THE FIRE STILL BURNS

  Her eyes narrowed at him. "I didn't say that." She smoothed her napkin on her lap. "As a matter of fact, you're the one who wouldn't even interview with H&H after you got out of grad school."

  She knew that? How much did she know about his one conversation with Eugene Harrington?

  "I never wanted to work for a large firm, Gracie," he explained as he lifted his water glass. "I have nothing against Hazelwood and Harrington. Your father—and his father and I believe his father, too—all have exquisite architectural designs to their credit."

  "And his father," she added. "Who designed Edgewater."

  He took a sip and considered how best to respond to that. "I understand you have deep familial ties to the old building, Gracie, but don't be too disappointed when Adrian Gilmore opts for a different structure."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Pineapple House," he said simply.

  "Pineapple—the old house that stood on the property before Edgewater?"

  For some reason, it pleased and relieved him that she knew the history before the mansion. "Yes, Pineapple House. It was built in 1743, the Golden Age—not to be confused with the 'Gilded Age'—of Newport."

  She gave him a confused look. "What does Pineapple House have to do with Edgewater today?"

  "I proposed that Adrian let me design and reconstruct a replica of Pineapple House instead of Edgewater. I suggested he go a hundred and fifty years further back in history and build a tribute to the sea captains who inhabited and grew Newport from a settlement to a city. The men who brought pineapples back from the West Indies and started the tradition of equating that fruit with a warm welcome."

  "I know the symbolism and history," she assured him. "But the original Pineapple House was torn down to build Edgewater. There's no reliable record of what it looked like—you'd just be creating a brand new house. Adrian wants to preserve history."

  "I will preserve history." He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I have two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old documents that describe the original structure."

  Her eyes became mint-green circles. "What? How? Where?"

  There was a limit to how much he'd share, and he drew the line at his secret weapon. Plus, if she knew why Pineapple House was so important to him, he'd lose the distinct advantage he gained with the impersonal motivation of "business." "I can't reveal my sources."

  She gave him a skeptical look. "Do you have sketches?"

  "Detailed."

  For a moment, she turned to the window, lost in thought. Then she snagged his gaze again. "A wooden two-story dwelling, no matter how authentic and enchanting it is, will not be grand enough for Gilmore."

  "I'll agree that Pineapple House isn't opulent. On the contrary. But it was first, Gracie. That building stood a hundred years before some New York banker named Andrew Smith leveled it and erected a monument to his greed."

  "Andrew Smith was the first client of H&H," she responded. "My great-great-grandfather started an architectural dynasty with the profits from the design of Edgewater. It may have been a monument to Andrew Smith's success, but it was also the foundation on which my whole family's business was built."

  He knew this would be at the core of the H&H pitch for the business. He sensed that it wouldn't carry a lot of weight with Gilmore, either. "Pineapple House epitomizes the true history of Newport—"

  "So does Edgewater!" she shot back.

  "Edgewater represents the time when money ran amuck, Gracie, when monstrosities of marble and gold were constructed for the sole purpose of hosting one over-the-top party a year."

  She regarded him with narrowed eyes for a long moment. "Why are you so passionate about this?"

  As usual, he wasn't doing a bang-up job of keeping this impersonal. "I'm passionate about everything."

  She gave him a wary look. "What do you care about the history of Newport?"

  "I care about heritage as much as history," he said, purposely vague.

  "Then surely you understand my family's heritage is tied up with Edgewater."

  He nodded in assent. "I believe it's crucial to incorporate history and heritage into any structure I design. Newport's been around since the 1600s. There are plenty of nineteenth-century mansions on Bellevue Avenue

  , Gracie. I'd like to see Adrian Gilmore…" he gave her a cocky smile "…break the rules."

  She dabbed at the condensation around her water glass with a napkin. "Actually, it's an interesting idea, Colin, I'll admit it." She folded the napkin, dry side out, and put it back on her lap. "But don't be fooled by Adrian's laissez-faire attitude bought by fast-food billions. He desperately wants to be accepted in the upper echelons of society. Edgewater represents that more than anything."

