"I'm in here."
When he flipped on the light, he saw her on her tiptoes surrounded by broken glass.
"I'm okay, I'm okay," she said, blinking against the glare. "I just dropped a glass and it shattered."
When she was able to focus on him, she stared at his bare chest and that was when he realized he was only wearing a pair of boxers. Her eyes widened and he knew she was looking at his scars.
"You sure you aren't hurt?" he said harshly, running his eyes down her body, trying to keep it clinical.
He failed. Like an answer to his fantasies, she wasn't wearing much, just a thin wisp of silk that was trimmed in lace. The sight of her breasts pushing against fragile cups made him want to fall on his knees and to hell with the glass shards.
"I really am fine. And I'm sorry I woke you." She started to look around the floor as if for a way out.
"Don't even think about moving. You're going to get cut." Smith put his gun on the counter.
She eyed the weapon warily. "I think I'll be fine if I just—"
"Stand still," he said sharply. "There's glass all around you. Give me a minute."
He went to his room and threw on a shirt and his boots. When he got back to the bathroom, he walked over the glass and grabbed her.
"What are you doing!" she yelped as he swung her up into his arms. He didn't reply. The glass crackling beneath his thick soles said enough.
As soon as he hit the carpet, he released her abruptly and she stumbled a little. He knew he'd better let her go fast or something was going to happen. Something like him pushing her down on the bed and covering her with his body.
In a rotten mood, Smith stalked into the kitchen, came back with a broom and cleaned up. the mess. He was on his way out when he paused and looked at her.
She was wearing the thick bathrobe and sitting on the edge of her bed in the shallow pool of light cast by her reading lamp. Her back was to him and she seemed to be staring out at the darkness of Central Park.
Just leave her, he told himself. It's none of your business what's banging around that head of hers. You're paid to keep her body safe, not be her shrink.
"You okay?" he asked, anyway.
"Yes," she answered in a small voice. When he didn't leave, she looked over her shoulder at him. "Really."
"You want me to leave the light on?"
She nodded.
"Goodnight," he said, and got a mumble in return.
Smith went to the kitchen, put the broom away, and was on his way to his room when he heard a soft sound. It was barely audible and he waited to see if it came again. When it did, he realized it was a sob.
He walked silently down the dark hall until he stood on the brink of her doorway. She'd wrapped her arms around herself and was rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed.
"Grace?" he said quietly. It was the first time he'd called her by her name.
She jumped and hastily wiped her eyes. "What?"
"Why are you crying?"
"I'm not crying." He watched as her shoulders set like concrete.
"Tell me what woke you up earlier."
She waved him away. "I'm fine."
Smith took a deep breath. Sniveling women had never had much power over him. Any power, actually. He was attracted to strength, not weakness.
But he couldn't turn away from the sight of her so alone on that big bed, trying so hard to look composed.
"You're not fine."
When she turned to him, her green eyes were hostile.
He almost smiled, thinking he knew all about that kind of reaction. All about pushing people away.
"I thought we weren't supposed to get to know each other," she said hotly.
He shrugged. "Maybe I was wrong."
No, he was right. But, even though his instincts were screaming for him to go back to his bedroom, he was going to stay with her until she calmed down.
She regarded him steadily. "Okay, then you can go first."
With a determined sniffle, she crossed her arms over her chest. When he remained silent, she gave him a sharp look.
"What? There's nothing you want to share? No deep dark secrets you want to talk about?"
"This isn't about me," he said gruffly.
"Do you ever let it be about you? "
Not in a million years, he thought.
"Look," he said reasonably, "you're under incredible stress right now. Letting some of it out might help."
"Screw. You." She flashed him a glittering stare. "How's that?"
He smiled at her, relishing her backbone. "Pretty strong words for a countess."
"Well, I'm not feeling real royal right now. I'm tired of falling apart inside and having to pretend I'm—I'm fine." She took a deep breath. "The stiff upper lip routine can be an exhausting bore when your life is a mess."