An Unforgettable Lady(20)

He cursed out loud.

It was a great fantasy but that's all it would ever be.

Besides, a woman like her would be used to the unmarred skin of investment bankers and aristocrats. Men whose professions didn't require they be stitched back together with a needle and thread. One look at Smith's map of horrors and she'd probably run shrieking in the opposite direction.

Then again, maybe she wouldn't. He thought of that chin of hers, kicked up high.

Oh, Christ, who was he fooling? He was never going to find out.

Smith shut off the light and left the bathroom. Shrugging out of his pants, he tossed them over the back of a chair, logged off his computer, and laid down on the bed. He didn't bother getting under the covers. The night was unseasonably warm for fall and he'd turned up the temperature gauge in the room so that the air conditioning wouldn't come on.

He hated fake air.

Smith crossed his arms over his chest and shut his eyes, ready for blackness. He was an efficient sleeper. Out like a light, awake just as fast. A typical night was three hours flat on his back and then he'd be recharged.

Except he hadn't had "typical" in the past week. Lately, he'd had trouble sleeping, and sure enough, minutes later, he jacked himself up into a sitting position. With visions of the countess swirling in his head, Smith leaned back against the padded headboard, pissed.

That dreamless trance he went into every night was the closest thing to a normal routine he had. The fact that it was getting thrown out of whack on account of some woman was simply unacceptable.

Maybe he just needed to get laid.

He leaned over to the nightstand and slid a long, thin cigar out of a pack that was mostly full. The flash of his lighter was bright yellow in the darkness, the tip of the cheroot glowed orange when he inhaled.

That was probably it. He needed to have sex.

As he exhaled, the feel of the countess's body against his own came to him in a rush.

But Christ, not with her.

His cell phone rang.

Smith's head whipped around, and before the sound came again, he had the phone against his ear.

"Yeah?"

There was a long pause. "Is this ... John Smith?"

His body knew the voice even before his brain recognized it.

"Yeah."

"It's Grace Hall," the voice said. "I need you." When Smith put the phone down, he wondered what had taken her so long to call. Tiny, it seemed, might be going to Paraguay after all.





chapter

5





Twenty minutes later, Smith was on Wall Street, walking up the granite steps of her family's skyscraper. As he approached the banks of revolving doors, a uniformed security guard opened a side door for him.

"Mr. Smith?"

When he answered, the man stepped aside to let him pass.

"She's waiting for you," the guard said. "Up in her office, on the top floor. You want to take the elevators over there."

Smith gave the man a nod and got into the elevator. Fifty-two floors up, it eased to a stop and he stepped out into a plush hallway. At the end of the corridor, he saw light spilling from a pair of doors and he went toward it, his feet silent over thick carpeting. He passed by conference rooms and offices and thought, if it weren't for the spectacular oil paintings hanging on the walls, he could have been in the executive suite of any successful corporation.

Smith slowed as he came up to the doors. Without knocking, he pushed open one side and saw her.

Silhouetted against a twinkling view of the city, the countess was wearing a red gown and facing out toward a wall of windows. The flowing silk covered her long, lean body and left her back exposed. With her hair coiled on her head, she had the graceful curves of a ballet dancer.

A howling need hit him in the gut just as she caught his reflection in the glass. He heard her breath suck in with a hiss and she seemed to take a moment to steady herself before she turned. When she did, he saw her fine features were tight with tension.

"You move so quietly," she said.

He shrugged. "No sense announcing myself with a marching band."

Her lips lifted in a smile and Smith felt his chest constrict. He wasn't someone who got preoccupied by beauty but he found himself absorbing hers through his skin. She warmed him.

He resented the effect.

"What's going on?" he said sharply.

"Have you heard the news?" The treble of fear was in her voice, making it higher than he remembered.