An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(9)

The countess shifted, recrossing her long legs.

His eyes traced her delicate ankles and her shapely calves and he felt a stab of pure, unfettered lust. He wondered what she'd look like without all those expensive clothes on and decided she'd probably fall over in a heap if someone asked her to put on sweatpants.

When he'd gotten the call from Farrell, he'd been tempted to turn the invitation down. His instincts told him that taking the Countess von Sharone on as a client would be a complicated affair and not just because of their kiss. She was world-renowned. An icon, for Chrissakes. And someone who, most likely, was a diva of the highest order, capable of making actors or opera singers look meek and self-deprecating.

But he'd come anyway. He was curious to see her in person one last time, if for no other reason than to prove that she was just a woman. A woman prettier than most maybe, but she was first and foremost a living, breathing person who would one day get liver spots and gray hair, just like everyone else. Nothing special.

Trying to find something unattractive, he scanned her closely, but only ended up focusing on the color of her eyes. They were a very icy green now that she was upset with him.

Damn fine color, he thought. Like a Granny Smith apple.

"Cat got your tongue," she prompted.

He frowned, thinking she was trying to bait him. It wasn't going to work this time. "You can't honestly be offended that I investigated your background?"

"It’s more your attitude."

"I'm not here to charm you."

"What a relief. I hate pointing out the failures of others.” Smith felt an unexpected urge to smile. Her sense of humor was a surprise. So was the fact that she was fidgety. Her hands were busy braiding the fringe on a silk pillow.

"So are you going to talk to me or what?" she demanded sharply. Yup, there was definitely some diva in her. "I know where you live and work," he drawled. "I know you're very wealthy. And I know you're featured in that article on powerful women found with Cuppie Alston's body."

Grace's eyes widened as she paled. "How do you know that?"

"Quite a number of New York's finest are friends of mine."

"Oh." She hesitated and then brought a shaking hand up to her hair.

He was intrigued by the show of fear, considering she'd gone out of her way to tell him she didn't think she was in danger.

"So you want to tell me the truth?" he asked.

"About what?"

"How you're really feeling." He looked pointedly at her trembling hand.

She quickly tucked it into her lap.

"I—ah, I am a bit disoriented," she murmured. "I've never had any kind of a threat before."

"That's surprising,''

"Why?"

He sensed she asked the question just to get him to talk, as if she wanted to buy some time to get herself under control. He decided to indulge her.

"You lead a high profile life and have a schedule Amtrak would envy. You leave your penthouse every morning at the same time, go on a run, get into your office by eight o'clock. You work until seven, you go out, you're home by eleven. Weekends are the same as weekdays."



"You managed to find all that out in less than twenty-four hours?" Her expression was incredulous.

"Three questions. That's all it took. And my car was running at the curb while your doorman was talking." He glanced down at the rings on her finger. "

I also know that your husband hasn't been around for much of the past month. In spite of the death of your father."

Abruptly, she rose from the sofa and went over to the windows. Although her walk was smooth and calm, he wasn't fooled. She was winding the rings around her finger again.

There was something going on with the husband, he thought.

When she stayed silent, he said, "So now that I've shown you mine, you want to show me yours "

There was a protracted pause. She reached up to the window and rested one hand on the glass. Her fingernails were trimmed neatly but not polished. It was another surprise but it made sense. She didn't overdo it with the makeup either.

When she finally turned to face him, her face was arranged carefully into an expression of tranquility. It was a lovely lie, he thought as his gaze drifted down to the graceful line of her neck. Her slender hand came up and fussed with her collar, as if she felt his eyes on her skin.

There was an elegance in the way she moved, he thought, a smoothness. He was surprised by how attractive he found it

When she spoke next, her voice was marked by a brusque urgency and he knew then she was going to tell him every thing. Or most of everything.

"I noticed about three weeks ago that I was being followed. It was right after my father's death. I was walking into the Hall Building after dark and I thought I saw some one behind me. When I came out an hour later, there was a figure across the street. Waiting for me."

Her words came out fast and edgy, as if spilled, and he thought she probably kept a lot to herself most of the time Preserving that beautiful image, no doubt.

"Was it a man or a woman?"

"I couldn't see clearly. But I assumed it was a man."

"And how do you know the person was waiting for you?"

"Because when I got in my car, he left. To be honest, it could have just been a paparazzo. They're hungry for candids of me looking mournful."