  She was right about Adrian's desire, but not about Edgewater representing guaranteed acceptance into society. "I think you're wrong."

  Her look was pure challenge. "I think I'm right."

  At that moment, his cell phone beeped a quiet melody. Gracie reached in her jacket pocket.

  "No, it's mine," he said, unclipping the tiny gadget from his belt to check the ID. Caller unknown.

  "Mine is vibrating." She pulled out a similar device from her pocket with an apologetic laugh. "Lunch in the new millennium. Do you mind?"

  "Go ahead," he nodded, pressing the Talk button on his. As soon as he said hello, he recognized Adrian Gilmore's distinctive East London clipped tones. "McGrath, I like your ideas. You might just have something with this Pineapple House."

  Gracie suddenly turned to her side, a frown creasing her brow. Poor thing. Didn't make the cut. Hey, for all he knew, there might be no cut. Just Pineapple House.

  "Glad to hear it," Colin said to Adrian. "When do we start?"

  "Not so fast, mate. I think you need a bit more time to work on the designs."

  He didn't respond, trying to hear what Gracie was whispering into her phone.

  "How can we possibly do that?" she asked her caller.

  "What did you have in mind?" Colin asked.

  "Three weeks in Newport, McGrath, on me. Think of it as a working vacation."

  "Vacation?"

  "Vacation?" He looked up at Gracie's eerie echo of his word.

  "I think you're dead on about getting a feel for the history of the property," Adrian continued. "I'd like you to move into the carriage house immediately and live there for three weeks. I think that's enough time to soak up the atmosphere and history and come up with a great design."

  Gracie lined up her silverware—again—and listened intently into her phone. "Three weeks?" she asked.

  Who was she talking to?

  "Three weeks?" he repeated into his own phone. "And then I have the job?"

  "Well, not exactly," Adrian responded with a quick laugh. "I've narrowed my choice down to two firms who have presented diametrically different ideas—both brilliant, but wholly opposing concepts. I'm asking both of you to spend the same time on the Edgewater property before you submit final designs."

  Gracie nodded and said something he didn't catch. But a spine-tingling sense of anticipation started to seep through him. The familiar warmth of good luck.

  "Then you'll make a decision in six weeks?" Colin asked.

  "No. Three. You'll both be staying at the carriage house at the same time, participating in the same exercise."

  Was Gilmore really saying what he thought he was saying? "At the same time?"

  "That's what I said, McGrath," Adrian barked with no small amount of annoyance in his tone. "I'll arrange for some staff to handle housekeeping and provide meals, and set up computers and drafting areas for both architects. You'll have plenty of time to work and get a sense of the geography."

  Three weeks. Alone. In a house with Gracie.

  She shifted uncomfortably in her seat across the table. "That's quite a long time to be away from my office," she said slowly. "And you say the request is being made of another firm?"

  Just then, she looked directly at him and her expression melted fro
m confusion into horror.

  Oh, yeah. Three weeks. Alone. In a house with Gracie.

  His luck knew no bounds today. "Count me in, Adrian," he said pointedly into his phone, his gaze locked on the emerald eyes across from him. "You know I'll do what it takes to get the business."

  The color drained from alabaster cheeks as Gracie pierced him with a glare. "Of course, Diane," she ground out. "Please tell Mr. Gilmore I'll do whatever is necessary."

  They clicked off simultaneously.

  "Well, what d'ya know, Gracie?" He reached over and playfully tapped her knife out of alignment. "There's going to be a future for us after all."

  * * *

  "Narragansett Bay scallops?"

  Grace barely noticed the waiter standing next to the table as she closed the cover to her phone and dropped it into her jacket pocket.

  Three weeks? In the carriage house? With him?

  "For the lady," Colin said, that wicked smile still in place.

  As the waiter set the dish in front of her, Grace was dimly aware of the aroma of pepper and parmesan. Three weeks?

  "And the Portobello and gorgonzola sandwich," the waiter announced, positioning Colin's plate on the table.

