The Player:Moorehouse Legacy(11)

Joy threw the thing out with the trash.

* * *

BACK AT HIS HOME, Gray undressed and got into bed naked.

He had an ache in his chest and rubbed his sternum. Damn barbecued ribs. He loved them, but man, he paid a price.

He dropped his hand onto the bedspread.

Ah, hell. Who was he kidding.

Joy had knocked him out tonight. Put him right on his ass.

That expression on her face, that uncalculated, sensual curiosity, had been like getting hit by a car. For a guy who knew all the plays in the female seduction handbook, direct, unreserved approaches were sexy as hell. But it wasn't just the novelty that got to him. His hot response was all about Joy. Her lavender scent. Her long, wavy hair. Her pale, smooth skin.

Just the memory of that dance had his body cranking up.

He punched his pillow, rolled over onto his side and shut his eyes.

It had taken some serious lecturing to convince his hands to stay on her waist. And preserving that two-inch distance between their bodies had made him shake.

Making her boyfriend the topic of conversation had seemed like the only way to break the mood. Otherwise he would have led her off the dance floor, past the tents and into the velvety darkness.

Where he would have been more than happy to indulge her appetite.

Indulge it until she was under him and hanging on for dear life as he …

His groan was pitiful and he thought of the nice guy she was with.

By the time Gray saw her next year, she could be engaged. Married.

What a lucky, lucky man that line cook was.

* * *

A WEEK LATER, Joy knocked on her brother's door. "Alex?"

She heard the sound of the bed creaking. Then a graveled voice. "Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

"Hold on a sec."

As she waited, she took a deep breath.

"All right," Alex called.

She opened the door.

Alex was lying on the twin bed, his big body overflowing the mattress. His leg cast was elevated on a pillow and the one on his arm was tucked against his side. He'd obviously just pulled on a shirt because his hair was down flat on his forehead and he was tugging at the bottom hem.

In the past month he'd lost a lot of weight and it showed in his face. Harsh before, now the strong angles were drawn. And though a lot of his tan remained, the rich glow couldn't hide his gray pallor. His sun-streaked, dark hair was a mess, clean, but not combed.

"How are you?" she asked softly.

He frowned and ignored the question. "This isn't mealtime."

"No, it isn't." She looked for a place to sit in the sparse room. There was none, so she lowered herself to the floor next to his bed.

And went eye to eye with a half-empty Scotch bottle.

As she glanced at the liquor, Alex drummed his fingers on the mattress. He'd obviously had enough of Frankie's lectures to stop drinking. Eat all his food. Take his medicine.

"I need a favor," Joy asked. "Well, it's more than that."

The fingers stopped. "Okay."

But his suspicion was obvious in the way he dragged out the word.

"I, ah-" She paused, wishing there was another way to get what she needed. "Things are slowing down here now that we're closed for the season. Grand-Em's on that new medication and it seems to really be helping. Frankie's wedding's in good shape. Her dress is done."

Alex crossed his good arm over his chest. Even with everything the doctors had done to him, even though he'd dropped ten, maybe fifteen pounds, even though he was lying down, he was still imposing. "What do you need?"

"Cassandra Cutler's phone number."

There was a long silence. When Alex finally spoke, his voice was as tight as the tension in his jaw. "Mind if I ask why?"

"She saw some of my designs and asked me if I wanted to make a dress for her. I told her no, but … I don't know. I have some extra time and it might be kind of fun. The problem is, I threw out her business card and I don't know where she works. When I called information in Manhattan, her home phone's unlisted. I thought you might know how to get hold of her. I almost didn't want to ask because I don't want to upset you. In fact, if it makes you feel uncomfortable, I won't call her at all. I'll just let the whole thing go."

Alex pushed a hand through his hair. Closed his eyes.

"You know what?" Joy said. "This was a bad idea. I'm sorry-"

He shook his head. "No, it's no big deal. I'm glad someone's taken an interest in what you do and she's well known for that fashion thing."

He rattled off some numbers and she scrambled to find something to write them on.

"Say it again?" she said, scribbling on the back of a magazine.

"That's their apartment in New York."

