An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(49)

And then there was the way he ran his personal life. After he slept with someone, he left. There was no cuddling or snuggling or affectionate whispering in the dark. Usually he took off because he had to catch a plane, but on those rare occasions when he wasn't leaving imminently, he'd get the hell away from them because he felt trapped. The emotional aftermath of sex always felt forced to him. He just had nothing to say to the women.

Other than good-bye.

Grace might be one hell of a sophisticated woman but she clearly wasn't a player. He suspected she'd only give herself to a man she had some kind of emotional connection with and that was why she'd pulled back the night he'd almost had her. When she'd tried to explain, he hadn't wanted her to share her feelings. He knew damn well that confidences bred intimacy and he did not want to encourage that.

With any woman.

Smith let out a curse.

Talk about new and uncharted territory. He'd never thought about the ramifications of sleeping with a woman before. Previously, it had been a binary exercise. If he wanted one, he had her.

And then kept on going.

Smith tied the towel around his waist and wiped the steam off the mirror with his forearm.

He looked at himself with a hard, unflinching stare.

So what was the answer?

He had every confidence that he could sleep with her and not become emotionally compromised. Mostly because he was incapable of forging intimate relationships. His lifestyle had him jetting around to different parts of the world at the drop of a hat, to destinations he couldn't divulge. And if the constant dislocation wasn't a problem, his line of work sure as hell was. He didn't want to come back to someone who had had to live for a month without hearing from him, wondering all the time if he wasn't coming home at all.

Too much pressure.

When he was working, he needed to think about his clients safety and his own. There was no room for worrying about some woman who might mourn him. This was why, at the age of thirty-eight, he'd never been married and had never spent more than a string of nights with any one woman.

Smith was alone in the world, except for his people at Black Watch, and he liked it that way. He didn't get lonely because he never stopped moving. And because he had no family, there were no guilt trips on those damn holidays that seemed to come around every fifteen minutes. He was free.

But what about Grace's emotions?

If they were going to make love, she had a right to know what to expect. Which was nothing but some really great sex.

Smith got dressed with an efficiency that had been drilled into him by the Army. Shaving took a total of three minutes from the time he picked up the can of shaving cream to when he put down the razor. His hair was so short, he didn't even need to brush it.

He was about to leave when he caught sight of a splash of lavender silk hanging on the back of the door. He pictured Grace in it and imagined slowly peeling the delicate material from her skin.

What if he got emotionally involved, he wondered idly.

He didn't think it was even remotely possible but he shouldn't overlook the risk. What if he made love to Grace and began to care about her? He'd already come to respect her. And he found her attractive on so many levels.

Christ, for the first time in his life, he was actually thinking about how sex would affect things between him and a woman. That was how different things were.

So what did it all mean for him? Although it was best if she didn't get emotionally attached, it was goddamn critical that he didn't. Neither of them could afford his objectivity to be compromised and, with the heart engaged, the mind could weaken. Doctors didn't treat family members for precisely this reason.



Compartmentalization had to be the answer, he thought, touching the nightgown.

Fortunately, it was a technique he excelled at. His ability to segment his thoughts and his emotions meant that he could go into situations with a clear head and a calm body and stay that way after the bullets started flying. All he had to do was shut off portions of himself and suppress his feeling.

It was a matter of will.

He told himself there was no reason he couldn't distance himself from Grace emotionally. In the unlikely event he felt anything for her.

Smith gripped the silk tightly in his hand.

He wanted her, but he wasn't prepared to lie to get her into bed. He'd give her the choice. He'd be up-front with what he could offer, which was nothing but physical contact, and she would choose for them.

After all, she was a grown woman. He'd spent enough time with her to know that she was smart and honest with herself. If anyone would be able to make an informed decision, it would be Grace.

When Smith opened the door, he was smiling.

"Smith?"

He turned toward her voice.

She was standing in the doorway to her dressing room, her silk shirt partially tucked into the waistband of a black skirt. She'd obviously been waiting for him.

"About what you read... out there." Her eyes struggled to hold his but she looked away as she flushed.

"I didn't know it was your diary until it was too late," he said, unable to keep the smile off his face.

"Yeah, well, ah..."

Smith went to her, stopping only when he could see the flecks of yellow in her green eyes.

"I liked your idea of a birthday present," he said. His voice was even lower than normal.