"Michael, get out of here!" Grace shouted. "I'm not even sure I want to know how you found me…"

Sands chimed in. "I'm sure as hell intrigued by it."

"Jeffrey…"

"Who the hell is this, Grace?" Michael asked, his temper flaring.

"I already told you who the hell I am," Sands answered.

"And you're selling me some bullshit story about being in the CIA…"

"I'm not selling anything…" Sands rose from the couch and slowly made his way to where Michael's voice was coming from. "…and it sounds like Grace would like you to leave."

"What Grace does or doesn't want is none of your business."

"Michael," Grace said through gritted teeth. That was enough for Sands to find her and slide a protective arm around her waist. The relief that filtered through her was immeasurable.

"It's very much my business," Sands insisted.

"New boyfriend already, Grace?" Michael asked.

Grace let her body relax in Sands' hold. "A friend, Michael, not that it's any of your concern."

"Grace, just let me take you to dinner tonight, hm? Let me explain…"

"Explain what? How you tried to drain my bank account and…"

"Just let me tell you what really happened and, if you still want me to go, I will."

"It really doesn't sit well with me that you tracked me here…"

"You ran out of the country, Grace, how could I not be concerned?"

"I'm on vacation!" Sands' arm tightened around Grace, as if trying to calm her. Michael noticed this and wasn't pleased.

"Would you please not touch her like that?"

Sands smiled. "She doesn't seem to mind it, does she?"

"Jeffrey," Grace said softly.

Michael reached out for Grace's hand and succeeded at gently taking hold of it. "Just dinner, Grace, and a full explanation."

Grace sighed heavily. "Then you'll go?"

"Well, if you'd still want me to."

"I will, believe me," she spat. She thought things over for a moment, then said, "Fine. Meet me in the restaurant downstairs at seven."

Michael smiled. "I'll see you then, my love."

"Nix the love shit, Michael," Grace said coldly.

"Seven o' clock," he smiled. He opened the door, then looked back at Sands. "Loose the glasses, buddy, you're inside." He chuckled and left the suite.

"You can't have dinner with that fuckmook, Gracie!"

"Why not?"

"Aside from the fact that he's a fuckmook?"

"Yeah."

Sands almost whined. "I don't like him."

Grace noticed that Sands was in no hurry to let go of her. "And?"

"Isn't that enough? I mean, I read people for a living and I didn't even have to see this guy to know he's a son of a bitch."

"And that bothers you because?" She hoped that if she egged him on enough, she would hear the type of answer she was desperately hoping for.

"Well…you should really only focus your attention on one asshole at a time and, damn it, you're busy with me!"

Grace smiled. "You're not jealous that I'll be dining with someone else are you?"

Sands placed his mouth next to Grace's ear. "I'm the one who's sleeping with you, Gracie." His voice caused her flesh to rise and her stomach to flip in a rather pleasurable manner.

"So what's the problem then?" she whispered.

"He was here for all of five minutes and managed treat you like shit and piss me off."

Grace ran a hand through Sands' hair. "Aw, Jeffrey, you care…sort of."

Unable to help himself, he kissed her, longingly, passionately. Grace kissed him back, hoping for more than she knew she should have been. Something seemed to click between them and their hands began to wander one another's bodies.

"Don't let it get out," Sands panted.

"Don't let what get out?" Grace asked, unbuttoning his shirt.

"That I care."

Grace smiled. "Care about what?"

"You."

"I thought you 'can't' have…"

"I think I'm willing to make an exception this one time." He kissed her again. "You still haven't made it out…"

"Don't care…"

"Wanna christen the couch?"

Grace laughed seductively. "Couch, floor, table…"

Sands let a growl pass his lips as Grace led him to the couch. He positioned himself on top of her as he pawed at her clothes. Again placing his lips next to her ear, he whispered, "Mine."