An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(4)

"Out there, I thought you were really in control, in charge of something."

"Honey, I'm in charge of the whole world."

"Really? So why are you so upset? We're just talking."

“We’re not doing anything. You're wasting my time."

She shrugged, an elegant lift of her shoulders. "You came back to me. No one is keeping you here."

As he towered over her, she raised her hands, the picture of innocence.

She turned back to the door and looked at him over her shoulder. "You also aren't very savvy."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?”

"Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Some simple rules on human conflict. If your opponent is angry, irritate him." She shot him a glance from under her lashes while putting her hand on the doorknob. That big, relaxed smile of hers goaded him. "The instigation technique works particularly well, even with tough guys like you. Maybe especially with tough guys like you."

That did it.

In a surge of movement that had nothing to do with his conscious mind, Smith reached out and snatched her against him. She'd driven him to the brink of his self-control.

And one inch past it.

The amusement left her face as she braced her hands against his chest. "What are you doing?" \

"Too late to go back now, Countess," he growled. "You pushed the wrong man, too far."

He took her lips in a punishing kiss, his arms contracting and holding her so tightly, he could feel every inch of her. The sensation of her body against his was a total shock. Her soft contours fit into his hard angles seamlessly and a wave of lust burned through him. She was like harnessing pure lightning, like nothing he'd ever felt before.

As he slid his tongue between her lips, a moan drifted up through her throat and into his mouth. He felt her grip his shoulders as she stopped trying to shove him away and began to kiss him back.

And then his earpiece went off. The ambassador's car had pulled up.

Smith broke the contact abruptly, stepping back and breathing hard. She opened her vivid green eyes and stared at him, wordlessly.

He paused, soaking in the way she looked. Her lips were swollen and red from his kiss, her breath was coming out in soft beats, her cheeks were flushed. She was an unforgettable woman who would have to be forgotten. Otherwise he'd go insane, he was sure of it.

Smith turned away sharply and broke into a jog, knowing he better damn well be at that service entrance when the ambassador got out of his limo. He hadn't lost a client yet and he wasn't starting tonight.

Just forget you ever met her, he told himself as he pounded over the concrete.

Fat chance of that.

Dammit, why the hell did she have to follow him? And why hadn't he just kept going when she did?

Because it's just getting started between us, he thought grimly.

His sixth sense told him that their paths were going to cross again.





chapter

2





Cuppie Alston was dead.

The words had been bouncing around Grace's head all day long, from the moment Alfred had called her with the terrible news. She still couldn't believe what had happened, couldn't comprehend that her friend had been killed the night before while they had been at the ambassador's ball.

The surrealism of it all had been a terrible companion on her long drive from New York City to the Adirondacks. Over miles of highways, county roads, and then winding mountain passes, her mind had struggled with the tragedy, churning relentlessly over happy memories that were now tinted gray with grief.

How could this be real, she thought once again as she pulled up to a sprawling mansion on the shores of Lake Sagamore. She turned off the Mercedes's engine and stared into the darkness.

She didn't like the silence or the lack of movement. With no distractions, her mind spiraled into something close to hysteria. Not only because Cuppie was dead but because she herself was now in danger.

Grace curled her fingers around the steering wheel and squeezed. Her conscious mind told her she hadn't been followed. A sliver of fear told her she might have been. She looked out into the night, searching for shadows. In the moonlight, she found them twisting and turning, thrown off by tree limbs waving in the wind.

Just a day before she wouldn't have gone looking for dark corners or wondered what they concealed.

But twenty-four hours ago, someone she knew hadn't been brutally murdered.

She lowered her forehead to the steering wheel.

The whole thing was inconceivable, like some bad movie. Cuppie found dead. In the foyer of the Alstons' lavish Central Park West penthouse. Next to the body, a recent article on the six most prominent women in the city. Cuppie had been the first one featured and her picture had been ripped out.

The piece had culminated by praising Grace.

Which was why she'd spent the afternoon at a police station. No one but the murderer knew for sure whether the other five women were next, but Grace could tell what the police believed. The lieutenant had treated her with kid gloves when she'd come in for questioning, even though he had a harsh, smoker's voice and the tired eyes of a man who wasn't impressed by much. He was, she realized, treating her like a victim.

When she'd walked into his cramped office, he'd done his best to cover up the crime scene photos but he hadn't been fast enough. She'd caught a glimpse of them and nearly retched. Cuppie's neck had been ripped apart, a gaping hole where her voice box should have been.