  The two men exchanged formalities about condiments, but Gracie didn't pay attention.

  Three weeks?

  There had to be some way to get out of this. But not if she wanted the Edgewater business. This arrangement was not negotiable. That much had been clear. Exactly why had not been clear at all.

  "Is something the matter, ma'am?"

  Grace looked up at the inquiring waiter. Yes. Indeed. Something was very much the matter. "No. This looks … perfect. Thank you."

  Colin still wore that damn sly smile, and held her gaze with a look rich with humor and victory. "Bon appetit, Gracie."

  She had no appetite, let alone a bon one.

  She lifted her fork and let it clatter back down again. "Aren't we going to talk about this?"

  "What's to talk about?" He scooped up his sandwich in his long fingers, gorgonzola cheese oozing from the bottom. "I get the impression from Adrian that it's a done deal."

  "Adrian?" Her voice tripped.

  "Yes. That was him on the phone. Who called you?"

  Not Adrian, that's for sure. A bad sign. "His assistant, Diane," she admitted.

  He gave her a "don't worry about it" expression that couldn't mask his pity. "No doubt he wanted to notify both firms simultaneously, so Diane helped."

  Or he just plain liked Colin—and his rule-breaking ideas—better, and planned to give him the business after all. What if H&H had merely been included in this farce to make it look fair?

  "I'm sure you're right," she agreed weakly, cutting a dainty piece of scallop.

  He took a sizable bite from his sandwich, then put it down and touched his lips with the napkin.

  She managed to spear her scallop with her fork, but couldn't quite lift it to her mouth. She watched him take a quick swipe of the bun with his tongue, catching some cheese. Her tummy did a tango at the sight.

  The last thing she wanted Colin McGrath to know was how much the idea of three weeks alone with him unnerved her. Every instinct told her that he would relish that knowledge—and use it to his advantage.

  "Eat some lunch, Gracie. The food's great." His eyes twinkled and he held out his gooey concoction toward her. "Want a bite of mine?"

  The idea of putting her mouth where his had just been… Her breath caught in her already constricted throat.

  "No, thank you." She finally slid a peppery scallop between her lips and chewed slowly. There. Did it. But could she swallow?

  He put his sandwich down and wiped his mouth on the linen napkin before taking a deep drink of water. Good God, the man ate with gusto. With perfectly acceptable manners, but so passionate.

  "You don't think we'll have problems in such, uh, close quarters, do you, Gracie?" He was obviously holding back a laugh.

  "Of course not," she lied. "Besides, the Edgewater carriage house is not exactly close quarters. I'll take the upstairs."

  He raised both eyebrows. "The living area and kitchen are downstairs, if I recall the layout of the place. You'll need to eat and … live."

  "I'll manage."

  "And I'll need to sleep."

  The scallop lodged and she coughed into her napkin. How was she going to get through this?

  "Are you okay?" he asked, looking suitably concerned.

  "Yes." She put her fork down and took a quick drink of water. "I'm fine."

  He glanced at her still-full plate and raised an eyebrow. "I'm always a little suspicious of people who don't like to eat."

  "I like to eat," she said defensively, lifting another bite to her mouth. "I just do things deliberately."

  "I know."

  Her dancing stomach did a low dip at that. "You do?"

  He shrugged. "I remember you from college, Gracie."

  She gave him a sharp look, and got a totally innocent one in return. "You know I was at CMU the whole time you were an undergrad," he continued. "I got my Masters while you were finishing college."

  Did he think she hadn't seen him in the School of Architecture, in the halls, on the campus? Just because he didn't acknowledge her, and she responded in kind, didn't mean she wasn't painfully and totally aware of him. "Yes, I believe I knew that."

  Suddenly, his expression turned solemn. "Gracie—"

  She reached her fork across the table and stabbed a crispy French fry on his plate. "May I?"

  "Of course." His grin was sheer delight.

  At least her momentary lapse in manners made him stop before he said anything … about that night.

  After a beat, he pushed his plate toward her. "Have all you like. Look, I know you've put these parameters up, but I want to tell you—"

  "These are delicious." She lunged for another fry.

