An Unforgettable Lady

"Good Lord—why do you ask?"

"If I'm going to work for you, I need to know everything."

"Are you taking me on as a client?" she countered.

There was a long silence. "I’ll need to be with you all the time."

"Of course."

His eyes, vivid blue and glowing, narrowed into beams. "If I do this, you're going to have to be completely honest with me and do what I say."

At the moment, she didn't care if he wanted her firstborn.

"Absolutely."

"Then yes, I'll protect you."

Grace took her first deep breath in weeks. "Thank God."

"Now answer my question," he demanded. "Do you have any lovers?"

She frowned. "No, I'm not involved with anyone."

“Was there anyone else during your marriage?”

"I can't imagine why that would be—"

"Don't tell me you need a crash course on crimes of passion.” His voice was clipped, like a drill sergeant's.

He was used to being obeyed, she thought. Like her father had been. Like her husband had expected to be.

And she'd just agreed to do anything he told her to.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, she thought grimly.

But she was through with meek compliance. He was going to protect her and she was relieved to be his client, but that didn't mean she'd allow him to bully her around.

Unfortunately, he did have a valid reason for wanting to know about her love life.

Grace took a deep breath." I was faithful to him. Always."

A fleeting emotion traced his face. Had it been disapproval?

And most people thought fidelity was a virtue, she thought.

"So what happens next?" she asked.

"I get on your security guys here at the Foundation. You start coming and going in an unpredictable manner. I move into your apartment."

She stopped nodding in agreement. "Move in?"

"I can't watch you if I'm not around you," he said dryly. "And it's not like the madman who's after you only works a day shift."

Grace was dumbfounded. It had never occurred to her he'd need to be that close. "Are you sure that's necessary?"

He gave her a dark look. "Is there a problem?"

"You're talking about living in my home." She raised her hand to her neck, feeling exposed. "I don't know anything about you."

“I’ll bet you don't know much about the guy who does your taxes, either."

She pictured her accountant, who wore half-glasses and came up to her collarbone. Eugene Fessnick, CPA, sleeping in her guest room was not the same thing. At all.

"But you're... different."

"I'm more on the level of the types who service your car, right?"

She frowned, ready to correct the mistaken impression that she thought she was better than he was, but he didn't seem bothered by what she'd said. He didn't care what she thought of him, she realized. To him, it was utterly unimportant. He was focused on the task at hand. On her safety. Nothing more.

Except she didn't want to come across as the kind of person people often assumed she was. Shallow, snobby, privileged. She'd worked hard to combat that image. Her "common" touch, as her husband had put it, had been yet another reason Ranulf had been dissatisfied with her as a wife.

She shook her head. "That wasn't what I meant. You're just—"

Smith turned and started walking to the door. "You coming, Countess? Or do you want to spend the night in your office?"

Grace refused to follow his lead. "It's just that I don't know many people who are as... hard looking as you are. It's a little intimidating, to tell you the truth. And having you come into my home, it makes this all so... real."

Smith paused by the door, pushing his hands down deep into his pockets and looking pointedly out into the hall. His profile was rigid, handsome. Unconcerned.

"Will you please look at me while I'm talking to you?" she demanded.

When his head snapped around, she braced herself for an argument. Or worse. His expression was so grim, she thought he might drop her as a client before they even got started.

His voice was stern when he spoke. "Countess, we need to get something straight. I'm not here to get to know you, I’m here to keep you alive. That's it. If you want to talk about your inner feelings and the way we relate, call a girlfriend. You'll get more out of it."

Her temper flared. "Well, pardon me for trying to put your mind at ease. I was trying to reassure you—"

"Honey, my mind is always at ease."

She shot him a derisive look. "That wasn't what it looked like the night I first met you. You seemed downright hot and bothered to me."

"You were being a pest, Barbie."

"Only because you were staring at me."