An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(25)

The need to know about his past was intense.

No wonder he was so tough. He knew a hell of a lot about physical pain.

She watched, entranced, as he moved stealthily across the terrace, sidestepping plants and porch furniture, stopping only when he stood a couple of feet from the wrought iron railing. Facing the sun, he put his two hands together and bowed his head.

Grace wondered whether any tenderness could have survived in a man like him. She thought of his hard face, his impassive eyes, that bored tone she suspected he cultivated as another guise to hide his true thoughts. She wanted to know what was under the camouflage.

When he looked up again, he began to shift through the ancient gestures and positions of tai chi. She was amazed.

He harnessed his masculine power, all those muscles and bones capable of such brute force, and disciplined them into movements that were fluid, calm. As the sun rose behind him, his silhouette pushed and pulled against the air in a graceful dance.

She stayed at the glass until he returned to his starting position. When he bowed his head again, and began to turn around, she scurried into bed, praying he hadn't seen her.

When she closed her eyes, she only saw visions of him. The sensual kaleidoscope was disturbing so she reached over and picked up her diary. Spilling her thoughts onto a page had always relieved her mind and she'd been writing in the small leather book a lot lately. Her pen flew across the page until there was nothing else to say about her attraction to him.

When she closed the book and laid back into the pillows, she thought she would just rest a moment but her body had different ideas. Much later, she surfaced from sleep in a plodding, heavy-lidded fashion. Enticing dreams seemed reluctant to let her go. Or maybe it was the other way around.



When she glanced at her clock, she groaned. She'd forgotten to set the alarm and had slept through her run. It was now 8:20 and she was late. Sitting up, she pushed her hair out of her face and stretched her arms over her head.

Again, her first thought was Smith. After drawing on a silk robe, she went down the hall to the guest room. The door was open and she knocked on the jamb. When there was no response, she peeked in.

The bed had been made and there was nothing out of place, as if no one had been in the room at all. He was either one heck of a housekeeper or he'd slept on the floor. Or maybe not at all?

She headed for the living room. He wasn't there either.

In a flash of anxiety, she wondered whether he'd left her but the thought passed quickly. He'd have told her if he was going to quit the job and, as long as he stayed, he wouldn't leave her alone.

The doors onto the terrace were ajar and she walked over to them, feeling the cool breeze on her skin. He wasn't outside, but she lingered for a moment.

Everything was as she'd seen it last. The chrysanthemums were still cheery in their porch pots, their small white faces crowding through their thick green leaves. The wrought iron table, with its chairs pushed in and its umbrella wrapped in a tight bundle, was exactly where it had been last. The view was the same with the park and the buildings where they had been the day before and the day before that.

Except now there was a ghost in the familiar landscape. She saw him again in the light of dawn, moving.

"Did you like what you saw this morning?" Smith's voice, deep and laconic, came from behind her.

Grace wheeled around and fought the urge to bring her hands to her cheeks.

He was standing in the living room with a steaming mug in his hand. As he took a drink, his eyes hovered over the edge, piercing her with blue flame.

Fortunately, he'd put his shirt back on. But she was picturing his bare chest. When he looked down at what she was wearing, his mouth tightened.

She pulled the edges of her robe a little closer together, wishing she was wearing something more substantial.

Like a parka. Or a HazMat suit, for God's sake.

"Well, did you?" he prompted, one brow arching.

He seemed determined to get a response. Unfortunately, the only thing coming to her mind was along the lines of yeah, you're one smooth mover, but could you be naked next tim?

And how had he known she was watching? He'd seemed totally focused on what he'd been doing.

Smith took another sip from the mug.

"So you've found the coffee." She lifted her chin, thinking he couldn't make her admit anything she didn't want to. "Did you make enough for two?"

She gathered herself up to her full height and bustled by him, prepared to let his question drop.

His hand shot out, taking her arm, and she felt his fingers through the thin silk as if she wasn't wearing anything at all. She looked down at them, amazed that the contact was enough to make her body kick into overdrive.

When he didn't say anything, her eyes rose reluctantly to his.

"I'm a man who likes his privacy, Countess." He brought the mug up to his lips casually, as if he wasn't holding her in place. She caught a whiff of herbal tea, not coffee. "I don't appreciate intrusions into my time."

There wasn't a lick of anger in his voice or his expression but the warning was obvious nonetheless.

She forced herself to keep meeting him square in the eye. “I was only curious about what you were doing."

"Really?" he said in a lazy tone that didn't fool her

"Yes, really."

She tried to get her arm back but, instead of releasing her, he jerked her closer. His eyes narrowed on her lips and she was amazed as hunger flared in his hard face, turning him into someone she didn't recognize. There was nothing self-controlled about what was coming out of his eyes.