Grace Hall, the soon to be ex-Countess von Sharone, has been
named in the Times as one of the six most prominent women in
New York; an honor on any given day, except
now a madman has targeted the ladies on the list and is
killing them one by one. As the new CEO of the Hall
Foundation, which was founded by her father, Grace has
enough on her plate. Grace figures hiring a bodyguard is the
best course of action to keep her safe while she deals with
the foundation, but what she gets is more of a warden. He
moves into her penthouse and demands she follow every one of
his iron clad rules.
John Smith has been living a ghost life for longer than he
can remember. In fact, John Smith isn't even his real name,
but its been so long since he's heard his real name, even
he's not sure he remembers it. When Grace comes to him
looking to hire him as a bodyguard, John reluctantly takes
her on. There's something about Grace that brings out
desires in him that he's never felt before. Angered by his
growing feelings for Grace, John does his best to push her
away, but with a crazed killer on the loose, one push too
many could turn deadly.
I'd like to warn those of you picking up this book thinking
it'll be anything like Jessica Bird's alter ego JR Ward's
books. AN UNFORGETTABLE LADY is an early publication from
when Ms. Bird first started writing. While it's a good
story, it's no where near as polished as her later works.
Having said that, while there are many clichés and Grace
Hall has a few too-stupid-to-live moments, it's still a good
read. The killer is easy to pick out, but the tension
between the leads is what really builds the story. A longer
epilogue would have been great, but seeing as this is the
third book in a four book series, chances are, we'll run
into Grace and John again.
She thought she had everything she ever wanted— until
she met the only man she’d ever need. . . .
Forced into the spotlight by her fabulous
wealth, heiress Grace Hall isn’t always prepared for the
consequences of her standing. When a string of attacks
against the city’s most prominent women leaves Grace
vulnerable, the refined beauty reluctantly hires a
bodyguard. Now she finds herself subject to the ironclad
will of her new protector. In spite of her frustration,
Grace is drawn to John Smith in ways she can’t explain. For
beneath his tough exterior and dark past, there’s an inner
core that is tantalizingly seductive.
John knows that
when you’re a professional bodyguard, it needs to be all
business. But such conduct makes for a solitary life with
few ties and too many good-byes. Grace was supposed to be
just another assignment on a long list. Yet there’s
something about her that gets under his skin. With each
passing day, the attraction grows more intense—until John is
faced with a decision he never thought he’d have to make.
Can he give up the only life he’s ever known to be with the
only woman he’s ever loved?
Excerpt
John Smith checked his watch and looked around the Plaza
Hotel’s ballroom.
Things were going well. According to the report that had
just come over his ear-piece, the ambassador’s plane had
landed safely in New York City and the man would be arriving
at the party on time.
Smith’s eyes passed over the glittering crowd. It was the
same kind of flashy scene that always revolved around $5,000
a plate dinners. Women in jewels and long gowns, men in
tuxedos, the collective net worth of the room up into the
stratosphere. In the midst of the shifting throng, deals
were being made, affairs were being started and social
slights were being exchanged. The place was choked with air
kisses and hand pumping.
His ear-piece went off. The “package” was in his limo,
heading in to the city.
“Thanks, Tiny,” he said into a small transmitter on his wrist.
The ambassador had been receiving death threats which was
how Smith had ended up in a tuxedo at the party. As he
scanned the crowd, he didn’t expect trouble. The place was
crawling with his men. He knew and trusted them all, having
hand picked them out of elite military corps. Black Watch
was the only place he knew of where former Green Berets,
Marines and Navy SEALs could work together without throwing
punches. If something went down tonight, they’d work
together and do their damnedest to protect the ambassador.
Except Smith didn’t expect trouble because he knew something
no one else did. The man after the ambassador had been
killed about five hours ago, in a deserted out post in his
native country. Smith had been tipped off by an old friend
of his, and considering the source, he was confident the
intel was solid. It didn’t mean the ambassador was out of
the woods, as assassins could be easily replaced, but it
decreased the odds of trouble on this particular evening.
Despite the reduced level of threat, and even with his
instincts resting quietly, Smith wasn’t any less alert. He
knew where all the bodies in the ballroom were, in what
patterns they were moving, how they were entering and
exiting the space. Even the best intelligence in the world
wasn’t going to change the accuracy of his peripheral vision
or his rapid assimilation of information.
The watchfulness was second nature to him. As immutable as
his eye color.
Smith resumed looking around the room. In another twenty
minutes, the ambassador would show up. There’d be the
requisite photographs and genuflecting and then dinner would be-
Smith’s eyes caught on something.
Or someone, rather.
He stared through the crowd at a blond woman who had just
arrived. Dressed in a shimmering silver gown, she was
standing in the elaborate entrance to the ballroom looking
too damn radiant to be real.
He recognized her immediately. But who wouldn’t?
The Countess von Sharone.
