Carolina gasped. "Don't say that!"
"It's true."
"You—you..." And then, as if a switch had been pulled Carolina snapped her mouth shut. After a deep breath, she said, "I don't believe I have anything more to say to you at the moment."
"Which is good, because I was just leaving."
As Grace shut the doors behind her, she wasn't sure whether she had won or lost the argument and realized it didn't matter. At least she had held her own.
An hour later, while Grace was outside playing croquet with Blair, her mother came and announced that the evening's party had been canceled and she would be dining elsewhere. With no more explanation than that, she returned to the house, without once looking at her daughter.
She did make a point, however, of sparing a withering glance for John.
The afternoon was spent at Mr. Blankenbaker's looking over the portrait. Grace was thrilled by the masterpiece, although disappointed that Jack had missed the preview. Mr. Blankenbaker agreed to draw up papers making the gift official and to ship the painting to the Hall Museum in time for the Gala.
They returned to Willings when the sun was hanging low behind the house and the ocean was quieting down for the night. As she walked into the foyer, Grace decided a good long soak in some very hot water was just what she needed to relax.
Either that or a brain transplant.
"Where are you headed?" John asked.
She looked over her shoulder at him. He'd been silent for much of the day but never far from her side. After everything that had been said in her bedroom, being so close to him was a bittersweet torment.
Abruptly, she was struck by an idea. When she and John had talked, he'd been using his head. His reasoning. His logic.
Perhaps she just needed him to stop thinking so much.
Grace offered him a slow smile. "I'm going to have a bath."
He nodded and followed her up the stairs.
She'd never seduced a man before, she thought as she hit the second floor landing. And it was time to give it a try.
He'd said he wanted her. Maybe his body could override that mind of his.
* * *
Smith paused outside of her room, telling himself that he was going to use the time she was in the tub to do some push-ups and sit-ups. He had a hell of lot of energy he needed to burn off.
"I'll be across the hall," he said. "Take the panic button in with you."
"I can't."
"Why the hell not?"
"I think it's broken."
He frowned. "I tested it before I gave it to you."
She shrugged and went through her door. "I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong."
And then she shut the door in his face.
He pounded on it. "Grace? I've got to check the damn thing."
There was only silence.
"Oh, for Chrissakes. Grace?"
He threw the door open and froze.
She was stepping out of her pants. Had taken off her sweater. All he saw was a lot of creamy skin and a few strips of silk.
Smith blinked like he'd been sucker punched.
Sweet heaven, he thought.
Moving deliberately, and without bothering to hide herself, she folded her pants and put them in the bureau.
As the sight of her flooded his brain, he tried like hell to hold on to reality.
Which was goddamn close to impossible with his fantasy three feet away in her bra and panties.
"Where's the panic button?" he growled.
She shrugged. "I don't know. It was somewhere in my bed."
"Jesus Chri—"
Grace reached behind her back and unclipped her bra. Slowly, she peeled off one satin strap and then the other. When the lacy cups fell to the floor, and he saw her breasts in the sunlight, he felt his knees get weak.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.
"I'm getting ready for my bath."
She turned around, flashing her picture perfect butt at him, and walked into the bathroom. He watched as she bent over and worked the faucets.
It was the kind of sight that could blind a man, he thought numbly.
Smith fell back against the door. He tried to think about his options, which were limited as he couldn't seem to make his body leave the room. The only thing that came to him was a vision of picking her up and carrying her over to the bed.
Grace spent an inordinate amount of time making sure the water was the right temperature and then turned around to face him. Even though she was behaving provocatively, her eyes revealed a nervousness that was totally endearing.
She had no idea what she was doing, he thought, wanting to smile.
But then she locked her thumbs under the waistband of her panties.
And Smith got deadly serious.
She moved the silk down her hips and her thighs and then kicked it off with one foot. Standing in the bathroom with steam from the hot water billowing up around her, it was clear she was waiting for him.
Get the hell out of this room, right now, he thought. Before you can't go back.
It took every ounce of willpower he had to turn around and leave.
Going out onto the terrace, he walked around until he could see into her bathroom. By the time she was back in his sight, she was in the tub, covered by the water.
He cursed out loud as he felt the lust pound through his body.
Taking out a cheroot, he lit it and assiduously ignored the fact that his hands trembled slightly.
It was a while before he could string any coherent thoughts together.
As he leaned against the railing and smoked, he thought about her declaration of love. Could it be true? Could a woman like her actually love him?
And what would he be willing to sacrifice to have her in his life? He thought about Black Watch, his work, his clients. Images flashed through his mind of a thousand hotel rooms, of airplanes and private jets, of people looking up at him with fear in their eyes and hopeful faith in their hearts.
Grace had challenged him on something he had begun to wonder about himself. How long could he go on? His rootless existence had sustained him for so many years, had been the only way he could conceive of getting through life. But what if there was another way?
And what if it involved Grace?
His eyes narrowed as she leaned back against the porcelain rim of the tub and closed her eyes. Her hair was coiled up on her head and a few tendrils were curling around her face from the heat and humidity. Her profile was a perfect composition of planes and angles that added up to great beauty, but that wasn't what held his attention. He realized he'd started looking past her physical perfection. He was a hell of a lot more interested in the jumble of strengths and weaknesses that was inside of her.
He watched as her hand came out of the water and brushed over her cheek. When she did it again, he realized she was crying.
"Oh, Grace," he said, softly.
She was right. They were tearing each other up.
Smith watched her until she started to get up from the tub. Before she stepped free of the water, he went back inside and was waiting next to her door when she emerged twenty minutes later, dressed for dinner. She was silent as they went down the hall.
Before they hit the stairs, he reached out and took her arm.
He put his lips close to her ear. "You are the most sensual woman I've ever seen. I'm going to take the image of you standing in front of that tub to my grave."
Her steps faltered and she let out a sad, self-deprecating laugh. "Somehow, I doubt that. I've been known for a lot of things but sexy isn't one of them."
He stopped her. "What the hell are you talking about, woman?"
She shrugged and her expression showed a kind of defeat he didn't associate with her.
"You didn't get in that tub with me, did you? Which was my sole motivation for behaving... Anyway, I should have known better. Ranulf always told me I was beautiful but not enticing. It was probably the only thing he got right about me."