THE FIRE STILL BURNS Read online

  "I had an incentive to get out of there fast." He lifted his lips into a mocking half smile. "Besides, it only took a few minutes to nail the deal."

  "To nail the—" She narrowed her eyes. "You're lying." Even as she made the accusation, she knew it couldn't be true. Colin McGrath's honesty was as much a part of him as the signature ponytail that bound his shoulder-length hair.

  "He liked my ideas." With a grin, his gaze drifted down her face … and lower. The smile slowly disappeared as he returned to her eyes. "You look good, Gracie."

  Her stomach fluttered. She crossed her arms and leaned against the railing, something she ordinarily wouldn't do in a white silk suit. But her legs suddenly felt woefully inadequate at their job.

  "Did he tell you that? That he liked your ideas?" Adrian had said the same thing to her before she'd left the solarium.

  "He didn't have to."

  Damn his confidence. He'd always oozed it. Confidence and candor. That's what made Colin McGrath tick. "He's only halfway through the presentations," she reminded him.

  "True enough," he agreed. "And the competition is fierce. No doubt H&H is putting a mountain of resources into this one."

  Had she detected a tinge of envy in his voice? It couldn't be. He'd had a chance to work for the biggest and best, but he'd turned her father down. Refused to do a second interview, rumor had it.

  "We don't have any special inside track, if that's what you're implying."

  He smiled and dipped his head. "I didn't mean that, Gracie."

  He didn't have to. The whole architecture world was watching how H&H handled this bid, and the whole company was watching how she handled herself to get the business.

  Edgewater had become the Holy Grail of architecture and she wanted it. If only to prove to her colleagues, and the rest of the industry, once and for all, that she wasn't just the boss's daughter. She was a talented architect in her own right. It wouldn't hurt to get her father to notice that, too.

  She clenched her jaw and raised her chin. "H&H has the expertise, the talent, the staff and the history that no other firm can offer. We don't need to pull strings to get this business. We are the best firm to rebuild Edgewater."

  He chuckled softly and tipped her chin back down with a tap of a single finger. "Save your sales pitch for Gilmore, Gracie. I don't intend to rebuild Edgewater."

  He didn't? "Then what are you doing here? All of the firms are pitching a rebuild of the burned mansion."

  "Let them." He shrugged and turned toward the mountain of ash behind him. "I don't want to rebuild any mansions."

  This was intriguing. So were the few dark hairs that escaped his open collar. "Then what did you just propose to Adrian?"

  He hooked his thumbs on his belt loops and gave her a long, intense look. "I'll tell you over lunch."

  "I don't think so."

  "Wouldn't the board of H&H like to know what the competition is up to?" He leaned closer. He smelled like soap and woods and … autumn. "Information like that could affect the entire spec creative design. You could be the company hero, Gracie."

  God, he was good. "That's blackmail, McGrath."

  "Nah," he shook his head. "It's lunch. If I were going to blackmail you, Gracie, I'd go for something stronger."

  Like Southern Comfort. She pointedly gazed over his shoulder to study the graceful roofline of the carriage house and the centuries-old trees on its lawn, and then inched to the right.

  "Thank you, but I really need to get going. I want to start the design work." She shot him a warning look. "We still might get this business, regardless of your self-confidence and misplaced beliefs."

  "The only one who has misplaced beliefs is you." He mirrored her sidestep and held her in place with a razor-sharp gaze. "I told you, Gracie, I want to talk to you about something personal."

  She didn't want to hear what he had to say. Gee, Gracie, I don't think I ever told you that you were great on the dining room floor, on the stairs, in my room.

  He reached for her hand and wrapped his fingers confidently around hers. "Come on, Gracie. It's just lunch."

  Damn it all. She'd sworn she'd never go anywhere near Colin McGrath again. She'd sworn she'd never take a drink of anything stronger than green tea. And she'd sworn she'd never give her body to another man until she was completely and totally in love.

  She'd kept all three promises. Until today.

  "All right."

  * * *

  Two

  « ^ »

  For once Colin was glad he'd left his Harley at home. He'd made the long drive to Newport in his only slightly more client-friendly German sports car.

  Not that he wouldn't like to see Gracie hike that body-hugging skirt up those mile-high thighs and climb on the back of his hog. But that would really be pushing his luck. And right now, his luck was holding just fine.

  "Let's go down to the harbor," he suggested as he opened the Boxster's passenger door. "You'll like Zelda's."

  As she got into his low-slung car, Gracie's skirt rode up enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of those same heavenly thighs. He couldn't resist a teasing wink when she looked up and caught him staring.

  "I do like Zelda's," she assured him, tugging at the hem before she reached for the seat belt. "I went to grad school in Providence and spent a lot of time in Newport."

  He got the messages—all of them. She knew her way around, she had a legitimate degree, and don't ogle the merchandise.

  Sliding behind the wheel, he reached in front of her to move his portfolio. "Sorry, no back seat. I can put this in the trunk."

  "I'll hold it." She placed the leather case on her lap, effectively hiding his view of her legs.

  "Wanna see my etchings?" he asked, his voice rich with teasing seduction as he tapped on the case. "Go ahead. You can take a look."

