Guardian Groom Read online

  That was the cold, humiliating truth. What she’d done was to turn to quicksilver in his arms, kiss him with a passion she hadn’t known she’d possessed, and feel her body come to life under his touch. And if he hadn’t put her from him…Crista took a shuddering breath. If he hadn’t, she’d have ended up naked in his bed.

  He’d probably tried to seduce her just to prove he could do it.

  How she despised him! she thought as she closed the door to her room and started down the stairs. How she hated him, how—

  “You’re awake.”

  The cold voice made her start. Crista paused on the steps, her hand clutching the banister.

  Grant was at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at her. His expression was remote, his gaze chill. It was a look at odds with the running shorts, sweatshirt, and sneakers he wore and with the faint, dark stubble that lay like a shadow across his unshaven face.

  “It’s a relief to know that you’re so observant, Grant.” She smiled, coolly, she hoped, although there was something in how he looked, that unexpected, raw male power that made her tremble. “Yes. I’m awake. And I want to talk to you.”

  Grant’s gaze moved swiftly over Crista. She was wearing faded jeans and a pale lilac sweater that made her eyes look purple, and there didn’t seem to be a hint of makeup on her face.

  If he hadn’t been feeling so grim, he’d have laughed. What would Zach say if he got a look at this femme fatale? She looked about as dangerous as a freshly plucked flower—which only made her all the more dangerous.

  “Grant?” She made her way slowly down another few steps. “Did you hear what I said? We have to talk.”

  “I agree.” He turned and made his way through the living room. Once out on the terrace, he swung toward her. “I’ve reached a decision,” he said.

  “So have I.” Her eyes met his unflinchingly. “Either you remove yourself as my guardian or I’ll contact Blackburn myself and demand it.”

  His mouth hardened. “Don’t make threats, Crista. I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t give a damn what you like or dislike! I just told you something, and—”

  “It’s all taken care of.”

  She tried not to show any surprise, but it was impossible. She’d paced the night away in preparation for this moment and now there he stood, a smile playing across his lips as if to mock her.

  Her tone was cautious and just short of belligerent.

  “What do you mean, it’s all taken care of?”

  “I’ve decided to ask one of my partners to become your guardian.” Grant picked up his coffee cup from the table, peered into it, and put it down again. “Sam is trustee for several of our clients, and—”

  “Sam?”

  “Samuel Abraham. He’s a very capable gentleman in his sixties.” A smug self-assurance crept into his tone. “And I promise you, if you try coming on to him the way you’ve come on to me, Sam will laugh you out of his office.”

  “The way I keep coming on to you?” Crista’s eyes narrowed. “Is that the lie you whipped up for Blackburn?”

  Grant sighed and leaned back against the railing.

  “I didn’t tell him anything, except that we’ve a compatibility problem.”

  “A compatibility problem.” Crista’s lip curled. “That’s an interesting way to describe your behavior.”

  “My behavior?” A muscle knotted in his jaw. “No, my love. You’re not going to make me the villain in this piece. Maybe I wasn’t Sir Galahad—but you were far from the helpless maiden. Hell, you were as much a player in last night’s little game as I was.”

  “That’s a lie! I never wanted—”

  “Didn’t you?” He leaned away from the rail, his eyes locked on her face. “Shall I take you in my arms again so we can talk about who’s lying and who’s not?”

  Crista’s heart kicked against her ribs but her voice gave nothing away.

  “This is a pointless conversation, considering that we’ve just agreed to remedy the situation.”

  After a moment, Grant nodded. “You’re right. All that remains is to work out the details—and to deal with one final issue that’s just come up.”

  Why was a warning bell going off in her head? And why was he looking at her that way?

  Crista touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. “What ‘final issue’?”

  Grant looked steadily at her, then turned to lean his elbows on the railing and gaze out over the park.

  “I just spoke with Horace Blackburn.”

  “You already told me that. You talked to him about resigning as my guardian.”

  “Actually, I didn’t get the chance.” He blew out his breath. “Are you aware that your uncle Simon owned an estate in Palm Beach?”

  Crista’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, you didn’t get the chance? Why not? And what does my uncle’s winter house have to do with anything?”

  Grant swung toward her. “Simon’s house—I suppose it’s an estate, really—is right on the water.”

  “Listen here, Grant, I’m sure this is all very informative but frankly—”

  “But frankly, you’re not interested in anything that doesn’t concern you.” Grant shot her a chill smile. “Well, this does concern you. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but Simon’s real estate belongs to you now.”

  “So?”

  “So, Palm Beach was hit by a pretty bad storm during the night. It wasn’t a hurricane, but the winds and rain packed quite a wallop.”

  “If you’ve something to tell me, do it and get it over with.”

  Hell, he thought grimly, that was just the problem. He did have something to tell her, and she wouldn’t like it any better than he did. Damn, he thought wearily, damn, damn, damn!

  “The bottom line is that the house sustained damage. Blackburn just got a phone call from the security people who patrol the place.”

  “And?”

