An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(20)

Her temper flared. "Well, pardon me for trying to put your mind at ease. I was trying to reassure you—"

"Honey, my mind is always at ease."

She shot him a derisive look. "That wasn't what it looked like the night I first met you. You seemed downright hot and bothered to me."

"You were being a pest, Barbie."

"Only because you were staring at me."

"Yeah, well, you should be used to that by now. Or do you doll yourself up just because you like to play with makeup?"

"I do not doll myself—" She lost her train of thought. "What are we arguing about again?"

They glared at each other in silence.

And then, suddenly, he smiled. The expression took her breath away. If he was compelling when he was serious, he was close to irresistible when he lightened up.

Maybe she should pray for more of his dark moods.

"What's so funny," she muttered.

"You've got some steel under all that window dressing, don't you?"

She flushed. "I like to think of it as strength of purpose."

His smiled disappeared. "Well, whatever you call it, put it to good use on someone else. I don't take orders, I give them. Is that clear?"

Grace tightened her jaw and told herself now was an excellent opportunity to stand up and be counted. "I don't mind doing what you think is best. But some give-and-take will make this whole thing easier."

"I don't do give-and-take. Sorry."

She cocked her head to the side. "So I'm just supposed to go along for the ride? You can move into my home, take over my life, force me to answer intimate questions about my—my—" She stuttered because she couldn't make herself say the word sex in front of him and felt ridiculous. " But I can't ever challenge you, even when you might be wrong?"

"You're a quick study, Countess."

"That's not fair."

"Let's do a reality check. You need me more than I need you. So who gets to set the rules of the game?"

"I don't think I like you very much," she said. It was true. She wasn't sure what she felt about him but like was definitely not it.

"Good. That will make it easier on both of us."

She frowned, thinking the comment was strange.

"So do you still agree to the terms of my engagement?" he asked.

She took a deep breath and slowly nodded.

"Then let's go."

He looked around the room, eyes training on her purse and wrap, which were on the glossy surface of the conference table. He picked them up and went back to the door.

Grace approached him, head held high. Damned if she was going to let him know how much he disturbed her. She stopped in front of him and waited.

"What?" he demanded.

"Oh, I thought you were going to help with my wrap," she said, feeling foolish. Of course a man like him wouldn't worry about social graces. "Give it to me."

She watched him frown and look down at the hand she'd extended. He gave her the purse.

And then, in a flash of movement, he leaned in close and slipped the red silk around her shoulders. He didn't pull away immediately. As his hands lingered on the fine cloth, her breath caught and her eyes flashed up to his.

Her lips parted as he focused on her mouth.

But he made no move to kiss her

"Remember, Countess, I'm not your escort. And I'm never going to be."

He stepped away sharply and she had to scramble to keep the wrap from falling to the floor.





chapter

6





When they got to the lobby, the security guard was gone.

"Probably on a walking tour," Grace said, her voice getting lost in the huge space. "They're supposed to do that. I'll call my driver."

As she took out her cell phone, she looked over at Smith. His eyes were tracing every feature of the tremendous atrium and its neoclassical appointments.

"I can see why this place is considered a national landmark," he remarked. "It was the sister of the Chrysler Building, right?"

She nodded. "They were built within two years of each other. The elevator doors are my favorite. The Egyptian motif, all that matte silver and shiny brass. And the ceiling's not bad, either."

They both looked up at the adorned stretch three stories above.

He turned toward a pair of massive doors, above which "The Woodward Hall Museum" was inscribed on a pediment of white marble.

"Is the museum open to the public every day?"

"Except for Tuesdays."

"How big is it?"

"It takes up the first four stories of the building and has its own elevator system. There are three floors of exhibit space and one that houses the library, the administrative offices, and the lab where we handle conservation."

"I’ll need a tour of the building tomorrow. And architectural renderings."

"All right." She dialed her driver's number.

When her limousine pulled up in front, she and Smith slipped out into the darkness. They walked across about twenty yards of granite paving stones to the street, passing by a mammoth statue of George Washington and then going down a handful of shallow steps.