FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Grace was back in her suite with Lucas. But they were not alone. Geraldine, George, Tina and Jamie, along with two San Francisco detectives who’d shown up after Lucas had called the shooting in to the police, were also there.
Shooting. The word continued to reverberate in her head like the gunfire that had splintered that nearby pillar. Someone had actually tried to kill her. Or at least frighten her to death, which, if that had been her assailant’s intention, he’d almost succeeded in doing.
“Hey, Kincaid.” A tall man with a lantern jaw and pewter crewcut, who’d introduced himself as Detective Robert MacDonald, greeted Lucas. “I thought you’d quit the bodyguard business.”
“I was planning to.” Lucas glanced over at Grace, who was curled into a corner of the ivory brocade sofa, holding the cup of tea Geraldine had ordered from room service. “But something came up.” Although his words were directed at the detective, he didn’t take his gaze from Grace. “Samantha was in a bind. She needed me to do this one last job.”
“Grace,” Tina asked, “is this true? You actually hired a bodyguard?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” The teacup rattled as Grace lowered it to the gilt-rimmed saucer.
Although she’d made a feeble protest when Lucas had scooped her up from the carpeting, held her against his chest and carried her through the excited throng to the elevator, truthfully, she’d been relieved, since she hadn’t been all that sure that her legs, which were shaking like the rest of her, would have been capable of holding her up.
“I don’t understand,” Geraldine complained. When she took a cigarette out of her bag, George jumped up to light it. “Why on earth would you hire a bodyguard? Not that he’s not lovely to look at,” she amended. Then, realizing that was perhaps not the most politically correct thing to say, she glanced over at Lucas. “No offense intended, darling.”
“None taken,” Lucas agreed easily.
“It’s a bit complicated,” Grace said. “I’ve been getting these letters—”
“The people in the mail room tell me you receive the most fan mail of any of our writers. Even more than the mystery author who writes the whodunits featuring the lesbian black medical examiner.”
“Well, these aren’t exactly fan letters.”
“They’re threats,” Tina revealed flatly.
“Threats?” George asked, his eyes going wide behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “As in death threats?”
“That’s right. And although I’m a little miffed that Grace didn’t see fit to reveal Mr. Kincaid’s true reason for being at the conference, I, for one, am grateful he was here,” Tina continued.
“I agree,” Jamie said, bestowing a warm look on the subject of their discussion. “After all, who knows what might have happened if Lucas hadn’t been with Grace this evening?”
Vaguely remembering hearing a second shot as she’d been pinioned beneath him, Grace had been thinking much the same thing.
“You’re right, of course,” Geraldine said from a cloud of blue smoke. “But I’m still stunned that you’ve been going through all this, Grace, and didn’t tell us.”
“I wasn’t overly concerned until another letter was waiting for me here at the hotel,” Grace admitted. “Since I’d seen this classified advertisement, I called the agency on a whim.”
“You found a bodyguard in the classifieds?” Tina asked the same question Jamie had asked earlier.
“Actually, as impossible as it sounds, I did.”
“Are you any good?” Geraldine asked Lucas.
“He was good enough to save my life.” Grace spoke up, earning a faint smile from the man whose body she imagined she could still feel against her own.
“That could have been a fluke,” George volunteered.
“I doubt that,” the second detective said. “S. J. Slade runs a first-class private protection agency. And Kincaid’s one of her top operatives.”
“Even so, there are so many people at the conference, it seems as if it’s going to be impossible to keep whoever fired that shot from trying again,” Tina said with a frown. “Perhaps you should just cancel your participation, Grace,” she suggested. “No one would blame you for going home.”
“And leave Robert to accept my ROMI if I win?” Grace folded her arms. “Not in this lifetime. I refuse to cave in and surrender just because some crazed reader appears to have gone off the deep end.”
“Well, now that we have that settled,” MacDonald said, with ill-concealed impatience, “perhaps you can fill me in on these letters, Ms. Fairchild. There’s a very good chance that a would-be murderer is still in the hotel. And I’d like to begin my investigation sometime in this century.”
