The Player:Moorehouse Legacy(32)

"Oh. Thank you."

In the past week, Gray still phoned her as much as he had before, but now she saw his actions in a different light. Did he time the calls early in the morning and late at night not because he was busy, but because he was checking up on her? And did he ask her about her day because he was trying to ferret out whether or not she'd been dating someone?

He'd told her he didn't care what she did up north, but she wasn't sure she believed him.

Which made them equal, she supposed. Because he didn't believe in her, either.

Frustration crept into her chest, making her lungs burn. The sensation was so familiar to her by now that she barely noticed it.

"So where have you all been?" Libby asked, as if they were children coming in from a night of fun. "You left before I got back from my brother's."

"We were getting married," Frankie said. She flashed a simple gold band and a dazzling smile while her new husband nuzzled her neck.

"Why didn't you say something!"

Libby rushed forward to embrace the couple and Ernest, ever ready for a group hug, planted his forepaws on Nate's hip.

"With everything that's been going on, we just wanted to keep it quiet," Frankie said.

"Shall I get out the champagne?"

Frankie looked at Nate and smiled. "That would be great."

The five of them split a bottle while sitting around the kitchen table. As Joy watched her sister and Nate, she felt as though her heart were going to break. She was reminded of when she'd seen them together in this very same room, on the night of Gray's father's birthday party. She'd been struck by the depth of their love and the shallowness of her own daydreams.

Now, the comparison between what they had and what was going on with Gray was even harder to bear.

Later, she went up to his bedroom, took a shower and slid between the sheets. She was lying on her stomach, one of his pillows tucked against her body, when the phone rang on the bedside table. Instinctively she reached for it, but then figured it was probably Gray's private line as the phone out in the hall wasn't ringing, as well.

She wondered who was on the other end and decided she'd rather not know. Ever since the conversation with Alex, she'd been thinking about what Gray was doing down in Washington. He'd said he didn't care who she saw up north so it wasn't unreasonable to wonder whether he was with other women down south.

And wasn't that a great thought to try and fall asleep on.

After four rings, the phone fell silent.

* * *

GRAY FLIPPED HIS CELL phone shut and did not look at his watch. He knew damn well it was after midnight.

Joy was either not answering his phone. Or she still wasn't home.

Why in the hell had he told her he didn't care who she saw up north?

He cared. He cared deeply. He cared until he couldn't think of anything but her. Until all he knew was that he missed her and he felt … well, something close to unclothed without her by his side.

Exhausted, Gray rubbed his eyes and wished he were not at yet another Washington party. Through the door he'd shut for privacy, the churning, relentless noise of people drinking and talking and laughing seeped into the parlor. John Beckin threw a mean shindig, he always had, but tonight Gray was not in the mood.

Putting off the inevitable, he wandered around, looking at the trinkets and the paintings and the photographs.

He kept hearing Joy's voice in his head.

What's it going to take for you to trust me?

I don't need to trust you.

His response had been honest, but maybe all wrong. First of all, if it were true, he wouldn't feel so wretched right now. And second, where did that leave her? Wouldn't she need to feel that he had some faith in her?

What's it going to take for you to trust me?

God, he feared that question, he really did. Because the more time he spent with her, the more attached he got and the harder it was to let go of his past. It was getting damn near impossible to put aside images of his father looking broken.

And he kept hearing the sounds of doors opening and closing as his mother's lovers left.

Damn it, he knew Joy was not his mother. But he also knew that she'd just had her first lover. Sort of. And that she was entering the New York City arena after having been cloistered upstate all her life. She was a stunning beauty with a good heart. Didn't she deserve to be free to explore?

Gray rubbed the center of his chest. Explore?

Oh, come on, Bennett. Like the dating scene in

Manhattan was a flipping National Geographic special?

Well, there were a lot of animals in the Big Apple.

Yeah, and if one of them so much as shook her hand, Gray was going to go commando. He wanted her as his own and no one else's.

So where did that leave them?