  “It seems a palm tree demolished the sun-room—and somebody’s forty-two-foot cruiser is sitting in the middle of your back lawn.”

  “A pity,” Crista said politely.

  “The place is a mess. There’s sand and glass and who in hell knows what inside. And there may be structural damage, too.”

  “So?”

  “So,” Grant said through his teeth, “it all has to be dealt with, and quickly.”

  Crista shrugged her shoulders. “Well, let the security firm take care of it. They can hire somebody to clean up, and to fix whatever needs fixing, and—”

  “The security people are responsible for security, Crista, not for anything else.”

  “Well, then, tell Blackburn to call a cleaning service. Or a contractor. Or—Why are you shaking your head?”

  “Blackburn’s out of the loop. The will’s been read, which means the property is your responsibility.” His smile was grim. “And mine.”

  Crista felt a flicker of uneasiness. “I’m not following you, Grant.”

  “Someone in authority has to inspect the house and its contents, assess the amount of damage, determine what needs to be done and hire people to do the job.” Grant folded his arms over his chest. “Are you beginning to get the picture?”

  Yes. She was—but she didn’t want to.

  “Come on, lady. You’re not stupid. Must I spell it out for you?”

  “Are you saying I have to do this myself?”

  “Oh, not yourself,” he said with an unpleasant smile. “Never by yourself, Crista.” Grant’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll be right there, at your side, the way I’m supposed to be, offering my valuable experience and wise counsel.”

  Crista felt her throat constrict. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about having to fly down to Palm Beach, dammit.” Grant glowered at his wristwatch. “Blackburn’s sending over the house keys by messenger, and—”

  “No!” Crista shook her head wildly. “I refuse. It’s out of the question!”

  “I agree completely.” His mouth thinned. “But I’m
afraid we’re stuck with each other for another day.”

  “That’s crazy! This was Simon’s house. It doesn’t involve you.”

  “Until a court rules otherwise, I’m still your guardian, and responsible for decisions that concern your assets.” Grant reached down and picked up his cup again. “That house is an asset. And any money spent on its repair or maintenance is subject to my approval.”

  Crista stared at him. Fly to Palm Beach? With Grant Landon? No. No! She’d have to be crazy.

  “Then—then approve whatever needs doing over the phone. Talk to the security people. Or the police. What about an insurance agent? There must be—”

  “There is. But I am not going to give a contractor carte blanche to cut a deal with an insurance company and then have to live with whatever they decide to do.”

  “I’d be satisfied with that,” Crista said quickly.

  “Only a fool would put herself in such a position.”

  “You said it’s my property. And my money. If I’m willing—”

  “But I’m not. How do I know you won’t turn around a year from now and accuse me of allowing you to use your inheritance frivolously—or even fraudulently?”

  Crista stared at him, her breath coming hard and fast.

  “Tell me something,” she said through her teeth. “Is it impossible for you to think anything good about anybody—or is it only me you hold in such low regard?”

  “I’m only being prudent, Crista.” His smile was quick and hard with disdain. “I know prudence isn’t exactly a hypothesis you accept, but surely if you make the effort, you can understand the concept.”

  “Call this partner of yours, then. This—this Sam Whoever. He can fly down with me.”

  “Sam can’t do anything, not until a court says he’s legally responsible for you.” Grant’s mouth turned down. “Believe me, the thought of this little jaunt doesn’t please me any more than it pleases you. Look, we’ll fly in, reach whatever decisions must be reached, and fly back ASAP.”

  “As soon as possible is right,” Crista said furiously. “I swear to you, Grant, I’d sooner go to—to the North Pole in a blizzard than to Palm Beach with you.”

  He laughed. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

  He was still laughing as she turned and strode back into the living room, but suddenly his laughter faded and died.

  He had a vision of Crista walking slowly toward him across a windswept beach. She was wearing a wisp of a bathing suit and her body was sun-kissed and hot as she came into his waiting arms. And when she lifted her face to his, her eyes were dark and filled with need…

  Grant jerked the forgotten coffee cup to his lips and drank down all that remained of the black, bitter dregs.

  Not that it would do any good, he thought.

  It was going to take more than caffeine to get him through the next twenty-four hours.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CRISTA answered the light knock at her door to find Grant’s housekeeper standing in the hall.

  “Mr. Grant says to tell you your flight leaves in two hours, miss.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Edison.”

  “He asks if you’d please be ready as soon as possible.”

  Crista smiled. She doubted that Grant’s request had been made quite as politely.

  “Of course.”

  “And he suggests you take only luggage you can carry on board, miss. He says—”

  “He says,” Grant’s voice interrupted brusquely as he came striding down the hall, “that he’s damned if he’s going to stand around killing time at a luggage carousel.”

  Mrs. Edison’s eyes widened as he brushed past both women. A second later, he was back.

  “Do us both a favor, will you? Try leaving those miserable silver bells behind. The sound of them’s beginning to drive me nuts!”

  He vanished again. Seconds later, a door slammed farther down the hallway.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Edison,” Crista said calmly.

  The housekeeper swallowed. “That’s—that’s quite all right, miss.”

