An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(27)

Through the haze, she recognized a foreign sound. Something vaguely troubling.

Keys.

Smith pulled away from her quickly, his eyes snapping toward the door.

"The contractors," she said roughly.

Grace struggled to get the top of the gown and the robe back in place but nothing was working right. Her mind was fuzzy, her hands were fumbling and the fabric seemed dead set against behaving.

"I'll deal with them." Smith's voice was ragged and he shielded her with his body as the door was thrown open.

Grace escaped into the kitchen just as three men came barreling through her front door. As she heard male voices talking, she leaned back against the refrigerator, struggling to get herself covered.

She put her head in her hands. How had that just happened?

Well, she knew the answer to that. Take one healthy male and a woman who'd been fantasizing about him since the night they met and put them in an enclosed space. It was lust, pure and simple.

It was just a kiss, she told herself. People do it all the time.

Well, yeah. But not like that.

Christ, what was wrong with her? She was two weeks away from being thirty, for heaven's sake, and about to be a divorcee. She wasn't some twenty-year-old, capable of believing that a couple of kisses were a transforming event. That a few sparks and some heat could turn a lonely, stressed-out woman into a femme fatale and a hard man into a romantic hero.

She knew she should do herself a favor and stay away from him but how was that going to happen? He was supposed to be with her every waking minute of every day.

The door opened.

She looked up into Smith's face. He was back to being self-controlled, arrogant, sure of himself.

But she knew she hadn't imagined his passion. The first time he'd kissed her might have been explained away by frustration and anger. What had just happened couldn't.

"I've taken their keys and told them you'll give a call when they can come back."

"Thank you. Er—I'm going to get dressed."

"We need to talk."

She shook her head. "No, we don't. Because—because it's not going to happen again. It should never have happened in the first place."

There was a pause. "I couldn't agree more on that."

"So there's nothing else to talk about."

Smith's eyes flickered over her face. "Weaknesses that aren't acknowledged have a nasty habit of turning into liabilities."

She began twisting her engagement ring around her finger, partially out of embarrassment, mostly out of gnawing frustration with herself and the situation. When Smith looked down at the heavy stone, she dropped her hands.

"I can assure you," she said with an edge, "I have no intention of throwing myself at you. If that's what you consider a liability, I think we're okay."

When he didn't reply, she prompted, "Are you going to leave?"

His eyes darkened with resolve. "No. I don't quit. Ever. But let's be very clear. All we have between us is the job, nothing more."

"I agree completely."

"I'm glad you see it my way."

His choice of words chafed. She lifted her chin.

"It's not your way. It's the truth." Grace looked away quickly and caught sight of the clock on the microwave. "I'll make it short and sweet in the bathroom. We're late."



* * *



After she'd left, Smith went into the living room and paced around.

In spite of his Sermon-on-the-Mount pronouncement that there was only a job between them, part of him was cursing that damn doorbell. It was tough luck he had the only contractors in the city who showed up on time. Nine o'clock sharp. The bastards.

But, hell, he should be thanking those guys with the tool-belts and the pencils behind their ears. They were the only reason he hadn't made love to her then and there. On the carpet. Without the coverall brigade, he wouldn't have taken the time to spell out where the future had to lie. He'd have taken her, instead.

Which would have been a bad idea. Nursing a lonely, frightened woman through an inappropriate love affair was nothing he wanted to be a part of.

Even if she was like cozying up to a blow torch.

It was a damn shame they weren't sleeping under the same roof in a different set of circumstances. The countess had genuine heat under that prim exterior. Fire and ice. He couldn't remember when he'd been so hot for a woman.

Smith shook his head. Never would have predicted this one, he thought.

He reached over and picked up a picture of her with the mayor of New York.

He wasn't worried by the fact that he wanted her. She was a stunningly beautiful woman with a good dose of kick ass underneath that glossy WASP exterior and he was a man, after all. But, though she was proving to be a tempting package all around, that didn't mean she was going to rock his world. When the threat was over, when they found her stalker, he was going to leave her life exactly as he had come into it. A clean break, a handshake, and then off to the next assignment. Exactly as he'd done with his other clients.

He returned the picture and went over to the mug he'd used. He hated herbal tea but it had been the only thing he'd found in her kitchen, apart from a sponge, that he could throw in with some hot water. When she'd mentioned him finding the coffee, he'd had no idea what she'd been thinking. After an extensive search, he'd only found a few jars of caviar, some crackers and a lot of empty space in her cupboards. The refrigerator was just as bad. Ancient, half-used salad dressing bottles and a tub of fancy mustard. That was it.