situation, even if it meant putting up with the older woman’s meddling.
“Well?” Emma asked.
He glanced at the photo once more. Detachment? Hell, he’d been sucker-punched by a picture. Heaven only knew what his reaction would be to Grace Montgomery in the flesh.
Emma patted his knee. “That’s okay. All men react like that the first time they see her.”
Was that supposed to make him feel better?
“I suppose you realize now why she needs someone to look out for her, especially since she’s on her own and more vulnerable than before.”
Ben had his doubts Grace was as naive as Emma painted her. After all, she’d been living in the city and even with money to burn, she’d have learned to be cautious and careful. Still, he understood and felt the older woman’s concern.
Ben let out a groan. With little effort, he’d become invested in both Emma and her granddaughter. More than he should be with a client. Enough to warn him away from this case.
He stared into those compelling brown eyes and knew he couldn’t walk away. Emma’s obvious love and concern for Grace was one reason, his financial needs another. But there was yet another, more elemental reason not to opt out, his personal misgivings be damned. If he bailed, Emma would find another private investigator to get up close and personal with her granddaughter.
At a glance, Ben knew he couldn’t trust himself around Grace. But he sure as hell wasn’t about to let someone else take the job, either.
ADRENALINE PUMPED THROUGH Grace’s system, a natural reaction to the afternoon spent capturing pictures that filled her soul. Unlike her temporary job at a photo studio specializing in portrait shots, her time at the park held the key to her future and she reveled in every minute. Even a routine stop at the corner grocery store hadn’t dulled the sense of excitement she found doing what she loved, and if her instincts were on target, she’d captured exactly the right shots.
She juggled the bags filled with necessities while attempting to pull the apartment key out of her poncho pocket. There was so much flowing material she could barely find the opening. She understood now why the tailor had balked against sewing a pocket into the cape, but she hadn’t wanted to give up the garment in favor of her more sensible denim jacket. Given to her by her beloved grandmother, the poncho had once allowed her to hide her camera from the rest of the family who hadn’t understood her artistic obsession any more than they’d understood her.
She had escaped to another state and a huge city to be on her own, experience life and discover the real Grace Montgomery. Her likes, her whims, her future. Ironically the move alone hadn’t accomplished her goal. She’d ended up living off her trust, continuing to emulate her family because, subconsciously, she’d sought the approval she would never receive. It had taken her brother, Logan, and his recent wedding to the most real, down-to-earth woman Grace had ever met to shake Grace up and make her realize she wanted what Logan had: a life of her own choosing.
Once again, irony played a role. Though Grace had divorced herself from the snooty country club set back home, she’d kept in touch with her closest friends. Cara Hill, a woman Grace both liked and respected worked tirelessly for CHANCES, a charity that benefited underprivileged children. She was putting together a brochure and had purchased a huge layout in a high-circulation magazine aimed at enlightening the wealthy about the problems faced by people outside their social circle.
Raising substantial cash was the goal and Cara was taking a chance on an unknown photographer—on Grace—to capture that real world and the children who inhabited it. Grace refused to disappoint her. The experience could lead to more jobs and ultimately a photography career that paid the bills and left her fulfilled at the end of the day.
She felt the cold, metal key between her fingers at the same time the first brown bag toppled out of her arms and crashed to the floor. She glanced down at the white plastic bag and groaned. “It would have to be the eggs.”
“Another dinner party shot to hell?” A lazy masculine drawl sounded from behind her.
Instinct told her the sexy voice belonged to her new neighbor. Instinct and the curling warmth in her belly. She closed her eyes and held the feeling close. It matched the one she felt whenever she caught a glimpse of him out her window. The first time he’d been unloading a black Mustang packed tight with clothing and accessories. Her neighbor, Paul Biggs, an investment banker, was away on business and the super had mentioned she’d be having a new neighbor living across the hall.
He’d turned out to be a sexy new neighbor, in tight jeans and a faded blue T-shirt that clung to an incredibly sculpted body. Grace came from a world where men were soft and manicured. A specimen like him was just one of the treats of living far from home, and she’d enjoyed watching him from a distance.
Steeling herself for their first meeting, she set the rest of the bags on the floor. She turned, and although she’d glimpsed him through her window before and even snapped a few photos with her camera, she discovered nothing compared to seeing him in the flesh.
He stood across from her, one shoulder propped against the chipped wall. Once white, the dingy paint now held a gray tinge, and still her neighbor’s jet-black hair stood out in stark contrast. Tousled from an apparent jaunt outdoors, his dark hair reached his shoulders and begged for a woman’s touch.
Her touch. She swallowed hard and wondered where that notion had come from? She’d never been tempted to stroke a man’s hair before but nothing about him was like anything she’d ever encountered. He oozed raw sexiness and called to something primal and elemental inside her. Something she hadn’t known existed—until now.
He was pure male testosterone in a package that said, “Don’t mess with me.” And she was suddenly struck with how much fun it could be to do just that.
“Looks like you could use a hand. I’m Ben Callahan, your new neighbor.” His voice brought her out of her musings.
She realized she’d been staring and extended her hand. “Grace Montgomery.”
“I meant a helping hand.” He laughed, a seductive rumble that set her already raw nerve endings on fire.
Before embarrassment at her too-formal behavior could take over, he stepped forward and placed his large, warm palm inside hers. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
Heat arced between them, sizzling and hot. Ben cleared his throat, then quickly released her hand, leaving Grace to wonder if he was as unsettled by the sensations as she.
He quickly composed himself and she wished she could do the same.
“Can I help you with those packages?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you. I can handle them.” But she couldn’t handle him or her reaction to him as easily.
“Well, my mother taught me never to let a lady struggle, and besides,” he said with a slow grin, “I like helping beautiful women.” Without waiting for her response, he stepped around the groceries, bent down and collected her bags.
She turned toward the door, key in hand. Aware of his heat and strength behind her, she put the key into the lock and let them into her apartment.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Just
