“Careful,” she cautioned. “Miss Wei will never forgive me if you get cut.”
He looked at her with studied blankness, and his voice came out the same way. “I’m fine. I don’t sense anyone in there now.”
“Well, get behind me,” Grace said, hefting one of the rocks that lay in the flower bed beside the landing. In a pinch, she could bash someone’s head with it.
Christian surprised her by laughing, the sound doing warm and squirmy things to her insides. Like a mirage, a dimple appeared briefly on one cheek. “Grace, I work on a ranch, not in an accounting firm. And, wringing wet, you weigh half what I do.”
Grace doubted that was true, but it was nice of him to say. “I’m not letting you go in there unarmed.”
Shaking his head, Christian pulled the rock from her hands. “There,” he said. “Now I’m armed.”
While she gaped, he walked in ahead of her to stand, unmoving, in the center of her dark living room. He was listening, and so she listened along with him. She heard the distant susurration of waves beneath the bluff and the nearer rustling of greenery outside the windows. The faucet in her kitchen sink was dripping. She had to jiggle it just so to shut it off. She realized her initial surge of fear had faded. Though it flew in the face of too many experiences to count, Christian’s strong male presence made her feel safe.
“I can’t smell who it was,” he said after half a minute. “Maybe you should turn on the light and see if anything’s missing.”
Grace bit back the impulse to ask if he thought he was a bloodhound. After the evening he’d had, he probably wasn’t in the mood for teasing. She flipped on the light switch and glanced around. Except for the rock Christian had set down on the carpet and the shards of glass just inside the door, everything looked normal.
The Chinese throw pillows on her couch were in the same disarray as this morning.
Peyton Place
, her most recent read-it-with-breakfast book, still lay shamefully facedown and open on the layer of magazines under which her coffee table was buried. The mess momentarily embarrassed her. Some of those
Hollywood Reporter
s were weeks old.
Out of habit—and
not
because she wanted to avoid drawing her guest’s attention to the clutter—she glanced at the half-moon table beside her door. On it, she kept a celadon bowl where she tossed her keys and other assorted items from her pockets.
“My watch!” she exclaimed.
Christian was instantly by her side, one hand lightly circling her elbow. Grace fought the little shiver this stirred in her. Strictly speaking, she should hardly have felt his touch through the Windbreaker.
“I think I dropped it there last night,” she said, pointing at the dish. “It was a gift from Miss Wei. The bracelet has little movie-related charms. She gives me a new one for each anniversary of my hiring.”
Christian muttered something that sounded like,
You mean she likes to decorate your slave chain
.
“What?”
He waved his hand. “I saw you wearing it earlier.” His delectably thin lips pursed. “Why would a thief steal just that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m mistaken, and I put the watch somewhere else. Maybe you scared off whoever broke in before they could take more.”
She was looking up at him as his dark eyes narrowed, squinting into a distance she couldn’t see. “No one else was here when I arrived.”
“You’re sure?”
“Completely.”
His gaze shifted to hers, and her muscles tensed as if in expectation of a blow. The tension wasn’t precisely fear. His fingers fanned her elbow.
“You found me pretty quickly after I left.”
Tingles ran up Grace’s arm from the point he idly caressed, but she kept her answer calm all the same. “Just a hunch. I thought you might have seen the light above my door. It’s always on at night.”
“I
knew
you lived here.” His voice had dropped an octave. “I had no trouble tracking your essence.”
This was as strange a claim as saying he could smell an intruder. Then again, actors often were eccentric. Perhaps Christian was better suited to being one than he knew. Grace told herself not to comment as he leaned close enough to brush her cheek with his silken hair. She could smell
him
then, a whiff of fragrance like sidewalks washed clean by a hard rain. He inhaled, slowly, beside her neck, filling his lungs as if he were savoring her. His next words came out a smoky purr.
“I could never forget how you—”
And then he straightened, both hands clamping tight on her upper arms.
“This isn’t your jacket,” he said intensely. “This belongs to Charlie.”
Grace’s eyes widened. Maybe he did have a gifted nose. “He lent it to me. So I wouldn’t get chilled while I was looking for you.”
Christian dropped his hold and rubbed his palms on his trousers. To her surprise, he appeared vaguely embarrassed. “Of course. That’s perfectly sensible. I . . . ” He stopped speaking and looked at her. “Grace, I don’t think I can say those things in your script.”
“Of course you can,” she countered, trying to sound steady and businesslike. “You were doing pretty well until Viv and Bonehead threw you.”
Christian wagged his head. “I wasn’t as good as them.”
“You can’t expect to be as good as them from the start.”
Except he had. The truth flashed across his face almost too quick to see. She knew then, as clearly as if he’d spoken, that Christian Durand was used to excelling at everything.
“You might never be as good as them,” she said gently, instinct impelling her to honesty. “If you can’t live with that, maybe you should quit.”
His shoulders stiffened, his dark eyes sparking with offense. Grace hadn’t been trying to provoke this response, but it had her hiding a smile. Viv wasn’t the only cast member who was prideful.
“I gave my word,” he said.
He pronounced this with unexpected formality, like a knight of yore who lived and died for honor. Grace’s cheeks warmed in reaction. She sensed she was seeing a very personal side of him.
“Let me help you keep your word,” she said.
Their gazes locked, his pupils swallowing more of his irises. Heated moisture trickled from her sex, dampening her panties. Christian’s elegant nostrils flared.
“
Grace
,” he said, as harsh as an iron spike dragging on cement.
Grace stepped nervously back from him.
“I have an idea,” she said, trying to pretend the moment hadn’t happened. “I’m sure I’ve got extra copies of the script around here somewhere.”
