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Her husband Ranulf had been equally difficult. With his continental opinions about what ladies should and shouldn't do, he'd proven to be a close second to her father when it came to issuing orders.
Her mother was no damn walk in the park, either.
Grace took a shallow breath as she heard the deep rumble of men's voices and then the sound of heavy footfalls.
It was high time she stopped being polite and started taking control of her life. As a result of her caving in last night, some poor guy had come from God only knew where just to waste his time. She didn't want this kind of help. And' she wasn't going to let Nick Farrell's aggressive concern, or her old friend's more muted variety, make her take on a bodyguard.
She grimaced. As for the man who'd come in hopes of getting hired, she'd be up-front and apologize, tell him that it was a mistake. She'd pay his expenses, of course. Yes, that was the right thing to do.
Grace lifted her head and stopped breathing. She had to blink her eyes, to make sure she wasn't dreaming.
"It's you," she whispered as she stared into the hard face of the man who had kissed her.
Her heart kicked into overdrive.
What was he doing here? Was he a—
But of course, he'd been protecting the ambassador. That was why he'd been at the ball. That was why he stood out from all the other men as someone harder, tougher, different.
Too bad it hadn't been Cuppie he'd been watching over.
She swallowed through a tight throat. He was exactly as she remembered him, larger than life, colder than ice. His face was drawn in bold lines, anchored by a square jaw and a nose that looked as if it had been broken at least once. His haircut was short as a military man's, his penetrating eyes an intense blue. This time, he was wearing a black leather jacket and a pair of well-worn blue jeans, but he looked every bit as commanding as he had in the tuxedo.
As he stood in front of her, she remembered exactly how it had felt to be kissed by him, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking. He didn't show a lick of emotion. There was no shock or disbelief as he starred at her, not even curiosity. His opaque gaze betrayed nothing except for his intelligence and a quiet, brooding menace.
"You know each other?" Nick asked.
When the other man didn't offer an explanation, Grace murmured, "We met... sort of, at a party. Recently.”
Nick's eyebrow cocked as Grace stepped forward, offering her hand. She was nervous about getting close to John Smith, afraid that something of what had happened between them might show in her face.
"It's good to see you again."
As soon as he gripped her palm, she felt like she'd been hit by an electrical charge. The sensation ran through her fingers, up her arm, and pegged her in the chest. She pulled back abruptly.
Just as she had the first time she'd shaken his hand.
"Would you like us to stay with you?" Carter asked her. "While you talk?"
Grace shook her head and they left her alone. With him.
"Won't you sit down?" she asked.
A mocking light came into his eyes as he picked a chair opposite the sofa and lowered his body down in it. Even seated, he looked tall, she thought.
"You don't seem surprised to see me." Grace settled on the sofa, crossing her legs. His eyes followed the movement lingering on her calves, before returning to her face.
"I don't put myself in positions where I'm going to be surprised." His voice was deep and gravelly, totally confident.
He was all male, she thought, with the requisite pride, arrogance, and ego that came with an overload of testosterone. Of course, he did look tough as nails, so maybe that faith in himself was justified. She sure wouldn't want to get him angry. She'd done that once already and all it'd gotten her was a fantasy life she could do without.
"So let's talk about why I'm here." He crossed his arms over his chest. Impatience came off him in waves, threading through his low voice.
Grace's fingers went to her heavy engagement ring and she began twisting it around in circles. When those sharp; eyes of his flicked over the movement, she forced herself to sit still.
She should just tell him to go, as she'd planned to, as she would have if there was a stranger sitting in that chair.
He was a stranger, she reminded herself.
"I'm afraid you've wasted your time." When she paused, his eyebrow rose. "I mean, I don't think you can help me. Er—that I need help."
As she tripped over her words, she wondered where in the hell her head was. Probably down the same black hole her life had fallen into.
"I can reimburse you for your travel up here," she added quickly.
“I’m sure of that," he drawled, looking back down at her rings. There was a subtle disdain in his eyes, tightness to his mouth that suggested there were other places he'd rather be.
