display was shocking, almost pornographic. There were so many wild curves flowing this way and that, he didn’t know where to look, or even if he should look.
“Christ, what happened to you?” he blurted. Had her eyes been that bright a green before? And—was that makeup she was wearing? Her hair was up in a high ponytail, leaving the smooth column of her neck bare.
“I took a shower.”
“You must have damn good soap.”
“Positively transformative,” she said and put on a big pair of sunglasses, the better—he suspected—to hide her true thoughts. “I’m looking forward to this very much,” she said robotically. “It’s very kind of you to show me around.”
“What did Sophia have to do, bribe you?”
Grace jerked guiltily, then rubbed her arm. “Mosquito,” she offered in explanation. Her mouth twisted as if tasting something unpleasant, and then curved into a smile. Her voice dropped andshe purred up at him with seeming sincerity, “Will you forgive me for my unappreciative behavior earlier? I was too worn out by my workout to give proper thought to how wonderful it would be to be shown around. This is supposed to be one of the most beautiful parts of California, and you were so kind to offer to introduce me to it. Please forgive me.”
“Er . . . ,” he said in confusion. He was too surprised to make sense of what was happening. She was apologizing to him ?
Grace laid her fingers on his arm, the contact startling him. “Say you forgive me?”
“Did Sophia slip you some of her pain meds?”
He was rewarded by the tightening of her lips. The hint of her real emotion made him feel on more solid ground: she wasn’t entirely the baaing lamb of sweetness she pretended.
“Pain meds?” she said. “What nonsense. Of course not. I’ve just realized that you’ve been a perfect gentleman, and that you deserve to be treated as one.”
He grunted, which seemed the only polite response to such a pile of rubbish. He was curious, though, about what she was up to. Maybe this outing would prove entertaining after all. He gestured to the terrace stairs. “Shall we?”
Grace walked beside him down the stairs and around the side of the house. He kept glancing down at her, expecting to catch her making obscene gestures at him. Her Stepford wife change of tone was a mask for some purpose, he was sure of it.
His 1956 Jaguar convertible hunkered in a shady corner of the courtyard, waiting to be set free upon the road. They reached the passenger door at the same time, both their hands reaching for the handle, landing upon it together. Grace’s hand tightened on the latch, and Declan expected her to make a feminist remark about not being so weak that she couldn’t open her own door.
Instead, her grip loosened and fell away. He opened the doorand she slid into her seat, and smiled up at him again. “Thank you.”
Smiling up at him like that—she was really quite lovely. Did she know? He grunted in response to her, and went round to his side and got in.
“What a beautiful car! Did you find it in such perfect condition, or did you restore it?”
“I restored it,” he said. “But I’m sure you don’t care about cars.”
Her mouth twitched, as if her first impulse was to agree, but then it formed itself into a lipsticked smile once again. “I don’t care about modern cars, but this is something special. I noticed it the first day I got here, and wondered who owned it.”
He didn’t believe her for a moment. He grunted yet again—he was devolving into an ape in her unexpectedly polite company—and started the engine. His ears noted the velvet purr that said the carburetors were still in perfect balance. The timing might be a hair too advanced, though; he might want to back it off a bit.
“Where did you find it? There can’t be many like this around.” Grace ran her fingertips slowly over the polished wood of the dash, and he imagined her doing the same to him. “It’s gorgeous. Tell me
“Christ, what happened to you?” he blurted. Had her eyes been that bright a green before? And—was that makeup she was wearing? Her hair was up in a high ponytail, leaving the smooth column of her neck bare.
“I took a shower.”
“You must have damn good soap.”
“Positively transformative,” she said and put on a big pair of sunglasses, the better—he suspected—to hide her true thoughts. “I’m looking forward to this very much,” she said robotically. “It’s very kind of you to show me around.”
“What did Sophia have to do, bribe you?”
Grace jerked guiltily, then rubbed her arm. “Mosquito,” she offered in explanation. Her mouth twisted as if tasting something unpleasant, and then curved into a smile. Her voice dropped andshe purred up at him with seeming sincerity, “Will you forgive me for my unappreciative behavior earlier? I was too worn out by my workout to give proper thought to how wonderful it would be to be shown around. This is supposed to be one of the most beautiful parts of California, and you were so kind to offer to introduce me to it. Please forgive me.”
“Er . . . ,” he said in confusion. He was too surprised to make sense of what was happening. She was apologizing to him ?
Grace laid her fingers on his arm, the contact startling him. “Say you forgive me?”
“Did Sophia slip you some of her pain meds?”
He was rewarded by the tightening of her lips. The hint of her real emotion made him feel on more solid ground: she wasn’t entirely the baaing lamb of sweetness she pretended.
“Pain meds?” she said. “What nonsense. Of course not. I’ve just realized that you’ve been a perfect gentleman, and that you deserve to be treated as one.”
He grunted, which seemed the only polite response to such a pile of rubbish. He was curious, though, about what she was up to. Maybe this outing would prove entertaining after all. He gestured to the terrace stairs. “Shall we?”
Grace walked beside him down the stairs and around the side of the house. He kept glancing down at her, expecting to catch her making obscene gestures at him. Her Stepford wife change of tone was a mask for some purpose, he was sure of it.
His 1956 Jaguar convertible hunkered in a shady corner of the courtyard, waiting to be set free upon the road. They reached the passenger door at the same time, both their hands reaching for the handle, landing upon it together. Grace’s hand tightened on the latch, and Declan expected her to make a feminist remark about not being so weak that she couldn’t open her own door.
Instead, her grip loosened and fell away. He opened the doorand she slid into her seat, and smiled up at him again. “Thank you.”
Smiling up at him like that—she was really quite lovely. Did she know? He grunted in response to her, and went round to his side and got in.
“What a beautiful car! Did you find it in such perfect condition, or did you restore it?”
“I restored it,” he said. “But I’m sure you don’t care about cars.”
Her mouth twitched, as if her first impulse was to agree, but then it formed itself into a lipsticked smile once again. “I don’t care about modern cars, but this is something special. I noticed it the first day I got here, and wondered who owned it.”
He didn’t believe her for a moment. He grunted yet again—he was devolving into an ape in her unexpectedly polite company—and started the engine. His ears noted the velvet purr that said the carburetors were still in perfect balance. The timing might be a hair too advanced, though; he might want to back it off a bit.
“Where did you find it? There can’t be many like this around.” Grace ran her fingertips slowly over the polished wood of the dash, and he imagined her doing the same to him. “It’s gorgeous. Tell me
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