Anywhere You Are Read Free

remember?”
    “I remember,” she said, and offered him a little smile.
    She trusts me.
    He fought back against the shocking surge of pleasure.
    He was an idiot. A masochist who needed his head examined. Except he didn’t have the time or the patience to visit a shrink. He needed a plan, and fast.
    He’d already committed to taking her to the hospital, and he never went back on his word. So he’d take her there and then get those friends of hers—wherever they were—to come fetch her. Because he knew with the utmost certainty that no matter how fun or intelligent or bohemian or beautiful she was, sticking around was only going to end badly for him.
    And he wouldn’t let that happen.
    Not ever again.

Chapter 2
    “Here you go,” the sweet-faced hostess said as she deposited their menus in their waiting hands. “A server will be with you shortly.”
    Grace Davingham eyed the woman’s back as she returned to her stand, willing her not to turn around and take another look. Her voodoo magic must have worked, since the hostess simply went to help a group of middle-aged men who were waiting to be seated.
    Satisfied, Grace swiveled her gaze to Marc, who sat stiffly across the table, his head buried in his menu, his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, a little open at the collar, silver cuff links glinting at his wrists. Good-looking men abounded in her world—her old world, anyway—but there were none who carried themselves the way Marcus Colby did.
    Self-assured, but not cocky. Confident, but not smug. In other words, a man who knew who he was and didn’t feel the need to explain it to anyone.
    He was tall, and being tucked into a snug booth made him look even larger. His thick, dark hair lay perfectly across his forehead, his expression was serious, and a tiny muscle ticked in his jaw. He wasn’t smiling—no surprises there, given that she hadn’t seen a smile from him yet—and he kept sneaking peeks at his very large, very expensive-looking watch. His skin was a lovely golden brown, and given that she doubted he took frequent vacations, he probably spent time in the sun for his job.
    He wasn’t perfect. There was that perpetually severe expression, for one thing. And he had a scar—a small one that shot across his cheekbone like the tail of a shooting star, a half-inch line of white against his skin.
    Marc glanced over at her, frowned slightly at her casual perusal of his form, then went back to his menu.
    She continued to eye him, wanting to muss his perfect dark hair and rumple his immaculately pressed shirt—still creaseless, despite the trek through the woods—to see if underneath his serious clothes his skin was as golden brown as the skin on his face and hands. In other words, dirty him up a little.
    He’d look good dirty.
    He’d feel good dirty, too. From the way he’d carried her, his absolute fluidity indicated he knew how to move. How to handle her.
    A small shiver coursed through her. But she was getting ahead of herself. Way, way ahead of herself.
    She racked her brain for what she knew about him. Admittedly, it wasn’t much. Carolyn Rivington, a friend who worked at Briarwood as their events manager, had told her that he was the most serious of the three Briarwood partners. He was a little older, too—in his late thirties—and he hadn’t recognized her, probably because he didn’t waste time watching reality TV.
    Carolyn had also mentioned that Marc didn’t put up with any of Jake Gaffney’s attitude, and from what she’d heard, Jake Gaffney had a
lot
of attitude. That meant Marc was tough, too.
    She already knew that.
    But although he’d been a little brusque, he’d been gentle with her since he’d carried her out of the woods. And he’d waited with her at the hospital and taken her to lunch—despite the fact that it had been obvious he hadn’t truly wanted to.
    Grace frowned. He wouldn’t be happy when he realized she hadn’t been exactly forthcoming about who she