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She threw up her hands, feeling like she couldn't keep up the guise of being happily married any longer. "You might as well know that Ranulf and I have separated."
Jack let out a low whistle. "I'm sorry. When did this happen?"
"A month ago. I'm filing for divorce."
" Because of the man who just left?"
She shook her head. "No, it doesn't have anything to do with John. Ranulf and I should never have gotten married in the first place."
"Jesus, I really am sorry." There was a pause and then Jack let out a soft laugh. "Is it all right for me to say I never really liked Ranulf? For all that fancy lineage of his, he wasn't good enough for you."
"That's sweet of you to say." She turned to her friend, a sad smile on her face.
"So who's this Smith guy?"
"It's complicated. But there's nothing ... going on between us." She shot him a dry look. "In spite of what you walked in on."
"You sure about that? I think I understand now why he's been looking at me as if I had a bull's-eye on my chest and he was carrying a fistful of darts. He's being territorial. Over you."
Grace shook her head. "Look, I don't want to talk about him, if you don't mind. It's..."
"Complicated. I can tell."
She smiled softly. "Listen, my mother doesn't know about Ranulf, yet. So keep it quiet. I'm going to break the news to her before I leave."
He shook his head. "This is going to be a long weekend."
"I've been thinking that from the moment we came over the bridge."
Jack hesitated. "I need to say one more thing about John Smith, though."
"Yes?"
Her friend's expression was very serious as he nodded at the door. "Be careful with that man. Your heart is in your eyes when you look at him."
Grace felt a chill pass over her skin. Clearly, Jack saw through her brave front and her little white lies.
"It wasn't like this with Ranulf," she whispered. "It hasn't been like this with anyone."
Jack put the wine and the glasses down and came over to her. "We don't get to pick who we fail in love with."
Grace sighed unhappily. "I'm not in love with him."
Jack put an arm around her and she leaned her head on his shoulder for a long while. When she pulled back, he smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Why don't we save the wine and reminiscing for another time."
"Thanks, Jack. You're a good friend."
He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. As he was pulling away, his cell phone went off. Somehow, he managed to answer it, pick up the bottle and glasses, and leave without dropping anything.
Grace shut the lights off and got into bed. Her last thought was of the anger on John's face as he'd turned away.
She'd give him some time to cool off and then she'd talk to him.
* * *
As Smith shut the door to his room, he felt like an idiot. A stupid idiot.
A vision of her in that goddamn silk robe taunted him with what he had been denied.
That Walker and she were together at this very moment was—
He was having trouble finding the right words.
Jesus.
And he'd thought getting through dinner was bad? Being cooped up in a room across the hall from the bed she was putting to good use was intolerable.
He disarmed himself with jerky motions, thinking the last thing he needed was to be anywhere near a gun.
What he needed was air.
Using the door at the end of the hall, he went out and walked around on the terrace until he had a full view of the ocean. Hearing the waves and feeling the cool, damp air on his face, he took a couple of deep breaths while trying to remember when he'd felt so out of control.
It had been awhile.
He'd had a damn fine stretch of being on top of his game until he'd met Grace. Courtesy of destiny's vicious little whim, he was feeling a lot of things, but in control wasn't one of them. He was frustrated. Horny as hell. Juiced up with aggression.
Smith braced his hands against the railing and leaned forward. Staring off into a dark, star-studded horizon, he realized he was searching for some kind of answer in the night sky and this surprised him. He typically wasn't one for moments of reflection and the yearning he felt was as unfamiliar as the ache in his chest.
Turning away from the silent heavens, he faced the house, only to realize he was standing outside Grace's bedroom. Through the glass, he saw her talking with Jack and then he watched her step into the other man's arms.
Pain ripped through him, sleek and cold.
His first instinct was to tear down the door and rip the two of them apart. To keep from acting on the impulse, he reached behind and gripped the cool wood of the railing until his palms burned.
When she lifted her head from Jack Walker's shoulder and met the man's eyes, Smith absorbed the image like it was a stain. With terrible clarity, he saw her body arching toward Walker's, her blond hair tumbling in waves down her back, her arms reaching up and coming to rest around the man's shoulders.