“I’m sorry.” The gritty suggestion that her would-be assassin might be lurking somewhere close by chilled Grace’s blood again.
“I’ve received four over the past two months. The latest was waiting for me when I arrived at the hotel this morning.”
“Obviously it’s someone who knew you were going to be here.”
It was the same thing that Lucas had suggested earlier in the bar. Grace gave him the same answer.
“Terrific.” The detective rubbed his jaw. “Advance publicity and two thousand potential suspects.”
Not having an answer for that, Grace stood up, went into the bedroom and returned with the slender stack of envelopes.
A silence settled over the room as he turned his attention to the letters, then passed them on to the other detective.
There was more questioning. Although Grace was definitely uncomfortable discussing personal problems, she related the facts of her divorce, since she knew that Lucas would tell if she didn’t. As well as her threats from Kevin.
“So, who all knew about these letters?”
“Jamie,” Grace said, wishing she hadn’t involved her best friend in such an unsavory situation. “And Tina. And, of course, I told Lucas—Mr. Kincaid—this afternoon.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
MacDonald turned to Tina. “If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’d like to ask you a few questions. And you, too, Ms. Manning.”
“Of course,” Tina said.
“Anything I can do to help,” Geraldine said. She stabbed her cigarette out in a crystal ashtray etched with the crown logo of the hotel, then promptly lit another one.
Although both women consented without hesitation, Lucas noticed that neither of them appeared overly thrilled by the circumstances, either. He got the feeling that rather than appearing concerned for Grace, they were mostly peeved at having been dragged into the investigation.
Eventually, everyone left and Grace once again found herself alone with Lucas. Fortunately, after the adrenaline burst that had come with being shot at had faded away, she’d been left with an exhaustion that almost—but not entirely—overcame her attraction to him.
“How are you holding up?” He was sitting across from her, sprawled out in a wing chair in a way that reminded her of a lazy lion. But from the speed with which he’d thrown her to the floor, Grace knew looks were decidedly deceptive.
“I’m fine. Thanks to you.” She gripped her hands together to keep them from trembling. “You saved my life.” It was still a stunning thought—not so much that Lucas had protected her, but that someone had attempted to kill her in the first place.
She leaned her head against the back of the sofa, closed her eyes and began massaging her temples, where the headache that had threatened earlier was now throbbing.
“I was just doing my job.”
It took an effort, but she opened her eyes. “Is that all it was?”
“What do you think?”
“That’s just the problem. I don’t know what to think about any of this.”
“It’s going to be all right, Gracie. You’re going to be all right.” He got up from the chair and came around behind her, replacing her fingers with his larger, callused ones.
“I believe you’re going to keep me safe.” His touch was so extraordinarily tender. “But there’s more going on here. You have to understand, after Robert I swore that I wasn’t going to let myself get involved again. Not that we’re involved,” she said hastily. “I mean, not really, but—”
“Of course we are.” His hands moved to her braid, unweaving it so his fingers could massage the back of her head, the nape of her neck. “Just because neither one of us were looking for this doesn’t mean we can deny it, either.” His palms moved to her tensed shoulders as he began working out the knots.
“It’s only chemistry,” she murmured. His clever, soothing touch made her want to purr. “Sex.”
“Don’t knock chemistry. It’s what makes diamonds different from coal. Gold from brass. Some of the most potent physical reactions in the universe are the results of chemistry.” Drawn by the scent of her hair, which reminded him of summer sunshine and ocean breezes, he kissed the top of her head. “And since you brought it up, sugar, I’ve never been one to discount sex.”
“I’ll just bet you haven’t.”
“It’s different with you.” He brushed her hair aside and touched his lips to her neck, in that surprisingly sensitive little hollow right behind her ear he’d discovered earlier. “This morning I’d quit my job and was on my way to Alaska.”
“What’s in Alaska?”
“Whales. Jagged, snow-capped peaks shimmering with glaciers thrusting upward into an unbelievably blue sky. Grizzlies. Wolves. And scenery so wild and unspoiled it’ll take your breath away.”
“What are you going to do there?”
“Sail. Soak up the sights. Play. Want to come with me, Gracie?”