C
hristian crossed his arms, torn between annoyance and frustration over Grace pulling back from him. As she yanked open drawers and dug under couch cushions, her nervousness rode the air like perfume. The scent was as good as fear to the predator that lived inside him. His skin was buzzing, his fangs two hard lengths filling up the front of his mouth. He didn’t know why he’d confided in her the way he had, why he’d worried for her safety.
Whoever she was, she had no right to that anymore.
Possibly, his attitude was due to hunger. He’d gone without blood longer when he was on campaigns as a spy, but this was certainly long enough. Not having fed since he’d met her naturally made him want to draw close to her. The read-through hadn’t helped, what with those descriptions of him carrying injured heroines. Viv might not stir him, but Grace did. Grace made him want to sink his fangs into all of her juicy spots.
“Aha!” she said, kneeling before the bottom drawer of a tall Chippendale breakfront. “Here’s two copies!”
He tore his gaze from her succulent little ass as she rose. She handed him one copy and looked at him hopefully. He probably was glowering. His face felt as if it was.
“Sit,” she said, gesturing to the flowered couch with its mismatched Chinese throw pillows. “You can practice saying the lines with me. Nice and easy. Just get them out of your mouth.”
He sat, then felt irritated for obeying. “They’re still going to sound stupid.”
Grace smiled at him and sat, too, her knees mere inches away from his. “Now you’re insulting me.”
“I didn’t mean what you wrote was stupid.”
He was frowning, but her smile curved deeper. “You might have, but it doesn’t matter. Audiences want to see big emotions. Sometimes you have to be brave enough to gnash the scenery.”
“Gnash it?”
She did her own variation of Bonehead’s chomping noise, adding a growl and two finger fangs. She looked so adorable, he had to laugh a bit.
“
Chew
the scenery,” he said more calmly. “I know that phrase.”
“So chew it with me. Have the courage to make a fool of yourself. All the great ones are willing to.”
Christian sighed silently. The courage to make a fool of himself. If he’d wanted to be a “great one,” as she put it, that argument might carry weight, but she had no idea how reluctantly someone like him relinquished his dignity. Give him a monster, and he would slay it. Ask him to look weak, and he’d rather set his hair on fire.
Not that he hadn’t displayed plenty of weakness tonight already, weakness she seemed to inspire every way she turned.
“Come on,” she coaxed. “It might not be as bad as you think.”
She flipped his script to the page she wanted, then opened the one she held. She wasn’t quite as calm as she looked. Her heart was beating too loudly, or—hell—maybe it was his.
“Did you hurt her?” she prompted, Mary’s line from the ill-fated boxcar scene.
He thought of all the people he’d hurt: friends he hadn’t been able to save in time, enemies he’d taken revenge on, strangers who’d been on the other side of the countless conflicts he’d fought in. He’d made his living as a mercenary before and after his death. His mortal and immortal hands were covered in more blood than Grace could conceive of.
“I stood by,” he said, the confession coming out as a rough whisper. “I stood by and let them hurt her.”
As if she sensed the underlying truth of his admission, Grace laid her hand on his forearm. Not stopping to think why, Christian moved until his knees bumped hers. Grace’s pupils dilated with emotion.
“I need you to believe I can change,” he said. “If you have faith in me, maybe I’ll find the strength.”
“It’s in you,” Grace assured him, her fingers tightening on his arm. “I’m sure you’d find it even without me.”
For one odd second, Christian didn’t recognize her response as coming from the script. When he did, he was almost afraid to breathe. He’d forgotten this was make-believe.
“That’s good,” Grace said, breaking the spell before he could. “You thought about what Joe was feeling. You stepped into his shoes. Trust me, that’ll be easier to do with Viv. She has a gift for putting whoever she’s acting with in the moment. If you forget she’s a brat and just stay relaxed, she can take you there.”
Christian stared at her. Grace thought
Viv
would be more helpful? How could she not remember what she’d been to him?
“Are you okay?” she asked, her human brow furrowing. “Do you want to try that again?”
His control broke with a snap that should have been audible. He hated that she was treating him like he needed hand-holding. Even more, he hated that he’d been acting as if he did. His fangs gave a hard, sharp throb. He wanted to assert his superiority in the most basic way of his kind. That, however, would be giving in to a different weakness. He had better methods for regaining the upper hand.
“I’ll tell you what I’d like to try again,” he growled.
The shiver that shuddered through her was gratifying. He slid his hands up her ribs to her underarms, using the grip to yank her upward until her mouth hit his.
G
race’s body reacted so swiftly it shocked her. Christian rolled his tongue around hers, warmly, wetly, and she melted without a fight. The room tipped sideways. He was under her on the couch. He’d leaned back to pull her up him, and his long, lean body gave hers a delicious hardness to conform to. His thighs, his chest, the rising firmness between his legs, all invited her to squirm. As she did, the broad male hand that banded her waist cruised down to massage her bottom. With the corner of her mind that wasn’t riveted on diving into his mouth, she marveled at how his hold tingled through the material of her pants.
She didn’t think the effect could be natural. Hands weren’t supposed to have electric charges inside of them.
Seemingly unable to help herself, her knees dropped to the couch to either side of his. Grunting, Christian worked one hand between them. When he surrounded her mound and squeezed, she felt like ghostly fingers were pushing inside of her.
Though that wasn’t possible, it didn’t matter to her body. Grace let out a moan and writhed closer. Her hands clutched his silk-covered shoulders like he was a life raft she was riding through a storm. She wished she could reach more of him, wished her palms were cupping him like he cupped her. She supposed he enjoyed the way she rubbed over him. Gasping, he wrenched his mouth free and brought his lips to her ear.