Anywhere You Are (11 page)

Marcus Colby looked good in bed. Specifically,
her
bed.

He was on his stomach facing away from her, his arms buried under a pillow, his bare back rising and falling with the movement of his breath.

She sighed and he stirred, his biceps rippling as he forced himself up on an elbow and turned so he was facing her. After another moment, he opened his eyes. Unfocused smoke, instead of hard steel.

“Hi,” she said.

His response was to reach out and pull her to him for a kiss. And even still half-asleep he did it thoroughly, moving his mouth over hers in the sweetest, loveliest good morning she'd ever received. Her arm found its way around his back and her fingers traced up and down the muscled ridges and valleys of his skin.

Finally, he pulled back and focused on her face. “Hi,” he said, his voice still throaty from sleep, a little fuzzy instead of that crisp diction she'd grown to love hearing. She liked the fuzziness even more.

“Did you sleep okay?” Not that they'd done much sleeping last night.

He trailed his gaze over her mouth, down her throat, over the tops of her breasts, which peeked out from her cami, and back up to her eyes. “Yeah.”

Yeah?
Not once had she heard him say anything but
yes
before. She liked that he was loosening up. She liked it a lot. Almost as much as him coming apart for her under the pier. And in her family room. And in the hallway.

Everywhere, it turned out, except in her bed.

“Do you want some breakfast? I have eggs and toast and some homemade granola.”

“I don't want eggs and toast and granola,” he told her.

“Don't tell me you're a black coffee kind of guy?” She frowned. “I thought that you'd want food—you know, breakfast being the most important meal of the day and all.”

“I do eat breakfast,” he said. “But I'm not hungry for food right now.”

He cupped her face in a big hand, his thumb trailing over her cheek, and his gaze once again went to her mouth.

Oh.

Then he went in for another kiss, his lips firm against hers, and this time it was darker and deeper. She opened her lips, sighing into him, her body melding itself to his.

They were deep into the kiss when something buzzed. It took a moment for him to register what the sound was, but when he did, he jerked away from her as if he'd been burned.

“I think that's your phone,” she told him. “It's been going crazy for a while.”

A little crease appeared between his brows. “How long?” he demanded.

“I don't know…maybe half an hour?”

“What time is it?” he said. He peered around, squinting without his glasses. Like the flick of a switch, he went from relaxed to uptight in a split second. She could see it happening—him, shifting back into Marc Mode, all rigid and businesslike and stiff. “Don't you have a clock in here?”

“Sorry, no. I don't even wear a watch.”

He made a frustrated noise, grabbed his glasses from the bedside table, and shoved them on, then leaned over the side of the bed, ostensibly to grab his watch from where he'd chucked it on the floor during the night.

The sight of his taut boxer-brief-clad rear bending over made her tingle in certain places. Well-used places.

But he wasn't paying attention to her at all. He'd found his watch and his cellphone and was sitting on the edge of the bed, flicking through his email messages with a grim face.

“Is everything okay?”

“Email's blowing up.”

“A work emergency?”

“No. It's just that I'm usually at work by eight and when people can't reach me, they get worried.”

He didn't answer his messages. Just ran a hand through his hair, still fixated on his phone, muttering to himself. “No.” A flick of his finger. “No.” Another flick. “Jesus, how many times do I have to correct this document? I have to make a quick phone call.”

Except he wasn't really talking to her. His expression had changed from one of languidness to one of stress. Even his posture was different. He'd started out with his forearms on his knees, and now his spine was straight as an arrow.

He swiped again and punched the keypad. There was a long pause, then: “Greg? It's Colby. Listen, I swear to God, if that deal sheet isn't fixed this morning with the changes I made two fucking days ago, I'm going to lose it. Right. Right. Okay. Handle it.” He jabbed the phone off and threw it on the bed, then stood and began collecting his clothes from the floor. A sock. A belt. Grace watched him in silence.

“I'm going to need a shower,” he told her, still not looking at her, distracted by whatever issue had popped up at work. She got it. He hadn't been expecting to spend the night.

“Sure,” she said. “There are extra towels in the linen closet.”

“Great, great,” he said, not really addressing her as he fumbled around the room for his stuff.

He was out of his element. Marcus Colby wasn't a man who woke up in women's beds without a plan, and the fact that he had done so with her had given her hope that he might be willing to go with the flow—or at the very least, with
her
flow.

But the moment reality reared its ugly head, he was back to his usual self. She liked his usual self—of course she did or they wouldn't be here to begin with—but she'd hoped that after what they'd just shared, he might be able to lighten up a little. Let the small stuff go.

Unfortunately, that did not appear to be happening.