Conversation in the ballroom dropped to a hush as people
registered her presence. The social status of the gala,
already high, shot through the roof with her arrival and the
crowd’s approval was palpable.
If these fancy types hadn’t all been carrying drinks, they’d
have burst out in applause, he thought dryly. As if she were
honoree, not the damn ambassador.
He had to admit she was a looker, though. With her blond
hair twisted up high on her head, she was a classic beauty
with delicate features and dazzling green eyes. And that
dress. Molded to her body, it moved like water as she
stepped into the room.
Christ, she was beautiful, he thought. Assuming you liked
that patrician, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth type.
Which he didn’t.
She’d been in the papers recently, Smith recalled, although
it wasn’t like she was ever really out of them. Her clothes,
her parties, that extravagant wedding she’d had, they were
fodder for the tabloids and the real papers alike. What had
he read about her lately, though? Her father had just died.
That was it. And there’d been some spread about her and five
other women in the Style section of the NY Times. He’d seen
it lying face up on the front desk of the Plaza. He was
surprised the concierge hadn’t framed the thing.
Talk about being born with a silver spoon in the mouth, he
thought, eyeing the heavy pearls and diamonds that were
around her throat and dangling from her ears. Her family’s
fortune was in the billions and that Count she’d just
married wasn’t exactly pulling down minimum wage either.
As she came deeper into the room, she turned in his
direction and met his gaze. Her brows lifted regally when he
didn’t look away.
Maybe she resented being stared at. Maybe she sensed he
didn’t belong even though he was dressed the part.
Maybe some of the lust he was feeling had crept into his face.
He hid his reaction as she scanned him. He was surprised by
the shrewd light in her eyes and the fact that she lingered
on his left ear, the one with the piece in it. He wouldn’t
have expected her to be so observant. A first rate clothes
hanger for haute couture, sure. The favorite arm candy of
some wealthy man, yeah. But hiding half a brain under all
that fancy window dressing? No way.
The Countess continued through the room as Tiny’s deep voice
came through the ear-piece. The ambassador was fifteen
minutes away. Smith glanced down at his watch. When he
looked up, she was standing in front of him.
“Do I know you?” Her voice was soft, a little low for a
woman. Incredibly sexy.
The smile she offered him was gentle and welcoming, nothing
like the aristocratic, chilly grimace he would have predicted.
His eyes flickered over her. Her breasts were concealed by
the silver gown but they were perfectly formed and the waist
below them was small. He imagined that her legs, which were
also covered by the dress, looked every bit as good as her
upper part did. He also noticed she smelled great. Her
perfume was something light and tangy that got into his nose
and then his nervous system.
“Haven’t we met?” She repeated, putting out her hand and
waiting for an answer.
Smith looked down. She’d given him her left hand and he
caught a look at the jewels on her ring finger. She was
wearing a monstrous sapphire and a thick band of diamonds
underneath it.
The rings reminded him he’d just mentally undressed a
married woman.
He glanced up into her eyes, wishing she’d go the hell away.
They were beginning to attract attention as she stood there
with her hand out.
“No, you don’t know me,” he said roughly, gripping her palm.
The instant he touched her, a flare of heat shot up his arm.
He saw an echo of it flash in her eyes and she took her hand
back sharply.
“Are you sure we haven’t met?” Her head tilted to one side
while she rubbed the hand, as if trying to get rid of an
unpleasant sensation.
His ear-piece fired up with another update on the ambassador.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
Smith turned and walked away from her.
“Wait,” he heard her call out.
He didn’t stop, just kept heading for the back of the ballroom.
Pushing open an unmarked door, he stepped into a corridor
that was filled with extra chairs and tables. Bald light
bulbs were suspended from the squat ceiling and they cast
harsh shadows on the concrete floor. The hall would take him
to the service entrance the ambassador was going to use.
When he heard a clipping noise behind him, he turned around.
The Countess had followed him.
Even under the glare, she was breathtaking.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Who are you?”
“What’s it to you?”
She hesitated. “It’s just that you were looking at me as if
we’d met.”
“Trust me. We haven’t.”
Smith started walking away. The last thing the Countess
needed was another man panting after her. No doubt adoring
simps were a dime a dozen in her life. And speaking of
simps, why wasn’t her fancy European aristocrat of a husband
drooling all over her tonight? She seemed to have come to
the party alone.
Smith glanced over his shoulder.
The Countess had turned back to the door. Her head was down,
as if she were bracing herself before going back into the gala.
His feet slowed. Then stopped.
“What’s wrong with you?” he called out, his voice bouncing
off the barren walls. The instant he asked the question, he
wanted to take
it back and muttered, “Someone show up wearing the same
dress tonight?”
The Countess’s head snapped towards him and she seemed to
cast aside whatever conflict she was having. She
straightened and regarded him coolly.
