An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(83)

It was a tragedy they didn't have that kind of time.

Waking up next to her had been another revelation. After years of leaving women as soon as he could get his pants back on, he'd rolled over next to Grace and had no interest in being anywhere else. He'd watched her as she'd slept, absorbing the look of her lashes against her cheek, the slight parting of her lips, her hair as it flowed over the pillow.

Smith toweled off, threw on some clothes and went out, expecting her to still be in her dressing room. When she wasn't, he looked at her bed and got caught up in remembering what she'd done to him in the night. As she'd grown more comfortable and confident with him, she'd become bold, demanding ... innovative. His body began to overheat.

He was definitely taking a shower with her tomorrow morning.

Smith was about to go out and find her in the kitchen when he saw the count's rings on the top of her bureau. He picked up the engagement one. The thing was heavy, the stone a glorious dark blue, the diamonds on the sides sparkling with white fire.

What kind of ring would he give her? It'd be nothing like the carats and carats of sapphire he was holding. It would be simple. A band, maybe—

He shook his head. He wasn't buying rings for anyone.

And certainly not for her.

He was a reformed juvenile delinquent, an ex-military man, a former spy. He sure as hell wasn't the right guy to become the second husband of Grace Woodward Hall, previously known as the Countess von Sharone.

Period, end of story.

He let the sapphire slip out of his fingers and watched as it bounced and then wobbled to a standstill.

He was surprised he'd even thought about marriage at all, even if it was just hypothetical. Wives were even more of a no-no than girlfriends in his line of work, because families were the ultimate threat to clear thinking. The more ties you had to people, the more stability you courted, the more chances you had to be vulnerable.

He'd always thought it was a mistake for people to assume that if they had a home and a wife and a couple of kids that somehow the world was a safe place. A lot of them figured that just because they had a cup of coffee sitting across the table from the same person every morning they were somehow secure. Smith knew otherwise. Like everyone else, those folks were bargaining with fate; they just didn't know they were at the negotiating table.

He knew he was better off alone, because as long as he was a solo operator, all he had to worry about was death.

And that was one force of nature that didn't scare him. Once you were dead, nothing mattered.

His clarity of thinking about the pitfalls of families had always been a source of pride but now, he wasn't feeling quite so self-satisfied. Meeting Grace was changing what he thought about having a home. For the first time, he could understand the attraction of dependents. The truth was, he liked hearing her move around at night. He liked seeing her in her bathrobe in the morning with her hair a mess. He liked the way she snored softly when she slept on her back. He liked her warmth next to him—

Smith's instincts pricked to attention.

He listened carefully to the silence of the penthouse for only a moment and then he ran down the hall. He looked in the living room, the dining room, and then pushed his way into the kitchen. When he burst out into the front hall, a voice inside of his head had started screaming.



* * *



As Grace stared up at the woman, she blinked away the rain that was falling into her eyes. She felt the hard pavement under her butt, the cold, wet sweatshirt hanging off her shoulders, a hot stinging pain in her leg.

So this had to be real, she thought.

“I don't have a sister," she whispered even though her eyes were telling her otherwise. The resemblance to her father was subtle but undeniable and a feeling of betrayal came over her in a sickening rush.

"How do you know about Starfish?" she demanded roughly.

The reply was soft and full of pauses, as if the woman wasn't sure how Grace would react.

"When I was little, I saw a picture of you and him in the newspaper and I asked who you were. He said you were his other daughter and I wanted to know what your name was. He told me it was Starfish. I've always thought of you as that. Even when I learned your real name."

Grace felt a sting of jealousy go through her, that this other person, this stranger, knew the special name her father had given her.

How dare he be dead when this all comes out, she thought, irrationally.

As she struggled to her feet, the woman put out her hand hut Grace refused the gesture.

The woman's arm slowly fell to her side. "I should have written to you first but I figured you'd think I was some kind of crook. You probably do, anyway. I just needed to meet you in person. I've seen you in pictures for so many years. It was like you weren't real. So beautiful and glamorous. I used to pretend..." A sad smile stretched her lips. "I just wanted to meet the other part of him. The bigger part... of my father."

Grace stared at the woman. Rain was darkening her red hair, laying it flat and wet on her scalp. Her blue eyes seemed to have old shadows behind them.

"What's your name again?" Grace asked.

"Callie. Actually, it's Calla Lily."

A shiver went through Grace. The name. The name she'd heard her father say in the dream.

She shook her head, feeling reality shift and spin as her brain struggled to reorder her life.