Her life had been so centered around work these past years, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d played. And it had been even longer still since she’d skimmed across the waves with the sea breeze blowing in her hair and the spray of saltwater on her face. It sounded heavenly. And impossible.
“I don’t think so. I have books to write—”
“You can write them in Alaska.” His lips skimmed down her neck, leaving a sparkling trail of flames. “The scenery and the solitude will inspire your creativity.”
“It sounds lovely.”
“Better than lovely. It’ll be an adventure. Just think of it, sugar, you and I in Alaska, sailing along the empty miles of coastline, exploring hidden inlets, diving overboard to swim naked in the sea—”
“We’d freeze.”
“Nah.” His hands moved over her shoulder and down her arms. “I promise, I’ll keep you plenty warm enough.”
Of that Grace had not a single doubt. “I have responsibilities.”
“Screw them.” The suggestion rumbled in her ear even as it tried to take root in her heart. “So far, in the last few hours, I’ve met your rat ex-husband, your agent, your publisher and a hunk of a cover model who’s ticked off at you because you decided to dump the clinch covers. From what I can see, there are an awful lot of people sitting back getting a piece of the action.”
“It’s not like that.” She pulled out of his arms, turned around and went up on her knees on the couch so she could look him directly in the eye. “What you see as exploitation, I see as teamwork. Except for Robert,” she explained. “We all have one goal in mind, to put out the best story we can.”
“And what if one of the team members is trying to kill you?”
“Surely you don’t suspect Geraldine or Tina?”
“Right now I suspect everyone who was in that room tonight. And so should you.”
“I can’t live that way.” She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, Lucas still reminded her of one of her heroes. But not a pirate. His rugged face had turned gladiator grim. “Not trusting anyone.”
“That hunk in the plaid skirt threatened you.”
“Kilt. And Kevin’s always had a terrible temper. Since his picture sells books, people put up with it.”
“You’re also cutting off your ex’s gravy train.”
“True. But believe me, Lucas, it would take more guts than Robert could possess in several lifetimes for him to risk a murder attempt.”
“Maybe himself. But he could have hired that fake outlaw. The masked man who appears to have ridden off into the sunset without anyone knowing who he was. Or how he ended up in the pageant without an entry form.”
“Do we have to talk about this now?” she complained. The headache was trying to return. “I’m going to have nightmares as it is.”
“Okay.” Lucas reluctantly reminded himself that it was technically MacDonald’s job to find the shooter. “So, going back to my offer of an all-expenses-paid vacation to paradise, when was the last time you strolled along a beach and watched the sun set into the sea?”
“I live in New York. It rises out of the sea on the East Coast.”
“Sounds as if you’re due for a change.”
Grace didn’t know whether to laugh at his tenacity or cry. The smothered sound she managed was a bit of both. “Are you always this stubborn?”
“When I want something, absolutely.”
“And you want me.”
“More than I’ve ever wanted any woman in my life.”
Grace made her living with words. She’d certainly written similar dialogue for characters innumerable times before. But never had any pretty words of love spoken by any man—real or imaginary—possessed the power of that single, tersely uttered declaration.
“You’re going to think I’m a hysterical female—”
“Not hysterical.” But definitely female, he decided, as those glorious breasts rose and fell with her deep breath.
“That’s funny. Since I feel on the verge of a nervous breakdown right now. And, although I hate to admit it, and I know I said I didn’t want to talk about what happened, or your reason for being here, I’m scared....”
Her voice deserted her. Repressing a shudder, Grace pressed her lips together, determined to regain control. “Oh, God.” She covered her eyes and hated how she felt. Frightened, fragile, needy.
He wanted to hold her, but knowing that would lead to kissing her, which could all-too-easily lead to something else, Lucas reminded himself that he’d been brought up to believe in an old-fashioned chivalry that had ironclad rules about taking advantage of vulnerable women.
“I know just what you need.”
“What?” she mumbled from behind her hands.
“Bed.”
“What?” Embarrassed by her crumbling composure, but surprised by his quiet, matter-of-fact statement, Grace forced herself to look up at him.
