The Player:Moorehouse Legacy(23)

Gray nursed his bourbon. "She doesn't want to hear about that."

"Actually, I do," Joy said.

"No, you don't."

"Ah, Bennett's just being shy." SOB rolled right along. "He's a makeover artist. He turns people into whoever he needs them to be to get elected. I keep telling him if he gets tossed out of Washington, he could always pick up some tweezers and a tube of lipstick. You know, work the Chanel counter somewhere."

"I'm sure it's a lot more complicated than that," Joy said, glancing at Gray with expectation.

God, the idea of talking to her about what he did made him feel the proverbial dirt under his nails more than ever.

When he stayed quiet, she prompted, "And it must be so exciting."

"It isn't," Gray said briskly.

"Oh, come on," SOB shot back, "you're at the epicenter of American politics and I love your stories. Remember that time when-"

Gray's voice sliced right through his friend's words. "So, O'Banyon, I hear you're bringing out an IPO on one of Nick Farrell's companies."

There was a long pause.

Sean's eyes narrowed and Joy shifted in her chair.

And then thankfully the conversation veered in another direction as SOB went into a whole spiel on initial public offerings. Joy asked a lot of very insightful questions, and by the time Sean had polished off his whiskey, he was looking at her as if he were actually seeing her.

This rankled, of course, but Gray had to give his friend credit. No matter how lovely Joy was, O'Banyon never looked anywhere except in her eyes. And he didn't let his cutting humor hit on topics like men, women and relationships or Gray's job.

When SOB got up to leave, he shook Joy's hand, clapped Gray on the shoulder and sauntered off.

"It was nice to meet one of your friends," Joy murmured as she watched the man cut through the crowd. "Have you known him long?"

"Since college."

"Is he married?"

"O'Banyon? No way. That man's not going down the aisle unless there's a shotgun involved. And the business end's pointed at his head."

"Oh. Well, it sounds like he works a lot."

"He's one of the best investment bankers in town."

"Doesn't he get lonely sometimes?"

Gray laughed. "Trust me, if he spends the night by himself, it's his choice. He's got more women than he knows what to do with."

Joy seemed chastened, looking down into her wineglass.

"When are you coming back to the city?" Gray asked.

"Why don't you want to tell me about your work?"

Gray frowned. "Don't listen to O'Banyon. It's not that interesting. So when are you coming back?"

She stayed silent.

"Joy?"

"Is it because I'm not sophisticated?"

"Sophis-no, not at all." He simply was not in a big hurry to tell her about the things he'd done. The threats he'd made. The threats he'd followed through on.

"Then why?"

"It's just not relevant." He wanted to reach across the table and take her hand. "Now, tell me, when will you be back?"

She hesitated, as if debating whether or not to let the subject drop. "After the wedding."

Had she said her sister was getting married in three weeks? That was so long. Too long.

"I'll come up to Saranac Lake before then," he said. "If you'll let me see you."

Joy moved her wineglass from side to side, sliding it over the table's glossy surface, the little Congress Club napkin under its base acting as a sled.

"Will you let me?" Gray pressed, aware that his whole body was tight. The idea that she would go up north and disappear terrified him for some reason. "Joy?"

She slowly nodded her head. "Yes. I'll see you."

"Good," he murmured, relaxing.

"But I have to be honest, I wish I could say no. I wish I didn't care whether or not I ever ran into you again. Actually, I wish I didn't want to see you at all." She frowned. "That sounds like an insult, but I don't mean it to be."

"Doesn't matter. As long as you want me. Want to see me, rather."

"Oh, I want you, all right," she said wryly. The blush that followed suggested she'd spoken without thinking and wished she could take the words back.

His eyes locked onto her lips. He remembered how soft they were. What they felt like against his. He imagined his tongue slipping into her mouth, penetrating, stroking.

"Gray?" she whispered. Her eyes widened, as if she'd guessed where his thoughts had headed and he'd surprised her.

He kicked back his drink, draining the last inch in the glass. "Let's go in to dinner."