“There is absolutely nothing wrong with me.” Her voice was
steady, the words coming out clean and sharp. Maybe he’d
imagined the vulnerability. “You, however, are sadly lacking
in manners.”
Smith frowned, thinking that she was damn efficient with the
putdowns. With one sentence spoken in level, calm tones,
she’d made him feel like a total heel. Then again, she’d no
doubt had plenty of practice cutting people down, had
probably perfected the skill on a whole retinue of servants
and waiters over the years.
Well, he wasn’t one of her lackies. Even if he had been
rude, he wasn’t going to let her put him in his place.
Smith marched over until he stood so close to the Countess,
he could smell perfume. He tried to ignore the tantalizing
scent of her while glaring into her eyes.
“Is there something you have to say?” she asked primly. “Or
do you just want to loom over me?”
As she regarded him with that even stare, Smith overheated.
He wasn’t about to let this social x-ray try to throw him
off his stride, in the middle of a job. He had better things
to do than beg for forgiveness because her delicate
sensibilities had been compromised.
He pushed his face closer to hers.
“I’m sorry if I merely offended you,” he said. “I meant to
piss you off.”
He was surprised when her lips lifted in a slight smile.
Instead of getting the reaction he’d banked on, some kind of
huffy, snotty disapproval, she was eyeing him with tolerant
censure, as if he were having some kind of tantrum.
Which he wasn’t, damn it.
And then she surprised him again.
“You,” she said decisively, “are threatened by me.”
It was posed as a rhetorical.
Smith was stunned.
Who did this blue-blooded, Barbie Doll think she was? He was
in the business of saving lives and she paraded around in
fancy dresses at parties. He dealt with murderers and
thieves and psychos for a living. He was intimidated by her?
Screw that.
“You’ve got a hell of an ego there, Barbie,” he said
laconically, “if you think you’re scary.”
“And you seem increasingly antagonistic. I wonder why?”
Smith jabbed his thumb in the direction of the door.
“You better go on back to your friends out there in la-la
land. You’ll be much safer with those Ken dolls than alone
with me in the service corridor. I’m surprised you can
handle being in here at all, back lit by something other
than a chandelier.”
In response, she had the gall to smile widely at him
Didn’t she understand he was a dangerous man? An armed man,
for chrissakes.
And did she have to smell so good?
The Countess shook her head ruefully. “You know, I really
thought you were someone different.”
Different? She got that right. “You bet your sweet ass I
have nothing in common with you.”
“Out there, I thought you were really in control, in charge
of something.”
“Honey, I’m in charge of the whole world.”
“Really? So why are you so upset? We’re just talking.”
“We’re not doing anything. You’re wasting my time.”
She shrugged, an elegant lift of her shoulders. “You came
back to me. No one is keeping you here.”
As he glowered at her, she raised her hands, the picture of
innocence.
She turned back to the door and looked at him over her
shoulder. “You also aren’t very savvy.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Sun Tzu, The Art of War. Some simple rules on human
conflict. If your opponent is angry, irritate him.” She shot
him a glance from under her lashes while putting her hand on
the doorknob. That big, relaxed smile of hers goaded him.
“The instigation technique works particularly well, even
with tough guys like you. Maybe especially with tough guys
like you.”
That did it.
In a surge of movement that had nothing to do with his
conscious mind, Smith reached out and snatched her against
him. She’d driven him to the brink of his self-control.
And one inch past it.
The amusement left her face as she braced her hands against
his chest. “What are you doing?”
“Too late to go back now, Countess,” he growled. “You pushed
the wrong man, too far.”
He took her lips in a punishing kiss, his arms contracting
and holding her so tightly, he could feel every inch of her.
The fit of her body against his was a total shock. Her soft
contours fit into his hard angles seamlessly and a wave of
lust burned through him. She was like harnessing pure
lightening, like nothing he’d ever felt before.
As he slid his tongue between her lips, a moan drifted up
through her throat and into his mouth. He felt her grip his
shoulders as she stopped trying to shove him away and began
to kiss him back.
And then his ear-piece went off. The ambassador’s car had
pulled up.
Smith broke the contact abruptly, stepping back and
breathing hard. She opened her pale green eyes and stared at
him, wordlessly.
He paused, soaking in the way she looked. Her lips were
swollen and red from his kiss, her breath was coming out in
soft beats, her cheeks were flushed. She was an
unforgettable woman who would have to be forgotten.
Otherwise he’d go insane, he was sure of it.
Smith turned away sharply and broke into a jog, knowing he
better damn well be at that service entrance when the
ambassador got out of his limo. He hadn’t lost a client yet
and he wasn’t starting tonight.
Just forget you ever met her, he told himself as he pounded
over the concrete.
Fat chance of that.
Damn it, why the hell did she have to follow him? And why
hadn’t he just kept going when she did?
Because it’s just getting started between us, he thought grimly.
His sixth sense told him that their paths were going to
cross again.
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