“You need to get to bed.” He smiled as he came around to stand in front of the sofa. “And, although it’s definitely not my first choice, alone.”
“Are you leaving?”
Although she hated revealing weakness, Grace knew that she wouldn’t get any sleep at all if she were by herself listening for every little sound, waiting for that outlaw assassin to break into her room and kill her.
Murder. The idea, in the abstract, was unpalatable. The thought of herself as a murder victim was incomprehensible.
“Not on a bet. I’d stay even if I wasn’t getting paid, Gracie. Because when that guy took a potshot at you tonight, he made things personal. Real personal.”
When his voice threatened to choke up at the memory of how close that shooter had come to succeeding, Lucas swallowed in an attempt to wash away the acrid taste of fury.
“And since it’s obvious that you’re dead on your feet, although I wanted to get you out of the hotel tonight to someplace safer, we’ll save that until morning.”
“I can’t leave tomorrow morning. I’m scheduled to give the keynote speech.”
“Cancel it.”
She might give in to him on protection matters. She might even allow herself to be tempted, just a little, by the idea of running away from her responsibilities and going to Alaska. But there was no way Grace was going to allow Lucas to dictate to her regarding her career decisions.
“I can’t. No,” she amended with a toss of her head. “What I meant to say was that I won’t.”
She was trying to come up with the best way to try to explain the importance of this speech, not only to announce her solo career in this most public of forums, but to prove to herself that she didn’t need Robert—or anyone else—to handle her career for her, when, once again, Lucas surprised her.
“Okay. If it’s that important to you, we’ll work something out.”
“Thank you.” She might not be willing to permit anyone to take over her new, independent life, but she wasn’t foolish enough not to accept help when it was offered. “That’s very understanding of you.”
“I’ve been known to have my moments.” He held out his hand, and as she took it, his look turned serious. “I’m not Robert, Gracie. Not in any way.”
“I know.” Any comparison between the two men would be ludicrous.
“Tomorrow we’ll talk. About Alaska.” Lucas found himself wishing that they’d met in any other way. That he could forget about the need to protect her life and concentrate on ways to win her heart. But life, he’d found, was seldom simple.
“I can’t go to Alaska.”
“Hawaii then.” The idea of Grace in a bikini was definitely appealing. “Think of it, Gracie—a land of tropical flowers so bright they almost blind you, lush green valleys, volcanoes, sand that sparkles like black diamonds. And all along the coast are hidden coves where we can get naked and swim in the blue-green waters—”
“Do all your fantasies involve getting wet and naked?”
“Of course not. Want to hear the one about how I’ve rescued you from an avalanche, and I carry you miles through the knee-deep snow until we get to a cabin, where, after we stumble in, I light a fire and—”
“We get naked.”
“Of course. Because our clothes are all wet from the snow.”
He’d linked their fingers together as he walked her the few feet to the bedroom door, and for the moment Grace allowed herself to pretend that this evening had never happened, that the shooter hadn’t existed, that Lucas was not her bodyguard, but merely a man who was walking her home after a pleasant date. A date that held the promise of more to come.
“I knew it. Wet and naked. Admit it, Lucas. Your fantasies are stuck in a rut.”
He laughed at that. “I guess you’re right. And you can call me a sexist pig, darlin’, but I can’t imagine how any red-blooded male could spend two minutes with you and not experience the same fantasy.”
“Since I’m not up to giving a lecture on sexist comments, I believe I’ll just take that as a compliment,” she decided.
“You do that. Because it’s the truth. Want to hear a few more of my more colorful fantasies?”
“Perhaps tomorrow.” Fatigue had returned, fogging her head and weakening her body and her resolve. If she didn’t get away from him now, Grace was afraid she’d end up inviting him to bed with her.
“Definitely tomorrow.”
Lucas nearly groaned as he read the sensual thoughts that were turning her eyes back to that sexy shade of green. Did the woman have any idea what she did to him when she looked at him that way? Did she realize that he was about two seconds from dragging her off to bed and doing what they both obviously wanted?
Although it was torture, Lucas slipped his hands into his pockets, because he didn’t trust himself to touch her again. “Say good-night, Gracie.”
