An Unforgettable Lady(94)

She went across the hall and knocked on his doorjamb. "John?"

He came out of the bathroom wearing a T-shirt and black pants. There was a towel hanging around his neck and his hands were gripping both ends, making his biceps stand out.

A flush sped through her but, when their eyes met and he showed little response, disappointment had her squaring her shoulders.

"Good morning," she said.

He nodded. "Morning."

She sure could have used a smile. Some hint of warmth. The touch of his hand. Instead, he seemed to have retreated into himself and she was reminded of when she'd first seen him and wondered whether there was anything behind the hardness.

"Ummm—There's been a change in plans. We're leaving," she said.

"Fine."



She frowned. The night before, he had held her tightly against him, whispered her name hoarsely as his body had come into hers. Staring at his impassive face, she thought it was as if everything that had happened the night before had been a dream.

One of hers. Not his.

She hesitated. "Right. I'm going to pack."

"I'll be ready in ten minutes."

As he turned away, her eyes clung to his back. "John, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." The word was said over his shoulder as he walked into the bathroom.

She heard water rushing into a sink and the soft hiss of a shaving cream can.

Grace followed him. "Why are you being this way?"

His eyes were fixed on the mirror as he picked up a razor and cut a swath through the white beard he'd given himself.

"What way, exactly?"

"Talk to me, please."

"I don't have anything to say."

"Nothing?"

His eyebrow cocked as he rinsed the razor off and went back to work on his beard. "You want me to make something up?"

"Just so you know," she said roughly, "if your goal is to prove there's no happy ending in store for us, your mission's accomplished."

Going back to her own room, she realized she'd made a rash miscalculation by assuming things couldn't get any harder if they made love.





chapter

19





As the jet descended over the runway at Teterboro, Smith looked out the oval window next to his seat at the rushing ground. He'd spent the hour of air time with his eyes closed, but he hadn't been sleeping.

Ever since he'd woken up next to Grace that morning, he'd been trying to convince himself he wasn't falling in love with her. The lecture wasn't going well, even though it was based on totally rational principles. Hell, he of all people should know that one night didn't mean anything. It was just two bodies in the dark, fulfilling evolution's prime directive.

So why did he feel like his center of gravity was off?

And why the hell did he behave like such a jerk to her?

He remembered how she'd looked standing in the doorway to the bathroom as he'd shaved. Her words before she'd left had made him feel despicable.

Christ, what a hypocrite he was. Telling her that she deserved better than the way her husband had treated her only to lay on the silent treatment after they'd... made love.

Made love. Those were the right words, he realized.

The night before had been about so much more than a good lay, and he was struggling to come to terms with his response. Things like sticking around or even wanting to be with a woman again after he'd had her once were not what were usually on his mind the morning after.

He wanted to talk with Grace. He did. He just felt like he had to get his mind straight. He needed something to say that made sense to him.

Well, at least he knew where the hell to start. He needed to apologize for not handling his confusion better. A little introspection was one thing. Shutting her out completely was unacceptable.

As the plane landed on the tarmac and the reverse thrusters began to slow them down, he looked across the aisle. Grace was going through her monthly reports and had spread papers out everywhere on the seat next to her, on the floor, across the built-in table to her right. She was dressed casually, wearing a well-fitting sweater and a pair of light wool slacks, but she still managed to look elegant.

He never would have imagined being attracted to someone who was so refined. Or so expensive-looking.

He tried to narrow down why she was so different from the other women he'd known. All kinds of images came to mind. Her reaching out to touch his scars, her chin kicked up in the midst of her fear, her shy eyes as she stripped for him. She was such a contradiction, assertive yet vulnerable, regal yet down-to-earth, passionate yet reserved.