  She gave him a wide-eyed look of surprise. "You'd share your ideas with the competition?"

  With a shrug, he stabbed the key in the ignition. "Hazelwood and Harrington would never consider these competitive ideas. I have a whole different vision for Edgewater."

  Her fingers toyed with the zipper, then she folded her hands together. "I'm not interested."

  "Sure you are." Pulling into Bellevue traffic, he turned toward town. "I'm not worried that you're going to run back to Boston and copy them."

  "I would never dream of stealing your ideas."

  He spared her a quick glance and shifted gears. "Of course not. I'm certain you have plenty of your own."

  As she crossed her arms, he could practically feel her bristle next to him. "That I do."

  "RISD's a great school." He knew the prestigious Rhode Island School of Design well enough to use the common "Rizdee" abbreviation. "I have other friends who went to grad school there, too."

  If she took note of the fact that he knew where she went to graduate school, she didn't let it show. "I loved it. Providence is a terrific town."

  "As terrific as Pittsburgh?"

  That earned him a sharp look. Too many memories?

  "Carnegie Mellon is also an excellent school for architecture," she responded. "You must like the city to have stayed there."

  Was that an indictment he heard in her voice? It had to be. And wasn't that at the heart of her pained expression every time the conversation danced near the topic of what they'd done … or hadn't?

  He was from a construction family—a broken one, at that—in the Steel City, and she'd been born, raised and coddled among New England's finest bloodlines. The kind with ancestors who arrived on the Mayflower, not in steerage on their way to Ellis Island.

  "I have a good client base and a lot of friends in Pittsburgh," he said, shifting his tone into neutral and the car into third as they rounded a curve and caught the breathtaking vista of the Atlantic Ocean. "My dad lives there and my two brothers come back a lot to visit."

  "Where do they live?"

  "Cameron's in New York, working on Wall Street, and Quinn just bagged his real estate develop
ment job in Manhattan and moved to an island in Florida." He tapped the brake as traffic slowed near town.

  "Really? Why did he do that?"

  "He's in looove." Colin rolled his eyes, thinking of Quinn's insane engagement, announced on a billboard. "Love makes you do crazy things."

  "So I've heard."

  At her dry tone, he glanced at her again. "No firsthand experience with that, Gracie?"

  For a moment, she didn't say anything, but pierced him with a meaningful look. "With crazy, yes, but not love."

  The arrow hit its mark. Without thinking, he took his hand off the gear shift and placed it on top of her folded ones. How could he say this? It wasn't crazy? All you did was pass out?

  A horn honked behind him and he had to turn his attention back to the road.

  Over lunch. He'd tell her over lunch.

  * * *

  No more double entendres, Grace Harrington. Don't flirt with him. Don't get comfortable with him.

  Grace's head rang with warning bells. She took a deep breath, a move that caused her shoulder to brush his powerful arm. They had even more electrical body contact every time he took a turn at just a hair over the speed limit. He was warm and solid and … enticing.

  She'd made a mistake once before with this man. Never again.

  She should have leaped from the car when he parked across from the restaurant on Thames Street

  . Instead, she waited as he came around and opened her door.

  As she climbed out of the car, she glanced at the flapping green awning bearing the name Zelda's in funky, hot-pink lettering. She'd had a few dates here when she was in grad school. In every case, the food far exceeded the company.

  This time, she doubted she'd even be able to eat. Colin McGrath had managed to tie her stomach up in knots. And lower than her stomach, too. But he'd had that effect on her the first time she'd seen him, just days after she arrived at Carnegie Mellon as a freshman.

  She'd spotted him in the architecture library, a tall, lanky, good-looking upper-classman whom she quickly learned had a reputation as a heartbreaker. But her crush had started the day he smiled at her … and ended the morning she woke up in a warm, rumpled bed on the third floor of the Sigma Nu house, wearing nothing but a CMU T-shirt, size extra large.

  The memory of his hot, hard body, fully aroused and neatly pressed against her backside as she curled into him, almost took her breath away.

  This was the same man.

  She couldn't forget that.

  "Know why the roof is slanted like that?" He pointed to the unusual angle above three stories of brick and brownstone.

  "To collect water and bring it to the cistern for the brewery," she responded. "At least that was its purpose a hundred years ago."

  He laughed and took her hand as they started across the street. "Guess I'm not going to impress you with little-known structural facts." He weaved his fingers between hers, sending sparks up her arm and more flutters to her stomach.

  Did he really want to impress her? This was business. Business. And they were competitors.

  When he opened the polished wood door of Zelda's, she took the opportunity to release her hand from his, inhaling the smoky aroma of steak and onions instead of the musky scent that clung to him.

  "Oh, I left my portfolio and handbag in my car." She patted her suit jacket pockets, feeling only her phone and keys. "I don't have my wallet."

  "Unless you're going to show me pictures of your kids, Gracie, you don't need your wallet. It's my treat." He put his hand on her back and guided her toward the hostess. Then suddenly, his lips were against her ear, his breath vibrating the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. "No kids yet, right, Gracie?"