While they ate, Joy seemed quiet, or maybe he was the one who wasn't talking much. Whereas his mouth wasn't working, though, his eyes were pulling overtime. He couldn't stop staring at her, as if he were storing up memories for the next couple of weeks when he wouldn't be able to see her as much.

And the preoccupation got worse as they went back to Cassandra's in the limousine.

God, the idea she was leaving felt all wrong to him.

"Will you call me as soon as you're home so I know you got up north safely?" he said.

"Sure."

The car paused at a stoplight.

"I'm going to miss you, Joy."

She looked across the seat as if he'd astonished her. And then she shocked the hell out of him.

She leaned forward, put her hands on his chest and kissed him softly on the mouth.

The brush of her lips against his was like getting whipped. As his body surged, he gripped her upper arms, getting caught between the urge to drag her on top of him and the memory of how he'd hurt her before.

He carefully forced her back a little. "Joy … "

"I can feel you tremble. Why are you pushing me away?"

He didn't trust himself to speak. Because if he opened his mouth, he was just as likely to lick the skin of her neck.

When he stayed silent, she fought against his hold, her palms working their way into his jacket, onto his pecs. His body jerked reflexively, his hips popping off the seat and begging for any part of her. Her hands. Her mouth.

Dear God, her mouth.

"Do you shake because you want me, Gray? Or is it something else?"

"Sweet woman … " he groaned.

"Please, I need to know. You've hardly touched me since … that night. I don't know what we're doing on these dates. Do you still want me?"

He let go of her arms and cupped her face. "Let's not talk about that-"

"Do you?"

"Joy-"

"Fine. I'll find out for myself." With a quick movement, her hand went down between his legs and settled on his heavy arousal.

His head flipped back against the seat and a moan broke out of him.

"Good Lord," she whispered. "Gray, why are you denying us?"

He tried to peel her hands off of him and the friction of her wanting to stay with his body while he attempted to move her away was beyond pleasure. The rubbing, the heat, the knowledge that it was her hand on him, it all took him right to the edge of release. He clenched his teeth as sweat broke out across his forehead.

"Stop it," he said, taking control. He forced her back against the seat using his strength and weight advantage. He was panting like a dog and rabid like one, too. "We're not going to do this in the back of a limo. I've already treated you like a whore once, I'm not going to do it again."

Her eyes glittered up at him. "How long are you going to penalize us for a mistake you didn't make?"

"Until I don't want to get sick every time I think about it."

While he smoothed her hair back, her lips parted as if she was ready for his kiss. Looking down at her, he thought it was quite possible he would never see anything more lovely. Her cheeks were tinted with the high color of feminine desire, her chest was moving up and down in an uneven rhythm, the heat of her body was coming through her clothes into his.

"You're so beautiful right now," he said in a guttural voice. "You take my damned breath away."

He couldn't help himself. He put his mouth on hers, swallowing her sigh of satisfaction. But as much as it killed him, he kept the kiss light.

"I want you. Never doubt that," he said. "All you have to do is look at me and I'm hard, ready, starved. I can't remember what it's like not to ache."

He rolled off of her, moving back to his own side of the seat. With a wince, he rearranged himself in his pants and then put his head in his hands. The pain of wanting her was sharp and shiny as a blade, bearing deep into the muscles of his thighs, making his back spasm. He tried to keep as still as possible because even the slightest shift of his boxers had him grinding his molars.

"I'll come up the weekend after next," he muttered. "Because as much as it hurts to be around you, it's worse when I don't see you."

* * *

WHEN JOY BOARDED her train the following afternoon and picked a place to sit, she figured she had two things going for her: she had a window seat and the car was full of businessmen. For the next three hours, the view of the Hudson River would be a welcome distraction and the relentless flipping of newspapers was better than the howls of bored, cranky children.

Although to be truthful, she was feeling something close to colicky herself.

Her meetings with Cassandra's friends had gone well enough. The women were clear about what they liked, but not rigid. The timelines were reasonable. And the pay was outrageously good. As with Cass, the give and take as designs were discussed was something Joy really liked and the faith that the clients had in her sense of style was a compliment the likes of which she'd never had before.