As he looked at her, he enjoyed seeing the force of her will. "Please call me John. That mister stuff can be grating."
With a quick movement, she picked up the luxurious skirting of her gown and marched over to him, head held high.
As she met his gaze with righteous indignation, Smith felt a thrill go through him. There weren't a lot of people who faced off with him. Tiny was one. Maybe Eddie. The rich people who hired him always treated him with deference and respect, as did the high-level government agents and political leaders he dealt with. Civilians usually just stayed the hell away from him.
And yet this woman, who was easily five inches shorter than he, this lady who was in her stocking feet and a ball gown, was looking at him with an authority and command that reminded him of his Ranger battalion commander at Fort Benning.
He'd thought she was a looker when she was being all prim and proper. Pissed off, she was downright spectacular.
"Mr. Smith, if we are going to live in the same house together, you are going to have to dial down your ego and the condescending attitude that goes with it. I've already put up with a father who lorded over me and a husband who tried to. I don't tolerate heavy-handed men anymore."
God, he wanted to kiss her again. He really, really wanted to kiss her.
He grinned. Something close to sunshine was flowing through his blood and it was waking up parts of him that had lain dormant for years. He kind of wanted to laugh. Throw his head back and really let a belly-roll loose.
Who'd have thought all that fire lived underneath such an icy, elegant skin. But then why should he be surprised? He'd already felt the passion in her once.
"So do we understand each other?" she demanded. "I'm willing to put my life in your hands and take your orders, but I'm not going to be ridiculed."
He inclined his head once, in a way that could have meant anything.
He was thinking that after it was all over maybe they could spend the night together. That way, his fantasies wouldn't have to be a source of frustration. They'd merely be a prelude.
Not a bad idea, he decided, feeling pleased with himself.
She let out a frustrated noise and nodded at an open door. "That's my bathroom."
"What's through there?" He pointed to a set of double doors.
She walked over and opened them up. A light came on to reveal row upon row of hanging clothes. Suits, shirts, slacks, ball gowns. Shoes of every conceivable shape and color lined the floor.
She took a deep breath and he watched her shoulders sag as she turned toward him. Now that her anger was spent, she looked dead on her feet.
"When was the last time you slept through the night?" he asked.
Surprise flared in her face.
"Before my father died." She paused. "Actually it's more like sometime before my wedding."
She looked around, seemed to realize she had nowhere to go, and stalled.
"What time are you getting up?" he asked.
"Early. Six-ish. I'm going out for a run."
"I'm coming with you."
"Fine." She hesitated. "Will you be with me all day long?"
"Yes."
"Won't that be boring?"
"I'll be busy."
"Doing what?"
"Watching you."
Her eyes flashed up to his. They were full of vulnerability and an unconscious inquiry that turned him on.
She frowned, as if a thought just occurred to her. "Tell me something. Do you like what you do? "
When it came to watching someone like her, yeah, he liked it just fine, Smith thought. But he didn't answer her question.
"You'll sleep well tonight," he said instead as he headed out of her room. “And keep the door open. I need to be able to hear you."
"Smith?"
He stopped and looked over his shoulder.
"Thank you. I really appreciate—"
He cut her off, telling her the same thing he did all his clients. "Don't waste time with gratitude. We have a professional arrangement. All you have to do is pay me at the end and I’ll be happy."
Her eyes dimmed. "All right."
An odd sensation shot through his chest as he turned away from her.
It dawned on him that he'd hurt her feelings. Again.\
And somehow, hurting her bothered him.
As he walked into his new bedroom, he was wondering what the hell was wrong with him. When had he started caring about the feelings of others?
About the countess's in particular?
chapter
7
Grace came awake with a wild jerk, her arms pinwheel-ing through the sheets. Straining in the faint light of dawn, her body tense, she waited for some clue as to what had disturbed her exhausted collapse.
There was only silence.
She looked around her room. She was alone for all she knew.
She thought immediately of Smith. Had he been moving around? Or was it someone else? She slipped out of bed, debating whether to go find him. When the silence continued, she didn't think she had a reason to wake him up. He was her bodyguard, not a security blanket.