  "Welcome to Café Zelda." A surfer-blond hostess locked her wide-eyed gaze on Colin, all but batting her eyelashes at him. "Table for two?"

  To his credit, he didn't flirt back, but kept his hand firmly on Grace's lower back. As they zigzagged through a maze of white-linen-clad tables, she kept her attention on walls festooned with photos of America's Cup crews, chanting a silent mantra. This is a business lunch. A business lunch.

  Nothing more. Nothing less. It was perfectly appropriate for him to place a casual hand on her back. Perfectly appropriate to exchange some personal information. Perfectly appropriate and yet, intimate.

  Just like the undersized table for two they were given next to a window. Once seated, after they'd accepted menus and listened to the specials, she decided to get the personal stuff out of the way as fast as possible. Then they could concentrate on business.

  "No children," she told him without preamble. His online biography made no mention of a wife or children, but sometimes they didn't. Her heart knocked a little, but she gave him a direct look and asked, "How about you?"

  He responded with that devilish smile again, slow and easy and bone-melting. "Well, I have a six-year-old business. Does that count? It's certainly as demanding of my time as any child."

  Out of habit, she straightened the silverware, lining up the knife and fork with exact precision. "Your firm is McGrath, Inc., right?" Knowing that much didn't reveal that she'd followed his professional progress.

  "Yes. And like most six-year-olds, it's small, but mighty." He leaned casually on the table, seemingly in no hurry to pick up a menu. The afternoon light trickled through wood blinds, highlighting the hint of stubble on his cheeks, giving his face an achingly handsome shadow.

  "So things are going well?" she asked, turning her attention to a coffee cup to set the handle at a neat ninety-degree angle.

  When she looked up, he was grinning at her. "You might say that."

  Of course, she'd read about his avant-garde designs and the many awards he'd won for unconventional and eclectic structures. The opera house in Oregon had been featured in Newsweek. "You have quite a reputation for … the unusual."

  "I like to break rules." He laughed softly, putting his hand on hers. "And either you're nervous as hell or compulsively neat."

  Both. "I like order." She tucked her hands on her lap and gave him a challenging look. "Are you planning to break rules with the rebuild of Edgewater?"

  "I have no plans to rebuild Edgewater, Gracie. I told you that."

  A trickle of concern meandered down her spine. What was he up to, and could it mean H&H might not get the business? Regardless of his dreamy eyes and blinding smile, she had to remember that this man was her competition for the one assignment she wanted—no, needed—to establish herself in the industry. And emerge from the cocoon her father had put her in years ago.

  "Then what did you propose to Gilmore?" she asked casually.

  He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were worried about professional impropriety."

  "You don't have to give away trade secrets, Colin. Just the general idea."

  "Fair enough." He picked up a menu and handed it to her. "Let's order first and then I'll tell you." He paused, the light of humor gone from his eyes. "Over dessert, I have something else to tell you."

  Gracie swallowed and leaned forward. This had to end. With as much class and cool as she could muster, she had to end this torture. "Colin, listen to me."

  His captivated expression told her he was doing just that.

  "Everyone is entitled to their mistakes in life and they pay for them in their own way." She felt the heat burn her cheeks, but forced herself to continue. "Would you be kind enough to avoid the subject of … of our brief encounter in college?"

  He opened his mouth to say something, but she held up her hand, her heart crashing like a wrecking ball against her chest. "In case you are of a mind to relive the past, please understand. I don't want to make excuses for my behavior. I just fell under the wrong influence one night, that's all. Please. Don't mention it again."

  She could have sworn his eyes darkened. Well, what did he expect? Did he think she wanted to rehash her ignoble loss of virginity? Did he want her to admit she didn't remember anything, not a single moment of an event that most girls can
at least turn into a decent diary entry?

  "You're safe for the rest of this meal," he said, his voice as smooth and cool as black satin. "But I can't make any promises about the future."

  Gracie opened the menu. "There won't be any future," she said with certainty.

  * * *

  Brief encounter?

  The wrong influence?

  How could he have forgotten how much she reviled him? She wasn't bothered about losing her virginity, drunk in a frat house. She was really pained about losing her virginity with him, a blue-collar bad boy from Pittsburgh.

  One whose success was so questionable that she worried about paying for her own lunch. No reason to dissuade her of that notion. Money didn't mean anything to him. Especially now that he had it.

  "So tell me about your plans for Edgewater," she said after the waiter left. She kept her hands daintily clasped on the edge of the table, apparently finished reorganizing Zelda's place settings. Her lovely face looked composed, her lips tilted in a gracious smile.

  Cool, calm and in control, as always. She'd taken care of her uncomfortable business and now she could be elegant Grace Harrington again.

  He reached across the small table and unclasped her hands, lacing his fingers through hers. "Don't be so sure of everything, Gracie."

  The color drained from her cheeks and she tugged against his hand. "What are you talking about?"

  "There might very well be a future. Who knows? There are lots of jobs that use two firms." His fingers lightly stroked the creamy skin of her hand. "We may get the opportunity to work together someday."

  "I doubt that."

  "Why?" He released his hold. "You think H&H wouldn't get its hands dirty with a little boutique firm in Pittsburgh?"