She gave him a look of gratitude for having once again saved her—this time from herself. “Good night, Lucas.”
Grace went into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. It took her less than two minutes to wash her face and brush her teeth. She took her Marge Simpson nightshirt from the suitcase she still hadn’t finished unpacking, pulled it over her head and collapsed into bed. And although she wouldn’t have thought it possible, given all she’d been through in the past few hours, she fell instantly to sleep.
While Grace slept in the neighboring room, Lucas lay on the too-short sofa, looking out at the city lights and, in the distance, the bridge all ablaze with lights, and wondered idly how long it would take Gracie and him to melt every glacier in Alaska.
* * *
IF GRACE WAS concerned about being alone in her suite with Lucas the next morning, she need not have worried. Because when she left the bedroom after her shower, fully dressed with makeup on, she found them all back in the living room, waiting for her. Dalai was there as well, claiming the best chair, dressed today in a black leather Harley jacket and cap that made her look like a biker mop.
“I hadn’t realized the conference had been moved to my suite,” Grace said dryly.
“We’re not going to let you go downstairs alone,” Tina said. “Not after what happened last night.”
“Gee, I never realized that your agenting responsibility included throwing yourself in the way of a bullet for your writer,” Grace said mildly. “I would have guessed such sacrifice would have required at least a twenty-percent commission.”
“You know we’re all concerned about you, Grace.”
“I’ve never doubted that, Tina. Not even when I saw you and Robert having that little tête-à-tête in the hallway before the pageant last night.”
The agent’s face paled only slightly, but Lucas, who was watching the exchange carefully, noticed her body stiffen and her eyes dart nervously toward Geraldine Manning, who was watching the exchange with interest.
“He wanted to speak with me. What was I to do?” Tina seemed to be asking the room in general. “If I’d refused and tried to walk away, he might have made a scene. And that certainly wouldn’t have helped the image rebuilding we’re supposed to be doing at this conference.”
“Image rebuilding?” Grace’s tone was still tightly controlled.
Her temper, Lucas noted with interest, was less so. Her remarkable eyes flashed that green he was accustomed to seeing when he kissed her. Oh yes, he thought with satisfaction, Grace Fairfield was definitely a woman of strong passions. She was like a volcano simmering beneath an arctic glacier, and he, for one, was definitely looking forward to being there when all that ice melted.
“I hadn’t realized my image needed an overhaul.”
“That’s because you’ve never had to think about those things,” the agent countered. “You’ve just written your books, while Robert and I were out busting our butts to sell them to publishers and the public.”
“I see.” Her eyes were frost. Icicles were now dripping from her words. Lucas was fascinated by the transformation to ice queen. “How fortunate I had the two of you to do all that for me. Allowing me to live in my little romantic fantasy world—”
“Gracie,” he interrupted smoothly, “would you like a cup of coffee? Or tea?”
Realizing that her control was becoming ragged at the edges, Grace managed a grateful smile at him for having come to her rescue. “Coffee sounds terrific.”
“You’ve got it.” He poured the coffee from a silver pot. As he placed it onto the mahogany butler’s table in front of the sofa, she caught a glimpse of his shoulder holster and felt a now-familiar chill skim over her.
“And you’ve got to taste these cinnamon rolls,” Jamie insisted. She put one on a gilt-rimmed porcelain plate, then placed the plate on the table beside the cup. “They’re simply scrumptious.”
The spicy, tantalizing scent wafted upward. “I’m on a diet,” Grace demurred.
“Oh, that’s ridiculous,” Jamie argued. “You look marvelous just the way you are. Besides, men prefer women with curves. It gives them something to hold on to in bed. Isn’t that true, Lucas?”
“Works for me,” he agreed with a bold grin as he took in those voluptuous curves in question. Today’s suit was a tailored navy blue with white trim. Her blouse was white silk and fastened with pearl buttons that had him thinking about her milkmaid’s skin.
When she sat down and crossed her legs with a swish of silk, Lucas felt an urge to touch her, just a skim of a fingertip along a smooth thigh.
Grace took a sip of the French roast coffee and drank in the sight of Lucas, who’d reclaimed the wing chair.