The phone vibrated again and Marc pounced on it, rapidly flicking his finger across the screen again. He punched a few more buttons and frowned, revealing deep lines around the sides of his mouth.

“Shit. I have to make another call in five minutes and my phone's about to die. Do you have a charger I can use?”

She peered at his phone. It was a utilitarian model, not a fancy, flashy job.
Of course it was.
“I think I have something that might fit that. A universal charger thing—I got it for my last trip to London.”

Marc looked relieved. “Great! Where is it?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “Let's make a deal.”

“What do you mean, ‘let's make a deal'?” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“Exactly that. I give you the power cord and you give me something I want.”

Marc crossed his arms over his broad chest. His broad
naked
chest, making it challenging for her to keep her focus.

“I need access to my email or my whole day will be shot.”

She snorted. That was just sad. Marc was finally using hyperbole and it was about work.

Things were going to change. Starting now. She mirrored his stance, getting up on her knees in the bed and crossing her arms over her own chest, challenging him right back.

His expression transformed into one of understanding. “What do you want?” he asked slowly.

“It's a nice deal,” she told him. “Simple, really. I'll lend you a power cord
if
after your phone call you take the rest of the day off.”

He let out a sharp breath of displeasure. “First of all, that's blackmail. Second of all, despite the fact that I would love nothing more than to spend time with you, I can't just take the day off. I have too much to do.”

“Fine. I'll negotiate. I'll give you an hour to get your work done, and you take the rest of the day off.”

He shook his head. “I've got deadlines. Big projects that'll go to pieces if I don't take care of things now.”

“Okay, I'll give you two hours.” He gave her a look. “Fine. Three hours.”

“You are by far the worst negotiator I've ever encountered.” He wasn't smiling.

“What am I doing wrong?”

“In a typical negotiation, you wait for the counteroffer before giving up any ground.”

She raised an eyebrow. “May I remind you who has the power cord here?”

“That's not a negotiation. That's you holding me hostage.”

“So give me a counteroffer, then.”

Marc didn't hesitate. “I go to work for the day and take you out for an early dinner tonight before I get on my flight.”

Grace shook her head. “No. Not good enough. You can have the morning, and I get the afternoon.”

“I need more time than that.”

“How much is urgent and how much can be pushed off until tomorrow?”

Marc paused, probably getting ready to tell her that everything was urgent.

“Tell the truth,” she demanded. “You're an Eagle Scout, remember? Eagle Scouts don't lie.” That had to be in the handbook somewhere; she was sure of it.

He clenched his jaw, but answered her all the same. “Except for this deal sheet,” he gritted out, “which
has
to be done today, the other projects I'm working on could probably keep.”

“Okay,” she said. “Then the new deal is this: I get you a power cord, and give you all the time you need to work on your deal. A decent amount of time, and no cheating and sneaking away to do other work. The rest of the day, you spend with me. Fair?”

Marc let out a breath. “I wish I hadn't taught you how to negotiate.”

“Are you in or are you out?”

He barely hesitated. “In.”

“Thank you,” Grace said, terribly pleased with herself. “Now what happens? Do we shake on it or something?” She held out her hand.

Marc grasped it with his own, but before she understood his intentions, he gave a strong yank, pulling her across the bed and right into his arms. His mouth was on hers in an instant, hard and insistent. She sank into his touch, wanting more from him. Wanting him to lose control again the way she liked.

He pulled away all too soon, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking at her hungrily. But it didn't last.

“I've never negotiated for anything like that before,” he told her.

“You mean with a master?” she teased. “I schooled you, didn't I?”

“Let's just say that you got away with more than you should have.” He slipped a finger under the strap of her lacy cropped cami. “I don't even know what this piece of confection is, but it's driving me insane.” The warmth was back in his gaze now, and the fact that it was just for her was thrilling.

She ran the flat of her hand up his chest, letting it come to rest curled around the back of his neck. “Just so you know, you're driving me insane, too.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” he said, bemusement in his eyes.

“Believe it.”

“I know what you're trying to do,” he murmured.

Was he angry that she was trying to get him to loosen up? She couldn't get a read on him. Soft, hard, relaxed, stressed. He was a challenge. A mystery. And she wanted to figure out everything she could. The one thing she knew he prized above all: honesty. So that's what she went with.

“I know you know,” she said, looking him straight in the eyes. “You're way too smart for me to trick.”

His expression softened, just a fraction. “Thank you.”

When his lips descended on hers, she reveled in it—the searing heat of his mouth as he consumed her, his hand buried in her hair, his quickening pulse—the one she could feel at his neck. She affected him, and damned if he didn't affect her right back.

