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He just wanted to be. Goddamn desperately. And evidently at the expense of doing the job he'd been hired for.
Bo sent him a knowing glance as she refolded her napkin and laid it neatly in her lap. "Well, I'll let you keep your secrets, but only because my momma raised me right."
He shook his head wryly. "And somehow that proper upbringing included drills on interrogation technique?"
"Oh no. Those I got from Daddy." The smile she gave him was full of delight.
Bo nodded over her shoulder to a waiter who began putting tall, thin shot glasses in front of each guest. They were about three inches in height, an inch in diameter and were filled with amber liquid.
She reached over and put an elegant hand on his arm.
"Just don't hurt her, okay? She's had quite enough of that already. Even though she tries to keep up a good front, I happen to know the count isn't all he's cracked up to be. He tried to throw a pass at me the night of their rehearsal dinner. I disabused him of the notion he was irresistible with a swift knee to the crotch, but he's a shit and always will be. She deserves better."
“Why are you telling me all this?"
"Because I like the way she looks at you."
Smith smiled slowly. "You're a good friend, aren't you?"
"You bet your ass."
"I didn't know senators were allowed to swear."
"Doesn't count up north. Have to get 'em all out when I'm up here." The woman stood and the table fell silent.
Smith looked over at Grace as her friend spoke.
"And now, I'd like to propose a toast. If you all could pick up that glass of Bradford's finest, let's toss back a little bourbon for our dear friend, Grace. All love on your thirtieth, darlin'."
As a flaming birthday cake was brought in, Smith put his glass back on the table without having tasted it. He was thinking that Bo had a point about alcohol and love and finding a little transitory relief in the bottom of a bottle. He was so pent up, he could have used a few shots, but he never drank on the job.
That, at least, was one rule he was still hanging onto hard and fast.
An hour later, the party started to break up. People dispersed until only Bo, Grace, and Smith were standing in the foyer of the suite.
"Thank you," Grace said, raising a hand to her temple She squinted and looked up at the chandelier as if she was bothered by the light. "This has been lovely."
"I think you better get on home." The senator smiled "You never could hold your wine."
"I didn't think I had that much."
"Much is a relative term, darlin'."
After the women hugged good-bye, Smith offered his hand to the senator. "Good to meet you."
"Likewise," she replied. "Get her home safe, will you?"
Smith nodded, thinking he wasn't the only one watching over Grace.
When they emerged from the hotel, Grace paused and looked up at the sky, drawing her wrap around herself. Overhead, a hazy moon hung over the city, its radiance dimmed by the glow of the street lamps and the skyscrapers.
"It's warm tonight," she said, taking a deep breath. "Let's walk a hide."
Smith positioned himself between Grace and the street and shot a holding motion to Eddie, who was waiting in the Explorer.
As they walked toward Fifth Avenue, their footsteps over the sidewalk were in synch, the sound of their shoes rhythmic and slow. Taxis passed by, their red taillights glowing, and occasionally another pedestrian would come their way. A soft breeze was blowing at their backs, periodically sending a whiff of her perfume his way.
"I've always liked the way the city looks at night," Grace murmured, looking up at the buildings.
Abruptly, she caught the toe of her shoe in a crack and lurched forward.
Smith grabbed her around the waist and felt her relax against his body. She was warm and soft and his fingers tightened around the narrow span of her waist. He didn't want to let her go, even though walking with his arm around her wasn't smart. All they needed was a photograph of the two of them together and there'd be even more complications in her life.
"We shouldn't be so close," she muttered a moment later.
When she shrugged away from him, he let her go.
"After all," she said, in a louder voice, "I'm a married woman. A goddamn married woman."
Smith looked over at her. She was frowning.
" Bo isn't, you know. Married, that is."
He resumed scanning the street and the sidewalk. "She mentioned that her husband had died."
"Three years ago." She paused. "You two seemed to get along well at dinner. She's beautiful, don't you think?"
He cocked an eyebrow, wondering where she was taking the conversation. "She is."
"Tell me, Smith." She repositioned her wrap with a sharp movement. "What makes a woman beautiful to you? What was beautiful about Bo?"