  This time he laughed. "Okay. You win. I don't know you at all, I don't remember anything about you, and my years at CMU are a blur. Let's talk about the future."

  Worse. "The next three weeks?"

  "Yeah. Are we going to spend it avoiding a whole bunch of delicate subjects?"

  She met his piercing gaze without wavering, wiping the corners of her mouth with the napkin. "Yes, we are. Here are the ground rules: We are going to avoid discussing our work, our ideas, our proposals, our companies, our past, our future and our present."

  "It's gonna be a quiet house."

  "A good working environment."

  "I like loud rock music."

  She blew out a breath. "I like soft classical."

  "I sleep late."

  "I get up and run at five-thirty every morning."

  "I like take-out."

  "I cook healthy food."

  "You know what, Gracie?"

  She brushed her hands against the linen napkin. "What, Colin?"

  He grinned. "You're no fun."

  "Thank you."

  Laughing, he popped a French fry in his mouth and nodded slowly as he regarded her with a half smile. "And you've grown into quite a woman."

  A rush of warmth spread through her. "Thank you, again." He leaned over his plate and whispered, "I'm looking forward to the next three weeks."

  "I'm looking forward to winning the Edgewater business," she said, holding his heated gaze.

  "Maybe I could teach you a few things."

  She ached a skeptical brow. "Like what?"

  "Like how to enjoy loud music, late mornings, and takeout." He laughed softly and held up a French fry like a ketchupy peace offering. "And how to break some … ground rules."

  * * *

  Three

  « ^ »

  "Oh my Gawd."

  Grace twirled around to meet her roommate's stunned expression. "What's the matter, Allie?"

  "I've never seen disorder in this room." Allie blinked sleepy brown eyes and pointed to Grace's bed. "I didn't think you knew how to make a mountain of discarded clothes. Have you run out of
color-coded hangers?"

  Grace gave her an imploring look. "Help me," she begged, hearing the note of panic in her own tone. "Gilmore gave us twenty-four hours to get back to Newport. I don't know what to take." She picked up a pair of jeans. "Do I pack for a vacation?" A suit jacket. "For work?" A skirt. "Is this trip some kind of a contest or is it—"

  "Your every fantasy come true?" Allie reached into the pile and retrieved a slinky black dress, jiggling it seductively.

  Grace grabbed the flimsy knit fabric and added it to the reject pile. "I don't know how you talked me into buying that. My only fantasy is to nail the Edgewater job."

  "And as an added bonus, you may get to nail the competition."

  Grace pointed her finger in her friend's face. "Allison Powers, you are a bad girl."

  "I try. But, hey, you took me to his Web site last night to show off your new roommate." Allie flipped a strand of long black hair over her shoulder and sauntered around the bed, her Tweetie Bird slippers scuffing along the hardwood floor. "And I say, if you're ever ready to embrace the 'bad can be good' philosophy of life, now is definitely the time."

  "Bad can never be good." Grace shook her head. "I'm not interested in casual sex with Colin McGrath. Remember? Been there, done that, regretted it for the rest of my life."

  But she didn't regret her decision to confide the truth in Allie when she'd gotten home from Newport yesterday. She had to tell someone. And Allie had understood. After all, she'd been burned pretty badly herself, and much more recently.

  Allie cleared some clothes and stretched out on Grace's bed. "I'm aware of your morals and I respect them. I might even embrace celibacy myself. But, sweetie, you're twenty-eight years old. Aren't you a little curious to find out what it's all about?"

  "I'll find out what it's all about when I meet the one man who makes me feel whole and good and loved and worthy," Grace said vehemently. "When I do. I'll—I'll…"

  "Nail him."

  Grace smiled, and then leaned against the closet door to look at Allie. "It won't be like that."

  "Don't expect hearts and flowers and violin music, darling," Allie lay back and rolled her eyes. "It ain't reality. And speaking of men who can't demonstrate their love, what did your dad say?"

  Grace shook her head. "Why do I put up with you?"