She frowned. The night before, he had held her tightly against him, whispered her name hoarsely as his body had come into hers. Staring at his impassive face, she thought it was as if everything that had happened the night before had been a dream.
One of hers. Not his.
She hesitated. "Right. I'm going to pack."
"I'll be ready in ten minutes."
As he turned away, her eyes clung to his back. "John, what's wrong?"
"Nothing." The word was said over his shoulder as he walked into the bathroom.
She heard water rushing into a sink and the soft hiss of a shaving cream can.
Grace followed him. "Why are you being this way?"
His eyes were fixed on the mirror as he picked up a razor and cut a swath through the white beard he'd given himself.
"What way, exactly?"
"Talk to me, please."
"I don't have anything to say."
"Nothing?"
His eyebrow cocked as he rinsed the razor off and went back to work on his beard. "You want me to make something up?"
"Just so you know," she said roughly, "if your goal is to prove there's no happy ending in store for us, your mission's accomplished."
Going back to her own room, she realized she'd made a rash miscalculation by assuming things couldn't get any harder if they made love.
chapter
19
As the jet descended over the runway at Teterboro, Smith looked out the oval window next to his seat at the rushing ground. He'd spent the hour of air time with his eyes closed, but he hadn't been sleeping.
Ever since he'd woken up next to Grace that morning, he'd been trying to convince himself he wasn't falling in love with her. The lecture wasn't going well, even though it was based on totally rational principles. Hell, he of all people should know that one night didn't mean anything. It was just two bodies in the dark, fulfilling evolution's prime directive.
So why did he feel like his center of gravity was off?
And why the hell did he behave like such a jerk to her?
He remembered how she'd looked standing in the doorway to the bathroom as he'd shaved. Her words before she'd left had made him feel despicable.
Christ, what a hypocrite he was. Telling her that she deserved better than the way her husband had treated her only to lay on the silent treatment after they'd... made love.
Made love. Those were the right words, he realized.
The night before had been about so much more than a good lay, and he was struggling to come to terms with his response. Things like sticking around or even wanting to be with a woman again after he'd had her once were not what were usually on his mind the morning after.
He wanted to talk with Grace. He did. He just felt like he had to get his mind straight. He needed something to say that made sense to him.
Well, at least he knew where the hell to start. He needed to apologize for not handling his confusion better. A little introspection was one thing. Shutting her out completely was unacceptable.
As the plane landed on the tarmac and the reverse thrusters began to slow them down, he looked across the aisle. Grace was going through her monthly reports and had spread papers out everywhere on the seat next to her, on the floor, across the built-in table to her right. She was dressed casually, wearing a well-fitting sweater and a pair of light wool slacks, but she still managed to look elegant.
He never would have imagined being attracted to someone who was so refined. Or so expensive-looking.
He tried to narrow down why she was so different from the other women he'd known. All kinds of images came to mind. Her reaching out to touch his scars, her chin kicked up in the midst of her fear, her shy eyes as she stripped for him. She was such a contradiction, assertive yet vulnerable, regal yet down-to-earth, passionate yet reserved.
And she was sexy as hell. All he could think about was taking off her clothes so he could taste her again.
The plane pivoted, sending a shaft of sunlight through the cabin. As the flash traveled around, it fell on the count's sapphire engagement ring. The gem sparkled brilliantly.
A rich man's fancy jewels, he thought. On a rich man's fancy woman.
He wanted her to take them off, but knew he had no right to be possessive. Especially after the way he'd treated her.
"Grace?"
She didn't look up and her voice was brisk. "Yes?"
"I'm sorry."
He watched as she circled a paragraph and wrote something in the margin. "About what."
"This morning."
She looked up toward the front of the plane, as if she'd just noticed they'd landed. "Don't worry about it."
She began picking up the papers, shuffling them together into neat piles and putting them into folders.
"Grace. Look at me." When she didn't, he unbuckled his seat belt and went over to her. "I'm honestly sorry that I hurt you this morning."
Her hands stilled. There was a long pause.
"You didn't hurt me. I hurt myself because I knew what the rules were." She looked up at him, her eyes somber. "You told me all along what you wanted and what you could give. My ego made me look further into what you did to my body than I should have."
"Grace—".
"Are you going to leave?"
"No." He frowned. "What makes you think I might?"
"That's pretty obvious, isn't it?"
"I'm still going to take care of you," he said, meeting her eyes directly. "Nothing's changed."
She took a deep breath and let it out. "Unfortunately, I suppose that's true."
The plane came to a standstill.
"I wasn't prepared for what happened last night," he said grimly.
"Look, you don't owe me anything. Apologies or explanations." She shot him an overly bright smile. "I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself. You should just forget about it."
Throwing off her seat belt, she reached down for her purse, gathered her folders in her arms, and rushed off the plane as if she couldn't wait to get rid of him.
Christ.
He knew that getting involved with her would be one hell of a complication. Now he was acting like a head case, she was hurt, and they were back in New York, where the killer had probably spent the weekend sharpening his knives.
If this job were going any worse, Smith thought, someone would be bleeding.
Eddie was waiting for them in front of the terminal and he helped get the luggage into the Explorer. The man was in a sunny mood.
"I was surprised you came back so early," he said as they got into the car. "What with the good weather and all."
Smith grunted while Grace offered the man a tight smile,
"Say, how are the creative writing classes going?" she asked him.
Eddie smiled into the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the curb. "They're going real well. We're doing dramatic tension right now."
How appropriate, Smith thought.
The ride into the city was quiet and strained. When they slowed to a stop in front of the penthouse, Smith got out first and was looking around as Grace stepped onto the sidewalk.
When the release on the back hatch popped, Smith went around to pick up their luggage. He'd grabbed Grace's bag and was pulling it free of the car when she went to take it
from him and stumbled on the curb. He had just slipped his arm around her waist to keep her from falling when they heard her name being called out.
They both looked to the sound just as a photographer leaned out of a car window and started snapping pictures. With the flashbulb going off like a strobe light, the car careened into traffic.
Smith cursed and almost ran after the guy but he didn't want to leave Grace. Even as he trained his eyes on the license plate, he knew it was too late. The pictures had been taken and there wasn't much he could do about it.