The two talked about the man's family until the elevator came.
As Smith and Grace rode up to the penthouse, he watched her eyes dim again and he didn't blame her for being shaken. Getting jumped by a rabid photographer and watching her bodyguard manhandle a guy was no fun for anyone.
Smith thought back to what had happened in that alley. He'd been ready to let loose on the photographer, really hurt him. Making sure the picture never saw the light of day didn't seem to go far enough, considering the man had scared Grace and then insulted her.
In retrospect, his reaction was disturbing. Defending a client was one thing, avenging Grace's honor was altogether different. He reminded himself that she was paying him to protect her, not be a hired thug.
As they stepped into her home and he shut off the alarm, Smith knew they were heading for trouble. All kinds of lines were getting blurred with Grace and his clarity of mind was a casualty neither of them could afford.
She deserved to have him at his very best. He owed her that.
And wouldn't have settled for anything less himself.
* * *
Grace heard the door shut as she walked into the living room.
"You need anything? " Smith asked her.
She turned around. He was waiting for her to speak, a tall, dark shape lit from behind by the hall light.
She couldn't get the confrontation with the photographer out of her mind and kept seeing the scenario end in a different, violent way. When Smith had lunged forward to shield her with his body, only God knew whether it was a camera or a gun pointed at her. Still he'd been prepared to take whatever was coming, whether it was a bullet or a knife or a fist or a flashbulb.
She thought of how easily the outcome could have been fatal. And how, in that moment as he surged ahead of her, John had been willing to give his life for her. She was grateful and angry at the same time because, if he was willing to do that for her, surely he put his life on the line for his other clients. Didn't he care that he could get himself killed?
Suddenly, looking into the future seemed a pointless exercise in optimism. He was with her now. Tonight they were together.
And she wanted him.
To hell with happy endings, she thought.
Taking courage from the lingering effects of the wine, Grace approached him slowly and let her wrap fall from her shoulders. In the dim light, she saw him follow the silk as it slid down her arms, past her waist and onto the floor. When his eyes came back to hers, they gleamed.
She reached out and touched the satin lapel of his tuxedo, letting her fingers float down the material. Easing herself against his body, so that her breasts pressed into his chest, she stretched up to his ear.
"Make love to me," she whispered against the skin of his throat.
She felt a shudder go through him.
The hesitation that followed was not encouraging.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"This isn't right," he said, removing her hands. "I'm sorry, Grace."
She frowned in confusion, struggling to touch him again. " You told me I could choose. And I have."
"I never should have put you in that position." He stepped away from her.
Grace stared at him, unable to comprehend what he was saying.
As he met her eyes unrelentingly, she got angry.
"Goddamn you." When he remained silent, she demanded,
"Why did you do this to me? Did you just want to see me beg?"
"Of course not."
"So why? If I'd known this was just some kind of game—"
"It has never been a game," he said fiercely.
Frustration made her lash out. “ Well, then I never pegged you for a coward. If you really are king of the one-night stands, what's the big deal with a little sex? You've done it before and managed to survive the experience with your I-am-a-rock routine still intact."
With lightning speed, his hands gripped her arms so hard it hurt.
"Don't press me, Grace. I'm not in the mood."
"Then get in a better one. Kiss me," she murmured, looking up into his eyes.
"Stop it,"
"No.”
With a surge of power, he pinned her arms behind her and pushed her back against the wall.
"Christ, is this all you want?" He pressed his arousal into her body.
She looked at him boldly "Tonight? Yes."
His eyes closed. And then they snapped open and his lips came down on hers.
His kiss was hard and she wanted it that way. Pulling her arms free, she grabbed on to his jacket and wrenched it from his shoulders as she felt his hands come up to the bodice of her gown. There was a tearing sound as he ripped the delicate chiffon from her body and covered her breasts with his palms.
His mouth was hot and hungry over hers, his tongue thrusting inside of her as he pressed against her body. Digging her nails into his back, she moaned.
At the hoarse sound, he froze. Looking into her eyes, he pushed her away abruptly.
Raking a hand over his short hair, he bent down and picked up her wrap.
“Go to bed," he told her, throwing it over.
Grace caught the silk but refused to cover herself, aware that her breasts were bare and he was having a hard time not looking at them. "You want me."
Smith came back at her in a rush, planting his hands against the wall on either side of her head with a loud noise. As he leaned in close, she felt no fear as his eyes passed over her body.
"Yeah, I want you. So bad it f*cking hurts. Satisfied?"
"Not even close," she said softly, her words dripping with intent. She reached up and stroked his cheek.
His gaze narrowed on her lips but then he closed his eyes and stayed like that for a long time.
When he looked at her again, he was cold as ice. He calmly stepped back.
"What changed?" she whispered.
"You're not thinking clearly tonight. And I wasn't this morning."
He turned away and walked into his room. She heard his door shut quietly and realized it was the first time he'd closed her out.
In the silence, reality came back and hit Grace so hard she felt like crying out. She looked down in mute shock at the ruined gown. With fumbling hands, she pulled the bodice back up so that her breasts were covered and went to her room.
She couldn't bring herself to look at his door as she passed by.
* * *
Grace's first thought the next morning was that maybe it had all been a crazy nightmare. Then she looked over and saw the torn dress hanging off a chair.
Oh, God. She really had tried to seduce him and he really had turned her down.
Groaning, she went into the bathroom and took two aspirin. After having a shower, she threw on her thick robe and went out into the hall.
His door was ajar.
"Smith?" she said softly. When there was no answer, she walked into the room
One bed had been slept in, or at least sat on. Two pillows were propped against the wall and a book was splayed out on top of the covers. The other bed was neatly made and had his leather jacket and the tuxedo draped at the foot of it.
She was about to leave when she saw his wallet on the antique bureau. Next to it were his gun, holster, and a set of keys.
“ Looking for something?”
Her eyes flew up to the mirror over the bureau. He was standing in the doorway with a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked rakishly handsome, wearing only a white T-shirt and that pair of low-hanging black pants. Her mouth went dry as she thought about kissing him and she wanted to curse. There seemed to be no end to her vivid imagination or her willingness to throw herself at him. After last night, she should have learned a thing or two.
"Shower's free," she said.
She left quickly, trying not to notice the wide berth he gave her when she walked by him. As she went to her room and began to dress, she decided that she'd gone from one extreme to another. From an ice queen to a harlot.