Gently, he pulled away. “Grace.” He breathed her name. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Spend the day in bed?” she asked hopefully.

“I wish,” he said, his eyes going sad all of a sudden.

“You could if you wanted.”

But he merely shook his head. “Go get that power cord,” he prompted. “And after my work is done, I'll show you how to negotiate like a true master.”

She scrambled to get the cord, having a feeling that she was definitely going to be the one schooled when he was through.

And it would be worth it.

After throwing on a pair of jean cutoffs and a blousy tank and making sure that Marc had what he needed to do his work, Grace went to her greenhouse.

It wasn't that hot outside—not yet—but the humidity inside the glass-walled space dampened her skin and made her hair curl almost immediately. Pulling her hair back and securing it with a tie, Grace breathed it all in—the aromas of soil and moisture and leaves and flowers. Beautiful, fragrant flowers. She mostly grew roses, but she was always experimenting with other types of blooms that might look good in arrangements, such as ranunculus and lilies.

She loved the interplay between texture and color, size and shape.

Grabbing a pair of gloves and her shears, she methodically went down each aisle, pinching the shoots, checking to make sure the irrigation system was working properly, moving smoothly through the space with an ease honed from lots of practice.

Growing flowers wasn't something she'd set out to do. It had been more like a hobby for a while, until a friend had asked her to do a couple of arrangements for a party she was throwing in Greenwich. Grace had happily agreed, and when other people had seen the striking blooms, they'd asked about her work. She'd have done the work for free, but people seemed willing to pay, so she'd made a small business supplementing her meager artist's income arranging flowers for people—and places—who needed artistic, custom-made styles.

Local and organic was in these days, which is probably why she'd been so lucky. But she didn't advertise; every job she found was through word of mouth. For that reason, she didn't have many clients, which was fine with her. After all, she didn't have a huge commercial greenhouse. It was just big enough to grow some seriously beautiful blooms to sell and pay some bills.

And it was good work. Honest work. The rhythm and the cadence of the snipping and pulling and testing and shaping more than made up for the aches in her arms or the twinge in her back. As did her sense of pride from growing something with her hands—something that people could enjoy.

Big Blue had taken to following her on her daily rounds, and today was no exception. He trailed behind her through the narrow aisles, sitting on his haunches when she stopped to prune, standing and madly wagging his tail when she was ready to move on.

The first time Blue had joined her, he'd knocked over a few pots with his tail. Luckily, they'd been empty, but that had required some recalibration of her space. Once she figured out that shifting everything just a hair back so that nothing was close to the edges of the tables gave Blue enough space, she hadn't had any more accidents.

The dog would usually follow her for a while, but if she had to do anything that took longer than an hour, such as fertilizing or feeding, he'd make himself scarce. He could take only so much heat.

In the short period of time Blue had been with her, he'd changed her life for the better. She loved having him around—her furry friend who stuck to her side through thick and thin. It was a huge responsibility, to take care of something else, but she'd risen to the task.

“Come on, Big Blue,” she said, after she finished a row. “Next row.” The dog got up from where he was sitting and followed along after her. “Good boy.”

Grace spent another hour working. She was elbow deep in a bush of
Mister Lincoln
, a hugely popular varietal with a showy red bloom, when the back of her neck prickled in awareness.

Marc.

She turned her head and there he was. Big. Solid. Filling up the entrance to the space, eyes trained on her.

Slowly, she straightened and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Big Blue, sensing something a little more exciting to do than watch her, immediately rose, his height dwarfing a few small plants she'd repotted last week. He somehow managed to get himself turned around in the narrow aisle and went to him.

Marc rubbed the dog's head. “Hey, there, Big Blue. Are you bothering Grace?”

“No,” Grace said quickly. “He's good. I like him here. We…understand each other.” Marc was giving her that intense look again. “I'm almost done with my work. Are you?”

“For now, though I'll have to go back to it later.”

“That was faster than I expected.”

“I decided to delegate. So what's the plan?”

“The plan is I finish up these last few plants, and then we go for a ride. I need to buy Blue a doggie bed. I figured if he'll be staying, he should have an upgrade from the blankets he's been using.”

“I'm paying,” he told her definitively. “You've gone above and beyond already by simply taking care of him, but finding one in his size is going to be a challenge. Did you try online?”

“I called around and there's a place in Wilton that has one. They're holding it for me and they told me I could pick it up anytime.”

Going shopping for a doggie bed probably wasn't on Marc's to-do list today. Or any other day, for that matter. But he simply nodded.

“I'll go get Blue's leash.”

Not working in the middle of a weekday felt as strange to Marc as sleeping in. So did wearing yesterday's slacks and shirt, which he'd rolled up at the sleeves.

