An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(5)

Grace didn't need a medical degree to see the violence in it all. Someone had stabbed Cuppie over and over and over again. Not just to kill her, but to defile her.

Nausea swelled and Grace pushed open the door, leaning out in spite of the seat belt. Because she'd left the keys in the ignition, the car chimed cheerfully, and she counted the passing moments by the electronic sounds. Looking at the gravel on the drive, she wondered what she'd clean up the mess with if her stomach followed through on its threat.

It'd be nice to have something pleasant to say when her oldest friend opened the door. I just threw up in your side yard was not the kind of greeting Grace wanted to offer. Much better to lead with Congratulations on your marriage, Carter. Or, How does it feel to be Mrs. Nick Farrell?

Grace looked up at the house. Someone walked past a window and she thought about how much she'd hated missing Carter and Nick's wedding. Her father had been buried the day they'd wed and the two life events, a beginning and an ending, had meant neither could be there to support the other in person. There had been plenty of phone calls, however.

And now there was another reason to reach out to her friend. Just when Grace thought she couldn't handle another awful surprise, when the loss of her father seemed an impossible weight in her chest and the failure of her marriage an embarrassing anchor to drag behind her life had thrown another punch.

All things considered, it had been a horrible year. The highpoint had been her wedding in January and things had been on a downhill spiral ever since.



At least it was September and there wasn't much left, she thought.

The noise of the car got on her nerves so she pulled the key free. It was hard to marshal the energy to go inside even though the cold night air was working its way through her clothes. She didn't want to be less, than perfectly happy for her friend but the effort of pretending seemed more than she could manage.

In a flash of memory, her father's voice, stern and commanding, came to her. Buck up, Starfish. Let's see that smile.

The refrain from childhood made her see him as he had been then, bending down, looking at her with love and determination. On command, she straightened and released the seat belt.

There'd be time enough to wallow in things she couldn't change on the trip back home. No amount of feeling sorry for herself was going to bring her father back and it wasn't going to change the implications of that article or the fact that Cuppie was being buried on Monday.

Grace flipped down the vanity mirror to check her makeup. The dark circles under her eyes were still hidden, but her lipstick had worn off. She fished through her purse, found a tube, and began to put some on.

The contact made hex pause and she let her fingertips drift across her lips.

She could still feel his kiss. That soul-shattering meeting of mouths and tongues and bodies was as vivid to her as it had been just after they'd parted. She couldn't forget what it had felt like to be drawn in hard against that stranger's body, the way he'd touched her, the thundering in her blood.

She'd had, in that stark hallway, her first taste of passion.

Grace snapped the mirror up, disturbed.

It was too bad she was never going to see him again. She had no idea who he was or where he was from and she knew asking questions about a man like him would get talk started. She was still legally married, after all, and he was dangerously attractive. The last thing she needed was to spark rumors.

God knew, they bubbled up enough of their own accord.

What she needed to do was buck up, drag herself into that beautiful house, and share in her friend's joy.

As Grace stepped out of the car, she looked over her shoulder. Moving swiftly, she grabbed her Vuitton bags and rushed over to the house. Just as her feet hit the porch, Carter Wessex threw open the door with arms outstretched.

"Woody! You made it!"

Grace dropped the luggage and hugged her friend hard.

“Whoa, you okay?"

"Fine, just fine. I'm glad to see you." Grace smiled as they pulled away.

"Well, you look fantastic. Then again, you always do."

Grace glanced down at the Chanel suit she was wearing. She couldn't wait to take it off, get it away from her skin. It reminded her of the police station.

"Why don't you leave your bags here and let's go into the kitchen." Carter pushed her thick, black hair over her shoulder. "Have you eaten?"

Grace's stomach let out a wheeze of protest. "I'm not hungry, but I could use a glass of wine."

Or two.

"Well, I've got plenty of that," Carter said as she led the way to the rear of the house. "I'm so glad you've come for the weekend. Nick's flying into Albany from London and driving up, too. He should be home within the hour. He's looking forward to getting to know you a little better."

"Me, too. Those big parties I always see him at are hardly the place to make friends."

Carter laughed. "Which was precisely why I gave them up."

When they'd settled down at a sturdy oak table in the kitchen, a plate of cheese and fruit between them, Grace raised her glass of Chardonnay. "To my best friend and comrade in arms. May your marriage be long and full of joy."

With a warm light in her intense blue eyes, Carter smiled. “I’m so glad you came. "

"Me, too.” Grace looked away. "So tell me about the wedding. Were you gorgeous?”