The Player:Moorehouse Legacy(12)

Gray hung up. The tension that had crawled up his spine and burrowed into his shoulders while talking to the attorney slowly bled out of him.

Okay, so it was replaced with a state of half arousal. But anticipation, even if it was misplaced, misdirected and miserably persistent, was better than lawyer-onset annoyance any day.

Gray began to smile.

He tried to cover up the stupid grin by throwing back the bourbon and getting to work.

But the damn thing wouldn't go away.

                       
       
           



       Chapter Six

STANDING IN THE COOL morning air, with a small suitcase and her portfolio at her feet, Joy was totally disorientated. Surely she couldn't be going to New York City. In Gray's car. So she could talk about designing a dress for the man's überelegant lover.

The Twilight Zone tingles got more pronounced as the BMW came around the corner. When Gray got out, he greeted her with a smile.

"You ready?"

She did a quick survey of him. Dark suit. Bright tie. Crisp white shirt. Hair back and still a little damp. He smelled like cedar soap and that sophisticated, sandalwood aftershave he wore.

She reached for her luggage, but he got to the handles first, putting the suitcase and her drawings in the trunk. As she slid into the leather seat, she looked over and saw two stainless-steel coffee mugs.

"I brought some for you, too," he said as he got behind the wheel. "Wasn't sure how you liked yours so there's some sugar and cream in that bag at your feet."

Four hours later, Joy decided Einstein was right. Time was relative.

As the great city came into view and they got on Riverside Drive, she could have sworn she'd only been in the car for ten minutes. They talked the whole time. Gray had been really interested in her designing. And the books she liked to read. And the music she listened to. And what she thought about a thousand different things, large and small. It was difficult not to fall even harder for him. Somehow, his curiosity in her was more attractive than his most attractive physical attributes.

And God knew the man was running a barn sale on tall, dark and handsome.

"Cass's place is on Park in the seventies," Gray said, as if that was supposed to mean something to her.

"I've never been here before."

"Really? You'll have to get her to show you around. New York is one of the best cities in the world. I love it here."

She looked out of the window. "It's … overwhelming."

The day was bright and clear, the buildings shooting up into a screaming blue, autumn sky. Everything seemed too sharp, especially the shadows thrown by the hard edges of so many skyscrapers. As vertigo taunted her stomach with threats of the bile variety, she brought her eyes back to level. No relief there. The blurring rush of pedestrians and taxis and trucks and bike couriers was like a carnival ride pregnant ladies weren't supposed to get on.

God, everyone looked as if they had somewhere they needed to be. Urgently. And the pace made the people seem important.

As her own internal tempo struggled to catch up, she wished she was back home at White Caps. It was just after eleven-thirty. She'd be getting Grand-Em's lunch ready. In the cozy familiarity of the kitchen. Using plates she'd put food on every day of her life.

What the hell was she doing in New York?

Taking a deep breath, she looked down at her lap to avoid all the visual stimulation. What she saw just made her feel smaller. She was wearing a pair of black slacks that had been cleaned so many times, the seams were a dark gray. There was only more of the same in her luggage. Lacking any clothes that were particularly chic, she'd stuffed her suitcase full of dark things in the hope that she'd look a little less like an upstate interloper.

She figured the Big Apple was not a place you wanted to hit in pastels. There was probably a city ordinance against pink. And forget about flower prints.

Except as she stared at the rushing people, she was certain no one would be fooled by her attempt at camouflage. Rubbing her palms on her thighs, she felt the cotton grab because her hands were sweaty.

"Do you get here often?" she asked, trying to distract herself.

Gray nodded. "I teach at Columbia every once in a while and I've got a couple of clients here. I usually end up coming in once, twice a month. Fortunately it's just a short plane ride from D.C."

"Do you have an apartment here?"

"I stay at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel."

She shifted in the bucket seat. Pulled at the collar of her black shirt.

"You okay?" Gray asked, glancing over at her.

"Yeah." She cleared her throat and tried again. "Yes, I am."

His hand reached across the seat. Covered one of hers briefly. And then returned to the wheel. "You're going to do fine."

