An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(8)

"Won't you sit down?" she asked.

A mocking light came into his eyes as he picked a chair opposite the sofa and lowered his body down in it. Even seated, he looked tall, she thought.

"You don't seem surprised to see me." Grace settled on the sofa, crossing her legs. His eyes followed the movement lingering on her calves, before returning to her face.

"I don't put myself in positions where I'm going to be surprised." His voice was deep and gravelly, totally confident.

He was all male, she thought, with the requisite pride, arrogance, and ego that came with an overload of testosterone. Of course, he did look tough as nails, so maybe that faith in himself was justified. She sure wouldn't want to get him angry. She'd done that once already and all it'd gotten her was a fantasy life she could do without.



"So let's talk about why I'm here." He crossed his arms over his chest. Impatience came off him in waves, threading through his low voice.

Grace's fingers went to her heavy engagement ring and she began twisting it around in circles. When those sharp; eyes of his flicked over the movement, she forced herself to sit still.

She should just tell him to go, as she'd planned to, as she would have if there was a stranger sitting in that chair.

He was a stranger, she reminded herself.

"I'm afraid you've wasted your time." When she paused, his eyebrow rose. "I mean, I don't think you can help me. Er—that I need help."

As she tripped over her words, she wondered where in the hell her head was. Probably down the same black hole her life had fallen into.

"I can reimburse you for your travel up here," she added quickly.

“I’m sure of that," he drawled, looking back down at her rings. There was a subtle disdain in his eyes, tightness to his mouth that suggested there were other places he'd rather be.

She bristled at his tone and the expression. She could tell he didn't think much of her. So why had he come? As a favor to Nick?

"And I apologize for any inconvenience."

"How polite of you."

Silence stretched between them.

"I just don't think I'm in sufficient danger to justify a bodyguard."

"That so."

"Yes. Nick insisted on calling you. It wasn't my idea."

"Oh really."

Grace glared at him. He sent her a bored look in return.

He could at least pretend to be interested, she thought.

She crossed her arms over her chest, realized she was mimicking his pose and put her hands back in her lap. She had an absurd urge to yell at him because he was getting under her skin with all his terse silence, making her feel foolish and frivolous.

She narrowed her eyes and gave in to a childish urge to talk at him. Just to prove she could.

"I live in New York City and I work there, too. Have you ever heard of the Hall Foundation?" Before he could respond, she kept going, feeling like words were a way to burn off a little anxiety. A little frustration. Maybe of the sexual variety. She almost cringed. "My family started it in the late 1800s. We give grants to scholars, art historians, archaeologists, anyone who is seriously studying American history—"

He held his hand up to cut her off. There was a scar in the middle of his palm and she wondered how it got there. Hand-to-hand combat?

"I'll pass on the infomercial. Tell me something I don't know. You can leave out anything in the public domain."

Grace frowned at the curt words. "I live on Park Avenue—"

"I know."

"My office is at—"

A dark eyebrow arched. j

Grace shot him a level stare. "I hate musicals and Mexican food makes me gassy. I eat it anyway, though."

To her surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched.

So Mr. Tough Guy could lighten up after all, she thought with a flare of triumph.

"You didn't know either of those?" she challenged.

John Smith's eyes didn't waver from hers. “No.”

"Good. Let's see, I'm a fan of romance novels. Gaelen Foley writes these fabulous historicals—"

"I don't want to know what you read," he interrupted sardonically, "and I could care less about your intestinal tract. Why don't you get to the point."

Grace tightened her lips. Any chance of dismissing him in a polite, thoughtful way was fading fast. Her temper was starting to rear its thorny head and he seemed perfectly content to watch her boil while being the model of calm restraint.

Well, two could play at the cool, haughty routine. Thanks to her mother's arctic example, Grace was a master of the deep freeze.

She cleared her throat. "Tell you what, why don't you share what you've dug up about me? So I don't keep boring you."

Their eyes clashed as she waited for him to speak.





chapter

3





Sitting across from the countess, Smith could feel his temperature rising. As improbable as it seemed, the pristine woman perched on the sofa was managing to get under his skin again.

She was so damn beautiful sitting on that fancy piece of furniture. She'd arranged herself with precision, her legs crossed at the knees, her hands clasped elegantly in front of her. With her hair coiled up on her head, and wearing that expensive, modestly cut suit, she was every bit the lady. Poised, graceful, elegant.