He was conservatively dressed again this morning, in gray slacks, a blue shirt, navy blazer and tie, but his dark hair, which was tied back again at the nape of his neck, along with that crescent-shaped scar on his cheek, gave an underlying impression of mystery and danger. One she found all too intriguing.
Afraid he might pick up on her thoughts, Grace turned her attention to the plate Jamie had placed in front of her. The scent was nearly as seductive as Lucas’s kisses.
Enticed, she took a bite. And practically swooned as flavors and textures flowed across her tongue, stimulating all her taste buds. “Oh, this is delicious.” She nearly moaned with pleasure. As she took another melt-in-the-mouth bite, Grace decided that the sweet roll undoubtedly contained enough sugar and fat to have the food police ban it for life.
The caffeine from the coffee began to kick in, blowing away the foggy remnants of the dreams, clearing her mind. Grace was licking the white frosting from her fingers when Geraldine Manning decided to enter the discussion.
“I don’t want to sound as if I’m taking sides, Grace,” she said, more carefully than her usual rapid-fire approach to conversation. “But Tina does have a point.” She took a cigarette from the pack in her purse. As he’d done last night, George leaped forward to light it.
“Romance publishing isn’t about romance. It’s about the bottom line. And, unfortunately, image plays a part in a writer’s popularity. For years everyone has assumed that Robert was the one actually writing the Roberta Grace books—”
“Everyone?”
“Well, perhaps not everyone.” The publisher backtracked a bit. “But it’s certainly the prevailing opinion.”
“That was my mistake.” Grace frowned and ran her finger around the gold rim of the cup. “One I have every intention of correcting. Beginning today.” Her tone was stiff. Her shoulders, Lucas noticed, were even stiffer. He decided it was time to end this conversation.
“I’d like to spend a few minutes with Ms. Fairfield going over today’s agenda,” he said. “Why don’t the rest of you go on ahead? It won’t take long.”
Appearing more than happy to leave Grace and Lucas alone, Jamie jumped up immediately. Although Grace had a suspicion that Tina and Geraldine weren’t all that eager to leave, Lucas deftly and politely hustled them from the suite. Just before the door closed behind them, she heard Jamie cheerfully admiring Dalai’s dominatrix costume.
“Oh, I would have loved to have heard Geraldine’s answer to that one,” Grace murmured.
Lucas laughed. A little pool of silence settled over them.
“You’re carrying a gun,” she said finally.
“Never leave home without it.”
“Are you expecting to shoot someone today?”
“I’d just as soon not.”
“But you will. If you have to.”
“In a heartbeat.”
Grace thought about that. “That detective was right. You are very good at your job.”
“You’ve come to that decision because I’m carrying?”
“No. It was your eyes.”
He arched a dark brow. “My eyes?”
“They seem calm most of the time, almost lazy. But they’re taking in everything. I was watching you watching Tina and Geraldine, and it was almost as if I could see the continual click of a mental camera shutter.”
“Very good.” He lifted his cup of cold coffee in a salute. “You’re very observant.”
“I’m a writer. It comes with the territory. Sort of like carrying guns comes with being a bodyguard.”
A bodyguard. On a distant level, she was still waiting to wake up and discover that she’d dreamed this entire frightening scenario. As mental pictures of last night’s shooting came crashing to the front of her mind again, Grace closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I just need a minute.”
“Take your time.” Because he couldn’t refrain from touching her another second, Lucas lifted her off the sofa, gathered her into his arms and ran his hand over the smooth crown of her hair.
She’d pulled it back into that tidy, efficient knot again today, but Lucas could remember all too well how seductive she’d looked last night, with it swirling loose around her shoulders like a tawny cloud, her eyes wide with passion.
“I don’t have any time.” She rested her forehead against his chest. “I’m due downstairs and we still haven’t gotten around to discussing our agenda.”
“Don’t worry about it.” His palms moved down her neck, his fingers soothing out knotted muscles as he had last night. “I just used that as an excuse to clear everyone out. I could tell you were getting tense, and I figured, since I’d been put in charge of taking care of your body, that the least I could do is send you downstairs feeling relaxed and loose.”
