Free Betting on Grace by Debra Salonen Page A

word from him until now when he shows up with a set of architectural drawings. Created with absolutely no input from her.
    “What do you think?”
    She stepped back, hands on her hips. “You tell me. Since you’re so good at reading minds.”
    Charles’s head went up so abruptly a shock of dark auburn hair dropped across his eyebrows. He batted itaway. His long, classically handsome face took on a troubled frown. “Oh.” His eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, dear. I believe I let my enthusiasm for the project get away from me.”
    His look of chagrin seemed real. Was it possible he’d simply been caught up in the moment? Grace had felt the same way when the idea came to her in the middle of the night.
    The name, the concept, the location—everything about Too Romantique had made her giddy with expectation. Until that morning when her sisters voiced their concerns. Now, Charles was standing here practically gushing enthusiasm, and she was acting like a spoiled child because he’d taken her ball and run with it.
    “I’m sorry, Grace. Really.”
    His apology seemed sincere, but Grace didn’t like secret agendas. “If we do this, Charles, I expect to be more than the money man…um, person. It’s my investment, my idea and my sister who will be putting her reputation on the line.”
    He nodded somberly. “Of course. You’re absolutely right. I should have talked this over with you. But you’ve been so busy with your family…”
    Grace couldn’t argue with that. She’d babysat Maya two evenings last week and had filled in three afternoons at The Dancing Hippo when Alex was feeling under the weather. But still…
    “I appreciate the fact that this is your building, Charles, so you have final say in the remodeling process, but, let’s face it. Too Romantique is my baby. If it fails, you would still benefit from a badly needed face-lift, while I’d be out my entire trust fund.”
    “I would never let that happen, Grace.”
    Charles put his hand on her bare arm. His touch was cool and light. He wasn’t a hands-on kind of person, which Grace liked. Shawn had proven that touch could lie, and trust was easily abused. “I know this appears as though I usurped your brainchild, Grace, but, in fact, these plans weren’t something I commissioned.”
    “Then why do you have them?”
    “Well, I happened to mention your idea to the contractor who’s refurbishing some of our guest rooms. He was so impressed by what I described to him—all the things you’d mentioned to me—that he took it upon himself to put these sketches together on his computer.” He used his free hand to make a sweeping gesture toward the thick, bluish white paper. “Nothing is written in blood. You can mark them up all you want.”
    Still feeling put out, Grace stepped back, ostensibly to view the plans from another angle. Normally, she felt comfortable with Charles occasionally holding her hand in public or even giving her a good-night kiss, but today, she felt an odd chill pass though her body whenever he touched her. The same feeling she got when she was out on the desert after sunset and the sharp cold of night first made its presence known.
    “Well, I guess it’s okay to have the basic size and scale down on paper, but Kate would kill me if I green-lighted a kitchen that she hadn’t personally approved.”
    Charles nodded. “I understand completely. Take these sheets with you and show them to her. Use colored pens. Sticky notes. Whatever works. But keep in mind that the more we stay within the existing parameters, the more we can stretch our money.”
    Our money. Grace knew Charles didn’t mean that the way it sounded. They weren’t a couple and never would be. If she’d ever remotely entertained the idea of a more intimate relationship with him, the possibility had been blown out of the water the moment Nikolai Sarna had rescued her at the escalator. Friendship was one thing; wild, unprovoked lust was quite another.
    She looked