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Too much pressure.
When he was working, he needed to think about his clients safety and his own. There was no room for worrying about some woman who might mourn him. This was why, at the age of thirty-eight, he'd never been married and had never spent more than a string of nights with any one woman.
Smith was alone in the world, except for his people at Black Watch, and he liked it that way. He didn't get lonely because he never stopped moving. And because he had no family, there were no guilt trips on those damn holidays that seemed to come around every fifteen minutes. He was free.
But what about Grace's emotions?
If they were going to make love, she had a right to know what to expect. Which was nothing but some really great sex.
Smith got dressed with an efficiency that had been drilled into him by the Army. Shaving took a total of three minutes from the time he picked up the can of shaving cream to when he put down the razor. His hair was so short, he didn't even need to brush it.
He was about to leave when he caught sight of a splash of lavender silk hanging on the back of the door. He pictured Grace in it and imagined slowly peeling the delicate material from her skin.
What if he got emotionally involved, he wondered idly.
He didn't think it was even remotely possible but he shouldn't overlook the risk. What if he made love to Grace and began to care about her? He'd already come to respect her. And he found her attractive on so many levels.
Christ, for the first time in his life, he was actually thinking about how sex would affect things between him and a woman. That was how different things were.
So what did it all mean for him? Although it was best if she didn't get emotionally attached, it was goddamn critical that he didn't. Neither of them could afford his objectivity to be compromised and, with the heart engaged, the mind could weaken. Doctors didn't treat family members for precisely this reason.
Compartmentalization had to be the answer, he thought, touching the nightgown.
Fortunately, it was a technique he excelled at. His ability to segment his thoughts and his emotions meant that he could go into situations with a clear head and a calm body and stay that way after the bullets started flying. All he had to do was shut off portions of himself and suppress his feeling.
It was a matter of will.
He told himself there was no reason he couldn't distance himself from Grace emotionally. In the unlikely event he felt anything for her.
Smith gripped the silk tightly in his hand.
He wanted her, but he wasn't prepared to lie to get her into bed. He'd give her the choice. He'd be up-front with what he could offer, which was nothing but physical contact, and she would choose for them.
After all, she was a grown woman. He'd spent enough time with her to know that she was smart and honest with herself. If anyone would be able to make an informed decision, it would be Grace.
When Smith opened the door, he was smiling.
"Smith?"
He turned toward her voice.
She was standing in the doorway to her dressing room, her silk shirt partially tucked into the waistband of a black skirt. She'd obviously been waiting for him.
"About what you read... out there." Her eyes struggled to hold his but she looked away as she flushed.
"I didn't know it was your diary until it was too late," he said, unable to keep the smile off his face.
"Yeah, well, ah..."
Smith went to her, stopping only when he could see the flecks of yellow in her green eyes.
"I liked your idea of a birthday present," he said. His voice was even lower than normal.
Her eyes widened.
He bent his head down so he could talk in her ear. "Even though I shouldn't, I want you to want me."
He brought up his hand and touched the pulse beating at the base of her throat with the pad of his thumb. Her heart rate was fast, so fast the beats blurred into one another.
"I think I've been wrong about us," he said, moving his fingers to her collarbone. Her skin was warm and smooth.
"About what?” she croaked.
Her eyes were luminous as they looked into his, full of fear and anticipation.
He put his lips closer to her ear.
"Tell me," he whispered, "what you want me to do to you."
Her breath left her mouth on a gasp.
He moved her hair aside and slowly, deliberately, took her lobe in between his teeth. "What do you want?”
Her hand rose to his shoulders and she pushed him away.
"John," she mumbled. She cleared her throat. He could see her willing herself to be strong and, as he watched her leash the fire in her blood, he respected her for it. Her voice was clear when she finally spoke. "Why don't you tell me what you mean."
He took a step back and shoved his hands in his pockets.
"I don't think there's any reason we shouldn't.. .” He was going to say, have sex but that seemed a little tough. "Be lovers."
