While it didn’t particularly surprise him this time, Bryan was still furious that she would take such a risk again after implying that she wouldn’t. He wasn’t as worried this time that someone had grabbed her on the way home from work; he had no doubt that she had deliberately taken off again. Maybe just to prove to him that she could.
He never should have eased back on security, but he’d thought he’d made his point to her about being extremely careful during the next few weeks. He hadn’t expected her to ignore his warnings.
Aside from his very real concern for her safety, what was really eating at him was the question of who she was with. Picturing her with another man made a wave of fury crash through him, clenching his fists and tensing his muscles.
They were going to have to talk soon. Very soon. He needed to make it clear that as far as he was concerned, the playacting was over. He meant everything he said to her now—whether she chose to listen or not. He needed to make sure she understood that. And he needed very badly to find out if he was only imagining that she was having as much trouble separating fantasy from reality as he was. Hadn’t she said those very words in the garden outside the country club last night?
Was she really so opposed to the possibility that something could be developing between them? Was her disappearing act this evening a panicky reaction to the tension that had been building every time they were together?
He considered breaking into her apartment again, being there to confront her at whatever hour she came dragging in. He would demand to know where she had been, and refuse to leave until he had a satisfactory answer. She would be furious, of course. There would be a heated shouting match, which would allow him, at least, to vent some steam.
But he was getting to know Grace very well. She was looking for excuses to push him away, and he didn’t want to give her any more at the moment. He was going to find out what was going on with her, but he wouldn’t accomplish anything by fighting her. Not just yet, anyway.
Instructing his security detail to let him know when Grace was safely home, he prepared to spend the hours until he received that call pacing the carpets of his house.
He’d always considered himself a man of great patience—but Grace could try the patience of a saint. And he was definitely no saint. If he ever got his hands on her again, he would prove it.
Grace was expecting Bryan’s call Sunday. She had half expected to find him waiting in her apartment when she’d gotten home at just after 1:00 a.m.
Since she didn’t believe for a minute that she had managed to slip away without him being notified, she was fully prepared for another lecture from him. She even rather looked forward to it. She’d been practicing her own responses all day. Such as how he had no right to ask her where she went or what she did. How hard she had been working to make his crazy plan work out, and how she deserved an occasional break from the pressure of that charade.
She almost hoped he would start something. It was easier to fight with Bryan than to hold hands in the moonlight with him. She was more comfortable yelling at him; she knew what to do, what to say, and how to bring it to an end. She could slam down the phone or turn and storm away—actions she did well from experience.
She didn’t hear from him until late Sunday. She thought maybe he had called while she was at church, but there were no messages on her answering machine when she returned home after lunching with a few friends from her Sunday School class. Feeling as if she were waiting for a shoe to drop, she spent the next couple of hours doing laundry, cleaning her apartment, replacing a missing button on one of her favorite blouses. Just typical weekend chores—and yet she kept listening for the phone to ring or someone to knock on her door.
For some reason, the longer Bryan waited to contact her, the more annoyed she became. She knew he was aware that she’d been out last night. She knew he was going to chew her out about it. Why didn’t he just go ahead and do it?
By the time the phone finally rang early that evening, her nerves were a bit frayed—as he probably knew they would be, the rat. She answered the phone with a clipped, “Hello.”
There was a momentary hesitation, and then Bryan asked pleasantly, “Is this a bad time?”
“Not really,” she said, setting aside the book she had just opened. Might as well get this over with.
“How has your weekend been?” he asked, the question sounding casual.
She shifted in her chair. “Fine, thank you. And yours?”
“Nothing special. I’ve been catching up on some work.”
“Same here.” Okay, could this conversation get more stilted and banal?
“Did you have a nice lunch with your church friends today? I understand you tried out the new Tex-Mex place. I’ve heard it’s good.”
“Yes, it’s—wait a minute.” Annoyed with herself for being so slow on the uptake, she pounded her fist on her knee. “Darn it, Bryan, you’re having me followed again.”
“Only since one o’clock this morning. I’m glad he was inconspicuous about it. I’ve given instructions for the security people to stay close, but to keep out of your way.”
“And just how often am I being followed?”
“As of one o’clock this morning, they’re operating on three eight-hour shifts.”
“I’m being watched twenty-four hours a day?”
“Discreetly. You’ll hardly notice.”
Her hand gripped the receiver so tightly that the muscles in her arm quivered. “You have no right to do this.”
His answer surprised her. “You’re probably right. I suppose I am crossing the line by assigning bodyguards to you against your will.”