"Thanks, Alex. This means a lot to me." Joy hesitated, eyeing the way the shirt sunk into his concave belly. "Can I bring you something to eat?"

"Don't start."

Joy glanced at the Scotch.

"And I really don't want to hear about the liquor."

Joy nodded. "Okay. I'll see you later when I bring up dinner."

"Don't hurry."

"Alex-"

"And shut the door tightly, will you?"

Joy left, wondering what she could do to help her brother and once again coming up with nothing.

Downstairs in Frankie's office, she felt somewhat foolish as she dialed the number Alex had given her. The person who picked up had a foreign accent that lengthened the words "Cutler residence" into a whole paragraph. After giving her name, Joy expected to get politely turned away when she asked to speak with Cassandra. Instead she was put on hold and then the widow came on the line.

"Joy! How nice to hear from you."

"I, uh, I've been thinking about what you said, about making a dress for you? And I'd like to, if you're still interested."

"Absolutely and your timing is perfect. The Hall Foundation is having its annual gala soon. When can you come to New York?"

New York City?

Good Lord. The last time she had been in a town bigger than Saranac was when she'd been in college. And Burlington, Vermont, wasn't exactly a towering metropolis of commerce. Heck, if a building had six stories there, it was considered a skyscraper.

"I can come anytime, I guess."

"Wonderful! Why don't you ride down tomorrow with Gray? He was supposed to come last week to teach his class at Columbia, but his father had some difficulties."

Oh, jeez. Four and a half hours in the car with Gray. One way.

And she thought the Big Apple was overwhelming. How was she going to keep sharp for that long?

"I-uh, maybe I should just take the train."

"Don't be silly. Gray will enjoy your company and he knows right where I live."

"Yeah, well-"

"Would you like me to call him for you?"

As if she didn't feel like enough of a rube already? "No. I'll do it."

"And you must stay with me. I have three guest rooms in this place that are rarely used. I could stand some company."

"That's really generous of you."

"My pleasure. See you tomorrow!"

Joy put the phone down and stared at it.

Now, she just had to call Gray.

* * *

GRAY LEANED FORWARD in the leather chair, planting his elbows on the desk.

"No, here's what you're going to tell your client. If he doesn't lay off, I'm going to crush him. Are we clear? Either the congressman cans the smear campaign against my boy, or I'm going to drop a dime to the Boston Globe and make sure the whole damn commonwealth knows what he tried to pull with those construction contracts. You remember, the ones he gave to his in-laws' shadow corporations?"

The lawyer on the other end of the line started to backpedal madly. As a heavy hitter sent in to intimidate, the guy had failed miserably. Gray was just too damn good at this kind of song and dance to be dressed down by nothing more than a big, loud noise with Esq. after its name.

Unfortunately, as November got closer, this backroom brawling stuff was only going to get more intense. He wasn't looking forward to all the threat trading. And he wasn't going to be thrilled to follow through on what he'd promised if the congressman's attack ads didn't dry up immediately.

Although he'd make the call in a heartbeat.

He reached for his bourbon. "Look, I've got to go. You're boring me."

Mr. Fancy Pants, Big City Attorney who'd tried to muscle in on the situation was still nattering as the line was cut.

Gray shook his head. What an amateur, trying to pull the whole legality of free speech nonsense. Sure there was the First Amendment and thank God for it. But the Constitution couldn't be used as a shield to protect liars. Not in Gray's world, anyway.

The phone rang.

Great. It was probably the lawyer again. Threatening to sue for tortuous interference of a phone call.

Gray picked up receiver and snapped, "What part of bored didn't you understand?"

There was a long silence.

"Gray?"

He put down the bourbon. "Hi-"

"It's Joy Moorehouse."

"Yeah, I know."

"I, uh, I just got off the phone with Cassandra. I understand you're going to New York City tomorrow and I was wondering if I could catch a ride with you."

Gray took a deep breath. He hadn't been aware of sending any requests to God lately. But evidently the Big Guy knew his stuff.

"Sure. I can pick you up. I'm leaving early, though. At seven."

"Fine with me."

"Are you going to do a dress for her?"

"Yes."

"Good for you. And Cass."

"So I guess I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah. You will."