  “You will take care of my cat for me, won’t you?”

  “Of course.” The woman’s face softened. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Miss Crista. The one-eared fellow and I will get along just fine. You just go off to Florida and enjoy yourself.”

  Crista nodded, shut the door, and rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

  Enjoy herself? On a trip she didn’t want to take, to a place she didn’t want to go, with a man she didn’t want to be with?

  She laughed mirthlessly as she opened her canvas carryall bag and began tossing things into it.

  Oh yes, she was going to have an absolutely wonderful time. A marvelous time. A…

  She paused, the sound of the housekeeper’s voice echoing in her ears. How many “guests” of Grant’s had the woman said those words to? How many other women had stayed here, in this apartment, and then gone off with him for a weekend?

  They had not stayed in these rooms, she was certain of that. The women who’d come here before would have shared Grant’s room and his bed.

  But what did she care? What he did was none of her business, she reminded herself as she dumped her comb and brush into the carryall.

  Any woman who could put up with Grant Landon was entitled to him. As for herself—she smiled grimly as she carefully took the silver-bell earrings from the dresser.

  They annoyed him, did they? All the more reason to be sure to wear them, then.

  It was the least she could do, considering that they were about to spend their last twenty-four hours together.

  * * *

  He was waiting for her in the entry foyer, and the sight of him was a surprise.

  Crista had drawn her hair back into a French braid and tossed a denim jacket on over her jeans and cotton sweater, but other than that she was dressed as she had been during her confrontation with Grant on the terrace.

  She’d expected him to disapprove of such casual attire, especially for a trip to posh Palm Beach, and that would be his problem, not hers.

  But he was dressed very much as she was, in faded jeans that clung to his hips and legs more closely than she cared to notice, and he hadn’t bothered shaving off that faint, sexy stubble.

  His gaze swept over her without any sign of approval or disapproval, although he frowned when he spotted the earrings.

  “Ready?” he said briskly.

  She nodded, at the same time trying to ignore the sudden tightness in her throat.

  It would have been better if he’d worn a suit and tie, if he’d shaved, if he’d done something to make it look as if they were going off on a business trip instead of it looking as if—as if…

  “Let’s get going, then. I want to get this damned trip done with as quickly as possible.”

  Crista’s spine stiffened. “I couldn’t agree more,” she said, and swept past him into the elevator.

  The first-class cabin was spacious and the seats wide. As soon as they’d reached cruising altitude, Grant slipped a portable computer from his briefcase and turned it on. Crista watched from the corner of her eye as his fingers began moving over the keyboard.

  After a few moments, she sighed. Why hadn’t she thought of taking along her sketch pad? Sketching would not just have made the time pass more easily, it would have relaxed her.

  There was a yellow pad peeping out of Grant’s briefcase. She waited a bit, frowned, then cleared her throat.

  “Grant?”

  “Yes?”

  “Might I—could I use that notepad, please?”

  He looked at her. “Why?”

  Crista smiled tightly. “Because I want to use it.”

  “For what? There are magazines in the pocket in front of you, if you’re bored.”

  “If I’d wanted to read, I’d have brought a book,” she said testily. “May I borrow that pad or not?”

  “I’ll tell you what, Crista. I’ll ring for the attendant. I’m sure she has a copy of
today’s paper.”

  Crista turned away and folded her arms across her breasts.

  “Forget about it,” she snapped.

  “Dammit, must you always be difficult?”

  “I’m not being ‘difficult’. Believe it or not, I’m perfectly capable of finding ways to keep myself occupied without your assistance.”

  Grant glared at her and then he snatched the pad from his briefcase and dropped it in her lap.

  “Take the damned pad. And a pen, too.” His smile was swift and chill. “You can probably keep yourself amused for hours, making up lists of your boyfriends.”

  Crista looked at him. “Why, Grant,” she purred, “you must be a mind reader.”

  Then she turned away sharply, tilted the pad at a comfortable angle, and set to work.

  A long time later, she looked up, suddenly conscious of being watched.

  It was Grant.

  Lost in her drawing, she’d shifted toward the light coming in through the window so that she was almost leaning against him.

  Crista flushed. “Sorry,” she said. She drew back and started to tear off the page she’d been using but Grant stopped her, his hand closing on hers.

  “What was that you were drawing?”

  “It was nothing.”

  “It was a bird, wasn’t it? But one I couldn’t place.”

  Her flush deepened. “It was a phoenix.”

  “Ah. The mythological bird that’s reborn in flame.” He shifted in his seat so that he was looking at her. “I didn’t know you drew.”

  “I don’t,” she said stiffly. “I design.”

  “Design?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you design?”

  Her eyes met his. “Not boots,” she said without a blink.

  Grant’s mouth quirked, and then, to her surprise, he laughed.

  She sighed. “I design jewelry.”

  His brows lifted. “Jewelry?” His gaze flew to her earrings. “You mean—”

  “Yes. These are mine. I do earrings mostly, and some necklaces and bracelets.” She nodded toward the pad in her lap. “That would be the centerpiece of a necklace, but…”