She glanced over at him. He was focused on the tangle of cabs and cars and trucks, but he was relaxed. With his bold profile, his tangible confidence, his well-made clothes, he seemed totally in control. Heck, he looked as if he had the power to clear the streets by a wave of his hand, but chose to endure the inconvenience of traffic because it was simply what a deity did if it lived among humans.

Had this man ever been scared? she thought. Lost? Sad?

Statistically speaking, the answer had to be yes. No one lived such a charmed life. But she just couldn't picture him vulnerable to anything.

"You're very lucky," she said softly.

Dark brows flickered. "Why?"

"Because you're so strong."

He frowned. "Trust me. Sometimes I'm not nearly strong enough."

Minutes later, Gray pulled up in front of a tall, pale building with a dark green awning. A uniformed doorman stepped forward and opened Joy's door.

"Mr. Bennett, how nice to see you again. Ma'am." The man tilted his cap.

"Rodney, how are you?" Gray popped the trunk and got her suitcase out. As he came up to her, he smoothly switched the luggage to his other hand when she tried to take it from him. "This is Joy Moorehouse. She's staying with Mrs. Cutler for the night. I'm just going to walk her upstairs."

Joy let herself get swept inside. The lobby was all marble floors and fresh bouquets of flowers, and the elevator was an old-fashioned brass-and-glass number that ran as if it were new. As they rode up, the chiming sound at each floor was cheerful.

When they came to a stop, Gray held the gate so she could step out first and then led her over to a single, ornate door in the hall. He rang the bell and a maid answered.

Cassandra wasn't far behind. "Oh, good! You're here in time for lunch. Gray, will you stay?"

He shook his head. "I've got to be at class in an hour. But are you both free for dinner tonight?"

Cass shook her head. "Allison and I are getting together, but I'm sure Joy would like to go out on the town, right?"

Joy glanced at Gray. "Don't feel as though you have to amuse me."

"I'll pick you up at seven."

And then he was gone.

* * *

JOY TAPPED HER PENCIL against the mahogany table and shook her head. She and Cassandra had been talking for hours.

"No, Cass, you're wrong. Red is the color you're going to want to wear and let me tell you why. If we go with the high-collared gown, we've got an opportunity to leverage your complexion and use it as part of the overall effect of the dress. The red will travel up your torso and frame your throat and jaw-see this line here? The color in concert with the design will set off your face like it was the inside of a flower. If you're uncomfortable, you can wear your hair up to lessen any contrast. But if I pick the right tone, and I will, you won't have to."

Joy waited, staring at the design she'd sketched out. She couldn't believe she was being so direct, but she was so sure of what she saw. She knew exactly what the gown would look like, what the color was going to be, how the satin would fall.

But she didn't want her first and only client to feel railroaded.

"I, uh, I'm sorry if I'm being pushy."

"Don't be." Cass looked up with a smile. "God, you are so much better than good. And you're absolutely right. Let's do it."

Joy tried not to beam. "You are not going to be sorry. I promise you."

A grandfather clock started to chime in the corner.

"Six o'clock," Cass said. "Gray will be here before you know it and I'm sure you'll want to get ready. By the way, the tub in your bathroom is perfect for soaking, or so I've been told by many a weary traveler."

As Joy started collecting her drawings, her sense of mastery dimmed. The reminder she was having dinner with Gray made her go back to feeling out of place.

And when her eyes flickered over the formal dining room, the alienation got sharper. Everything in it, from the heavy ivory drapes, to the Aubusson rug, to the dark oil paintings, had been chosen with a perfect sense of style. And a bottomless wallet. It had been so easy to forget that she and Cass were worlds apart when they'd been talking about designs.

But now reality was back.

"Joy?"

"Hmm?"

"There's nothing going on between Gray and me."

Joy's hands stilled. "That's none of my business."

"Maybe not, but I thought you'd want to know. Gray and I have been friends for years. He was one of my first clients when I got started as an architect." Cass picked up some of the colored pencils that were littering the table. "Would you mind if I pried a little?"