An Unforgettable Lady(99)

Was this it, she thought with terror. Here in Central Park? In a flash of panic, she remembered what Smith had said about his clients living longer lives because they did what he told them to do.

She had broken one of his simplest rules.

Suddenly, through the rushing sound in her ears, she heard a hoarse voice calling out. She realized the person following her was yelling something.

And then a word she never again thought she'd be referred to as broke through her fear.

"Starfish!"

Her father's voice came to her, Buck up, Starfish, let's see that smile.

Grace's stride broke as she wrenched around in surprise and tripped. Hitting the pavement in a slide, she felt her shin and knee getting scraped, but that was the least of her worries. As the stranger came upon her, she raised her arms up as if to ward off blows.

"I—I’m not going to hurt you ..." Grace was surprised to hear a woman's voice, one that was harsh from heaving breaths. "Really..."

When her pursuer did nothing threatening but instead propped her hands on her knees and tried to catch her breath, Grace thought she might just have been spared.

As soon as she found her own voice, she said, "Who are you? And how did you know my name—"

The stranger pulled back her hood and Grace frowned.

There was something familiar about the woman's face, as if she'd met her before or seen—

Oh my God, Grace thought, going cold.

Her father.

The stranger had the same coloring he'd had, the same: shaped face, similar deep-set, blue eyes.



Squinting against the rain and the impossibility of what she was seeing, she wondered if she was losing her mind.

"I'm ... your ... half sister. Callie," the woman said, still breathing heavily.





chapter

20





Smith got out of the shower, thinking it was a damn shame he'd missed taking one with Grace. Even though they'd made love three times during the course of the night, he wanted more. He couldn't believe he'd thought a single: night with her would be enough. He was going to need, months, maybe even years.

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.