pushed a hand through her spray-stiffened hair, dislodging a crystal-encrusted clip that had been holding a sweep of brown hair from her face. The heavy lock fell onto her cheek, curving below her chin in a semblance of her usual casual bob. Tugging at the low top of her strapless black gown, she nudged off the tortuous high heels she had suffered all evening. The heavy diamond earrings that had been pinching her earlobes were the next to go; she stuffed them into her evening bag and tossed it aside.
Still immaculate in his crisp tuxedo, his black hair neatly swept back from a face that had graced several photo spreads of the country’s most eligible bachelors, Bryan watched her shed the sophisticated façade she had grudgingly donned several hours earlier. “Need help unzipping?”
Since she wore nothing beneath the gown but a few scraps of lace, she merely glared at him in response. She thought longingly of jeans, T-shirts and well-worn sneakers—none of which she had on hand at the moment, unfortunately.
“Would you like some champagne?” he asked, motioning toward the built-in bar. “Wine?”
“Got a diet cola in there?”
“I’ll check.”
A minute later she had a cold can in her hand, having refused a glass. Popping the top, she poured caffeine-laced, artificially sweetened liquid down her throat. Through the glass partition ahead of her, she could see the back of the driver’s head as he navigated the crowded streets away from the theater.
After watching her unwind for a moment, Bryan asked, “Did you really hate the opera that much? The event was for a good cause.”
“The fund-raiser was certainly worthwhile. Of course, most of the overdressed, anorexic guests preening for the paparazzi and patting themselves on their scrawny backs could have donated more than the price of a ticket if they’d just tossed in one of the glittering baubles decorating their malnourished bodies—and that was just the men.”
Bryan made a funny sound in the back of his throat, but his expression didn’t change. “And the program, itself?”
“Opera isn’t really my type of music. I’m sure the performers were very good at what they do, but I can’t say I enjoyed it. Since I didn’t understand the words, I found the story hard to follow—and what I did understand seemed awfully depressing. It just got sadder and sadder and then everyone died.”
“That pretty much sums up the plot,” he murmured, though she suspected he had enjoyed the performance more than she had.
She sighed. “Okay, I’m being ungracious. It’s just that I hate this whole charade. The way everyone watches us and speculates about us. The catty tittering about Chloe and Donovan. The security. I really hate the security. Couldn’t we—?”
His smiling eyes hardened. “We’ve discussed this. The security is not negotiable. I’m not willing to risk your safety.”
“You don’t really think someone else will decide to try a kidnapping scheme, do you? Especially since it failed so badly last time, with all three kidnappers now in custody and the mastermind behind the plan still on the run after jumping his bail.”
“I’m relatively confident that Childers has left the country. I’ve received reports that he was spotted in Mexico and probably has moved to South America. But until I know for sure where that bastard is hiding, I won’t be entirely satisfied—and neither will Donovan. And I’m not willing to bet your safety that someone else won’t get the stupid idea of tapping into my money by grabbing someone I care about. So long as we’re together—even if it’s only for the benefit of the gossip columnists—you’ll tolerate the security.”
She reminded herself that Bryan was a man accustomed to being in command. A man who wielded a great deal of power in his business and an almost equal amount of influence socially. He was used to giving orders and having them followed without question, so she shouldn’t get so irritated every time he took that officious tone with her.
It still hacked her off.
“I’ll tolerate the security until after Chloe’s wedding,” she conceded, her voice frosty. “But I don’t have to like it.”
“No.” His smile had returned now. “You don’t have to like it. Or me, for that matter—as long as we keep those feelings just between us.”
The limo hit a bump in the road, causing Grace to slide on the leather seat. Bryan reached out quickly to steady her, his hand warm on her bare arm. The strength she sensed in him each time he touched her always surprised her. It belied his appearance of lazy elegance—a façade she suspected he cultivated deliberately so his opponents would underestimate him.
It wasn’t a mistake most people made more than once.
The drive to the Manhattan hotel where they would be spending the night didn’t take long. Grace sighed as the limo glided to a stop at the door. Somehow she was going to have to wedge her feet into those gosh-awful heels again. She groped with her right foot, then scowled when her abused toes throbbed in protest.
“Hell with it,” she muttered, and reached down to scoop up the shoes by their delicate ankle straps. “I’ll carry them.”
Bryan’s smile deepened just perceptibly at the corners, irritating her even more. Someday she was going to wipe that smirk right off his handsome face. She was not here to amuse him, damn it.
The driver opened the door and extended a hand to her. Ignoring it, she climbed out, clutching her shoes in one hand and the top of her dress with the other. The lock of hair that had escaped the clip tumbled into her face. She blew it back.
She glanced at her perfectly pressed companion, who had moved to her side. Even holding the delicate evening bag she had forgotten, he looked impeccably masculine—and amused again.
“Now what are you grinning about?”
There was a wicked gleam in his eyes when he gave her a leisurely survey. “You look as though we had quite an…interesting ride,” he murmured.
Her cheeks flamed as she pictured herself standing there barefoot, her hair and dress in suspicious disarray. The blush probably only reinforced the image of a woman who’d just played tease-and-tickle in the back of a limo. Accidentally catching the eye of a rotund man across the lobby, she saw him raise an eyebrow—apparently in recognition of her escort—and then smile in a way that confirmed her suspicion of the impression her mussed appearance conveyed. “Damn it.”
Even though it was exactly the image they were trying to portray, it still galled her to think that everyone around them was engaged in salacious speculation about what had gone on between her and Bryan in the limo—and what would go on between them in the luxury penthouse suite he’d booked for the night. She might have stalked brusquely toward the elevators right then, sending off-putting glares toward anyone who dared catch her eye, had Bryan not slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her firmly to his side.
“We don’t want to give the appearance that we’ve had a spat,” he reminded her, his mouth very close to her ear. Anyone watching them would probably have imagined that he was murmuring suggestions of what he would like to do to her when he got her upstairs. “Play your part,” he added.
She’d agreed to do this, and she wasn’t going to have anyone—especially Bryan—say she hadn’t been good at it. Turning her head just enough so that her lips brushed