His touch was heaven. It was agony. It also made her knees weak in that now familiar way. But it still wasn’t enough.
Lucas made her feel things she’d never felt before. He fascinated her; he made her want to toss caution to the four winds, throw herself into his arms and discover firsthand the passion his eyes, his lips, his touch promised. But most of all, she wanted him to help her forget that her life was in danger.
“I can think of a better way to relax me.”
His smile was slow, seductive and pleased. “Oh darlin’,” he murmured as he caught her chin between his fingers. “I thought you’d never ask.”
When his lips touched hers, Grace slid her arms beneath his blazer, excited by the ripple of muscle beneath her splayed fingers. Passion rose quickly, as it always seemed to do with Lucas.
“I need to touch you.” His words were ripped from his throat with a groan as he reached beneath her jacket and tugged her white silk blouse free of her waistband.
“Yes.” She was racing into a smoky world. “Oh, please.” She heard the rasp of callused flesh against silk, felt her breasts swell painfully beneath his palms, then gasped in pleasure as a roughened fingertip scraped against a tingling nipple.
Grace had never known she could feel so much. She clung to him desperately, her avid hands moving fretfully over his back. When her stroking hand touched the strap of his shoulder holster, a panicky reality came crashing down on her like a torrent of icy water, drowning the flames.
“It’s okay,” he soothed, when he felt her heart stutter beneath his palm. Felt her body tense and her satiny flesh turn cold and pebbly.
Frustrated and aching, and angry at himself for not having realized that Grace might not find the idea of a pistol conducive to seduction, Lucas retrieved his hands and willed his mind to something as close to sanity as he could manage while his body continued to throb painfully.
Timing, he thought wryly, was everything.
“Don’t be afraid.” He cupped her cheek, his warm gaze meant to reassure. “I promise not to let anyone hurt you, Grace.” He bent his head again and brushed his lips against hers. “You have to trust me.”
“I do.” The words wafted on a shivery sigh from her lips to his. In contrast to the violence the gun and holster represented, his lips were heartbreakingly tender.
Grace trusted Lucas to protect her from whoever had written her those letters. Whoever, as impossible as it seemed, might want to kill her. She did worry about who was going to protect her from him, and even more to the point, from herself and her own unruly yearnings.
“If I don’t get downstairs right away, they’ll all undoubtedly come back up here to check and make certain I haven’t been murdered.” She sighed again. “I’m surprised Geraldine didn’t have you take the hair dryer out of the bathroom so I couldn’t accidentally electrocute myself in the bathtub.”
“Good point.” He pulled a small tape recorder out of his jacket pocket and clicked it on. “Note to yourself. More accidents happen in the bathroom than any other room. In the interest of protection, you should not let Gracie bathe alone.”
Her answering laugh expelled the rest of her tension. “You really are incorrigible.”
“That’s what my grandma Fancy always used to say. Right before she’d drag me out to the woodshed.” He put a hand out, silently advising Grace to wait until he’d checked out the hallway. “All clear.”
Grace tried to imagine anyone dragging this man anywhere he didn’t want to go, and failed. “Your grandmother must be a formidable woman.”
“Oh, she is. Her people are from the Scottish Highlands. All wild folk. Their blood flows in her veins. All us Kincaids are terrified of Fancy. She might not be any bigger than a New York minute, but she can wield a willow switch with the best of them.”
Grace wondered what it was about Lucas that he could make her crazy one minute, then turn around and have her feeling so relaxed and comfortable with him the next.
“That’s something I would probably pay to see.”
“I’m getting the feeling that despite your cream puff exterior, you can be a cruel-hearted woman from time to time, Gracie.” He grinned down at her. “Fancy’s going to love you.”
Grace thought again what a contradiction this man seemed to be. On the one hand he was capable of shooting another person, but on the other, he seemed to have no trouble professing love and affection for his family. His colorful grandmother, in particular.
Grace also decided it was too bad that once the conference was over and Lucas was on his way to Alaska and she to New York, it was unlikely Fancy Kincaid and she would ever meet.