“I thought we were here for coffee.”One side of my mouth rises.
“Sure.”Her fingers hover over the red record button, her tone wry.“But I’m here on assignment?—”
“I know.”
She quirks a brow, challenging.“Do you?”
I lean back, arms crossing my chest.“I did my homework.”
“Your homework?”
“Yeah.”
Nate swings by with our coffees, and I wait until he’s gone.Then I wrap my hand around the warm cup and take a slow sip, letting the heat bleed into my palm.
“I read a few of your articles over the weekend.”
A flush climbs her throat, a soft pink that makes it hard not to stare.
Christ.
“You looked me up?”
“Well, it wasn’t easy.”I keep my tone casual, though my pulse has other ideas.
I’m not sure why I’m confessing this.
After our talk on the weekend, I needed to remind myself of who she is and what she does.Why she’s here.I needed more information, more data to form a strategy to deal with Grace Buchanan.
Though I’m not sure it did any good.
“How so?”
“At first, I couldn’t find a Grace Buchanan at theDaily Journalor any other media outlet in Los Angeles.Then I found a G.K.Buchanan, and with a little digging, figured out the G was for Grace.”
She glances out the window, lips pressed together.Those lips, naturally pink, shaped like she’s always holding back a truth.“I see.”
“I’ll admit.”Because I like the way that blush sits on her, I feed into our push and pull.“I damn near fell out of bed when I saw the K stood for Kelly.That for real?”
She nods, slow and careful, like any more detail might cost her something.
“Grace Kelly.”My gaze skims the line of her jaw, the curve of her neck.“Hollywood royalty.Cool, collected, probably had a tiara for breakfast and”—I deliberately cock my head, gaze settling on her—“in the right light, you could almost pass for her.”
Her lips part and eyes darken like she’s not sure if I’m messing with her or seeing too much.
Grace Kelly was all ice and edges on screen, but you always knew the heat was underneath.This Grace has that same thing—poised and buttoned up, but I’ve seen her come in swinging for people who need it.
Shit, she did it for me.
Yeah.The name fits.
“What’s there to tell?My mother named all her children after movie stars.”She shifts the phone, reminding me why we’re here.“Now, can we get back to?—”
I catch her hand before she can hit record, and her blue eyes jump to mine, glittering and a little wild.Her skin warms under my fingers, soft in a way I’m trying not to think about as heat licks up my spine.
“All her kids?”I push, unable to help myself.“Now you’ve got to tell me their names.”
I’m distracting her deliberately because keeping her off-balance buys me time.Delays the inevitable—me in the hot seat.But I also want to know.Want more pieces of her.