And how about right now, he thought. Let's ditch the clothes. Dive into each other.
Grace's hand came up to her throat. “What's made you change your mind?”
Good goddamn question, he thought, knowing she deserved an honest answer.
"Because I want you like no other woman I've ever met," he said roughly.
Before she could reply, he went on, reminding himself of what else he had to tell her.
"Look, I can give you pleasure. But you need to know, the job ends and I'm out of your life. No permanence, no happy ending." He stared at her, willing her to take him seriously and still go to bed with him. "Until that happens, I can promise you, no one will make love to your body like I will."
He heard the desire vibrate in his own voice.
"Think about it," he said before moving away from her. "And let me know what you decide."
* * *
Grace watched him go.
He couldn't have surprised her more if he'd told her he was Superman.
She'd assumed he'd forgotten about what had happened in her bedroom that night, that he'd brushed it aside with the same casual disregard he treated most things. Obviously, he hadn't.
The idea that he wanted her was deeply satisfying. What he was proposing was less so.
Could she really have an affair? A short, intense relationship based on a physical connection and nothing more?
She remembered what his voice sounded like, deep in her ear, and thought yes, she sure as hell could.
Grace went back into her dressing room, sat down at her vanity and began brushing out her hair.
Except, if she was truthful with herself, she knew it wouldn't be only physical on her part. She was attracted to him but her emotions were already involved.
No happily ever after.
Putting down the brush, she twisted her hair up and began pinning the chignon.
Before her marriage to Ranulf, she'd been capable of believing in happily ever after. Or at least, moderately-happy-in-a-stable-kind-of-way ever after. Now, she didn't.
The question was, it seemed, whether she could be with Smith and still keep her head together. She'd have to be able to resist looking for, and then believing in, a future that he'd explicitly told her would never happen. Because she knew better than to assume he'd change his mind if she lost her heart to him. If he told her he was going to leave and never see her again, he would. She didn't doubt it for a moment.
Grace regarded the chignon from various angles and tucked one more hairpin in the back.
If she got hurt, it would only be her own fault.
She thought about his kisses and wanted to give him an answer right away. It was tempting to tell him yes and deal with the consequences later, to go to him this very moment and fall into his arms.
But that kind of spur-of-the-moment decision-making was at the root of her problems with Ranulf. He'd asked her to marry him and she'd agreed, pushing aside her doubts. If she'd taken some time to think about the situation, she might have followed the inner voice that was telling her they were ill-matched.
This time, she would make her decision carefully. In spite of how much she wanted to be with John.
From now on, she was going to choose her way more deliberately.
* * *
At the end of the workday, Grace looked at the stack of papers on the desk and felt as if she was staring up at a mountain. The pile had grown in spite of all the things she'd delegated, thrown out, or asked Kat to file. She was tired and distracted and the last thing she wanted to do was go to the Plaza for the birthday party Bo was throwing her.
"I can't do it," she muttered.
Smith looked up from the conference table.
"I can't go out tonight," she said more loudly. "I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "Why are you apologizing to me? We weren't going on a date."
His pragmatic words stung but he was right. They weren't going out together as a couple. They were just two people going to the same place.
And she thought she might be able to make love with him and not get more emotionally involved?
All day long, her answer to his proposal had been solidly in yes territory. Yes and now. But maybe she was deluding herself.
Grace picked up the phone, dialed the Plaza, and asked for Senator Barbara Ann Bradford. As soon as Bo picked up, she said, "I'm so sorry, something has—"
Bo laughed and her smooth Southern drawl brooked no argument. "Don't even try that with me. I'm in town for forty-eight hours for your thirtieth birthday party. You will be coming for dinner, you will have a good time, and we will give you a royal razzing about getting older."
"I'm just exhausted."
"Everyone who's coming tonight is a friend. The real kind. If you end up falling asleep during dinner, we'll prop you up on a sofa. You'll be as elegant as ever, just a little more quiet."