though she tries to keep up a good front, I happen to know the count isn't all he's cracked up to be. He tried to throw a pass at me the night of their rehearsal dinner. I disabused him of the notion he was irresistible with a swift knee to the crotch, but he's a shit and always will be. She deserves better."
“Why are you telling me all this?"
"Because I like the way she looks at you."
Smith smiled slowly. "You're a good friend, aren't you?"
"You bet your ass."
"I didn't know senators were allowed to swear."
"Doesn't count up north. Have to get 'em all out when I'm up here." The woman stood and the table fell silent.
Smith looked over at Grace as her friend spoke.
"And now, I'd like to propose a toast. If you all could pick up that glass of Bradford's finest, let's toss back a little bourbon for our dear friend, Grace. All love on your thirtieth, darlin'."
As a flaming birthday cake was brought in, Smith put his glass back on the table without having tasted it. He was thinking that Bo had a point about alcohol and love and finding a little transitory relief in the bottom of a bottle. He was so pent up, he could have used a few shots, but he never drank on the job.
That, at least, was one rule he was still hanging onto hard and fast.
An hour later, the party started to break up. People dispersed until only Bo, Grace, and Smith were standing in the foyer of the suite.
"Thank you," Grace said, raising a hand to her temple She squinted and looked up at the chandelier as if she was bothered by the light. "This has been lovely."
"I think you better get on home." The senator smiled "You never could hold your wine."
"I didn't think I had that much."
"Much is a relative term, darlin'."
After the women hugged good-bye, Smith offered his hand to the senator. "Good to meet you."
"Likewise," she replied. "Get her home safe, will you?"
Smith nodded, thinking he wasn't the only one watching over Grace.
When they emerged from the hotel, Grace paused and looked up at the sky, drawing her wrap around herself. Overhead, a hazy moon hung over the city, its radiance dimmed by the glow of the street lamps and the skyscrapers.
"It's warm tonight," she said, taking a deep breath. "Let's walk a hide."
Smith positioned himself between Grace and the street and shot a holding motion to Eddie, who was waiting in the Explorer.
As they walked toward Fifth Avenue, their footsteps over the sidewalk were in synch, the sound of their shoes rhythmic and slow. Taxis passed by, their red taillights glowing, and occasionally another pedestrian would come their way. A soft breeze was blowing at their backs, periodically sending a whiff of her perfume his way.