An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(38)

After doing a quick pass through the master suite, he checked the rest of the penthouse, unpacked the groceries, and went to his own room. He was taking off his leather jacket when he heard the sound of water rushing from down the hall.

As he tossed his coat over a chair, Smith imagined her stripped free of that black dress with her hair down around her shoulders. The locks would end just over the tips of her breasts and he'd have to gently push them aside to kiss her skin. He pictured the blond waves covering his chest and falling onto his face as they made love.

He heard the water fall silent.

All he had to do was go down that hall, he thought. Walk into her room and take her into his arms. Because he had a feeling, even though she'd agreed with his strict hands-off policy, she'd get carried away by the passion again.

One kiss and he would have her.

As blood pounded through his body, Smith stopped moving.

What the hell was he doing?

He shook his head.

What the hell was he doing?

Moving with deliberate motions, he took off his holster and slid his gun out. He stared at the black metal as the grip welcomed his palm and his fingers. The weapon had been handmade for him, to his precise specifications, and there were two more identical to it in the Kevlar briefcases.

The familiar weight of his gun was comforting.

His preoccupation with Grace was not.

He remembered that man at the Congress Club, the one in the suit who had kissed her on the cheek and made her smile. Smith hadn't thought much of it at me time but now his aggressive reaction to the guy struck him as way out of line. He was behaving like a jealous lover of hers.



As opposed to the woman's professional bodyguard.

Maybe he just needed a vacation. A little time off somewhere warm, where the drinks flowed like water and the women were easy.

Yeah, that's what he needed.

A goddamn vacation.

Smith frowned. And realized that in all his life, he'd never taken one.



* * *



Days later, Smith found his fixation on Grace was only getting worse. The result wasn't pretty. Sexual frustration was cutting into his sleep and shortening his temper.

And it wasn't as if he was known for his good humor to begin with.

From his seat at the conference table, he looked across the office. Grace had her head buried in some documents and he tried not to notice that her silk blouse had opened up and was showing more of her skin than usual.

Becoming aroused, he shifted in the chair.

Great. On the job with a hard-on.

Real professional.

Smith felt his mood sink deeper into dark and aggravated territory so he took out his cell phone and dialed Lieutenant Marks's number. He knew an update on the investigation would get his mind off that woman's damn blouse.

"How are things going, Lieutenant?"

"Oh, Christ, not good." The man sounded tired. "The chief of police is up my ass because those women's names are plastered all over New York's cultural institutions. The press is barking up a storm, wanting confirmation that the Times article was found on the first body—I'm trying to find out who the * was who leaked that little tidbit. And we don't have any suspects so far."

Smith kept his voice low. "Did you check with the doormen of those buildings?"

"Yeah. The day and evening shifts in both places have been covered by the same guys for the past five years. Their background checks have all come back clear and each one of them said they saw nothing suspicious on either of the nights in question. The delivery and visitor logs didn't tell us squat, either. Everyone signed in and out—no dropped balls there."

"Any names show up on both logs?"

"Quite a few. These wealthy-types tend to use the same people. There were cleaning folks, caterers, tailors, plant people. Those places are a goddamn revolving door of help. We're chewing our way through the background checks on every single name."

"You find any connection between the husbands of these women? Business? Pleasure?"

"Haven't checked that, yet. Good idea." Marks paused. "So tell me, how's the countess?"

Smith's eyes flickered across the room. "Holding up, considering the stress she's under."

"Nice woman. Someone with her kind of money could be a real pain in the ass if they wanted to but she seemed surprisingly normal."

They talked for a little longer about the forensic tests that had been performed on samples from the crime scenes. When Smith hung up, he glanced back across the room. Kat had come in and Grace was laughing at something the girl had said. Kat was smiling broadly.

People tended to do that a lot around Grace, he realized.

They came into her office or met up with her in the halls and they'd leave the encounter looking lighter, happier.

Surprisingly normal didn't go far enough.

"Thanks, Kat," Grace said, shuffling the papers around, "You were a big help on this."

The assistant beamed. "I'll make the changes now."

"Don't worry. It's past six. Let's all go home." Grace's eyes shifted to him and then she looked away quickly.

"Well, I'm in no hurry," Kat said.

"Don't tell me. Another date ?" Grace's eyes were sympathetic.

"Just drinks. He's an IT guy. I'm hoping we'll talk about something other than Java programming or the Sims." Kat picked up the document and walked over to the door. "Goodnight, Mr. Smith."