He'd pulled plenty of all-nighters for work, staying in his office until everything was done, then going home, showering, and changing, usually coming right back to the office afterward. But he couldn't remember the last time he'd had to wear the same clothes two days in a row because he'd spent the night with a woman. Maybe never.

For Grace, he had.

She was in the driver's seat, the window open, her hair blowing in the breeze, a slight smile on her beautiful face. She looked relaxed and happy. Free.

And being with her made him feel a little freer, too.

When was the last time he'd taken a day off from work? Not recently, that was for damned sure. He worked all the time, including on weekends. And forget about vacations.

In her own way, Grace was forcing him to slow down. Yes, she was a little crazy, but as far as he could tell, it was the good kind.

Aunt Sarah was always telling him he needed a little crazy in his life, and if she were still alive, she would definitely approve of Grace.

Because thanks to Grace, he was getting a taste of what things could be, what Aunt Sarah was always telling him they should be. She'd opened his eyes to the possibility that things didn't need to be so inflexible, that he could separate out his work from his life so that the two didn't blend together in a never-ending blur.

Unfortunately, that was the way his life was set up right now.

What he should really do was hire someone to help him manage everything. Not necessarily a partner, but not someone junior, either. Just someone he could trust. Someone smart, who'd complement his strengths and bolster his weaknesses.

Preston North came to mind. Marc was all angles, but Press was charm personified. He wondered if his friend would consider joining him. Maybe the next time he was in New York for longer than a day, he'd set up a meeting with Press to see where his head was.

Grace had her hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road. “Thanks for coming with me to get the doggie bed. I think Big Blue will be happy with it.”

Marc glanced through the rear window to the truck bed. “He already is. He's curled up on it in the back.”

“Nice,” she said. “He seemed to like it at the store. I guess he's claimed it as his.”

“So what now? Back to your place?”

“Sure. Or we could head to the beach and give Blue a chance to run on the sand. Though we didn't talk about your timing for tonight. I don't want to take up any more than you're willing to give.”

“I'm good,” he told her.

“Are you sure? Because I know you have a plane to catch, and I could easily take you back and—”

“Grace,” he interrupted. “I want to go to the beach with you and Blue.”

She let out a breath and nodded. “I want that, too.”

Not for the first time, he realized how completely he'd misjudged her. She truly cared about the simple things in life, not cameras or fame. When the guy at the Home Depot had recognized her, she'd responded politely, signing an autograph but declining a photo.

No. Grace wasn't fame-obsessed at all.

Which only made him admire her more.

“So I have Big Blue for another week, right?” she asked, her voice soft. “Until you come back from your trip?”

Mentally, he kicked himself. They'd agreed that Blue would stay with her while he was in India, but they hadn't spoken about what would happen beyond that. Part of it was the fact that he'd been so caught up in just being with her that he hadn't had the chance to ask, but part of it was definitely denial.

“Actually,” he said, “I wanted to talk with you about that. You've been amazing to take him for this long, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Looking forward, I've checked into kenneling him, but I know he'd be happier with you. I was hoping you might like to keep him for a while longer.”

“Really?” She looked ecstatic. “How much longer?”

“I don't know,” he admitted. “After this trip, I have a few more planned, so maybe we can just say for the indefinite future?”

“Yes,” Grace said quickly. “Yes, I want him. For as long as you're willing to let him stay with me.”

“I wish
I
could stay with you,” he muttered.

“Marc?” Grace asked, eyes still on the road. “What's going to happen if you don't get on that flight tonight?”

He stopped and thought. About the planning he'd done, the meetings he'd organized and would inevitably attend, the stress that pervaded his entire existence…everything he used to crave. Not going tonight would screw him up for sure. Rearranging those meetings, not to mention changing his flight, was going to be a giant pain in his ass.

But then he thought about simply
not
doing it. Letting it all go, at least for another day, so he wouldn't feel like he was living the same life. For just a moment, seizing something for himself just for the pleasure of doing it. With Grace.

“Nothing,” he said.

Honestly, the Mumbai project had already taken up a year of his life. Another day wasn't going to make a difference.

“Then stay,” she said simply.

“Stay,” he repeated, the word sounding foreign on his tongue.

He'd been buried in his own life, in his own self, for so long that he'd lost all perspective. He loved his work, but life was more than work.

It was about making connections. Doing what mattered, not just for yourself, but for other people. Finding your passion and acting on that passion.

Passion was something Grace had in abundance.

She reached out a hand and clasped his in hers. He squeezed it in response.

One word. It was so easy. So easy, he wondered how he hadn't done it before. He made up his mind, and immediately, his chest felt lighter.

He was going to stay.