The answer was easy. And shattering. He probably should just step up to the plate and tell her that he wanted them to be together. Exclusively. As in boyfriend and girlfriend, though the words seemed ridiculous considering they were both adults.

Except as he contemplated coming forward with that little proposal, all he felt was a cold void. The sensation reminded him of what had been bouncing around in his body when he'd almost blurted out that I love you the night of the fire.

He massaged his sternum again. Ah, hell, he was afraid.

But why?

Because maybe, just maybe, he thought, the root of the problem wasn't in his past or her present. Maybe it had nothing to do with time. It was entirely possible that he was just a coward who didn't want to get his heart broken.

Gray winced.

Damn, no wonder he tried to avoid thinking about his feelings. Self-actualization was about as much fun as getting a thigh bone set.

The thoughts about boyfriends and girlfriends made Gray pause by a black-and-white photograph of a group of college kids. A young John Beckin, his deceased wife, Mary, and what must have been their cronies, were sitting in football bleachers wearing Yale sweatshirts.

God, Becks seemed so young, but his intensity was already shining through. In the picture, he was looking over his shoulder. Staring, actually. With total absorption.

Gray frowned and bent down closer to the frame. Good Lord. Allison and Roger Adams were behind Becks.

And Allison was the one Becks was staring at.

Gray picked up the picture.

The woman didn't seem to be aware of the attention. She was looking at her future husband, laughing at something Roger had said, totally oblivious to the young man in front who was regarding her with … love.

A terrible feeling came over Gray, the same kind of nasty ache he'd had when his mother had used him.

"There you are," came a voice from across the room.

Gray turned, photograph still in hand. Becks was smiling as he walked into the parlor.

"We were worried you'd left, Bennett."

"You want her still," Gray said softly.

Becks seemed confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Allison Adams. You wanted her then." He turned the frame around. "You want her still. That's why you asked me to dig into the affair. You wanted to make sure she knew about the adultery and were betting that I'd force her husband to tell her or I'd go to her myself with what I found out. It had nothing to do with the leaks or the reporter or the Senate, did it?"

Becks looked down once before lying. "Don't be absurd, Gray."

"You know I'm tight with her. That I respect her. That I wouldn't feel right about keeping that kind of thing a secret." Gray shook his head and put the picture back. "You played me very well, Becks. Very, very well."

Becks's eyes were shrewd as he seemed to be assessing whether to keep lying or not. "Did you go to him?"

"Yes, I did."

"What did he say? Did he admit to it?"

"I'm not going to go into that with you. But he did assure me the leaks weren't from him, and I believe Roger." Partially on account of the fact that the senator had been crying at the time, but mostly because having an affair with a reporter was dangerous enough. Sharing secrets with a journalist you were laying was guaranteed career suicide and Roger Adams was smart enough to know that.

"She married the wrong man, Gray."

"That's your opinion."

"At least I never would have screwed around on her."

Gray shook his head, feeling himself go completely numb. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to take off."

Becks reached out. "Gray, he cheated on her in college. He doesn't deserve her. He never did."

"And you do? You set me up to do your dirty work. I don't find a lot of integrity in that, but maybe I'm missing something."

Gray strode across the room.

Becks's voice was hard when he spoke. "We're not going to have any trouble between us, are we? Because that would be most unfortunate. I would hate to see you cut out of the profession you love so much."

Gray glanced over his shoulder.

The first rule of war was simple, he thought. When attacked, strike back mortally. A half-dead opponent is still perfectly capable of taking you out.

He turned around and pegged the other man with a flat stare.

"Do you really want to go there, Becks? Because I have enough information on you to sink you like a stone and I'm not at all sentimental. Just because you clerked for my father a million years ago doesn't mean I won't slaughter you where you stand." He took out his cell phone, casually tossing it up into the air and catching it. Over and over again. "To keep my job, I don't need thousands of voters to think I'm a nice, trustworthy guy, but you sure as hell do. Iran-Contra. The Senate check-writing scandal. Working the back channels on budget discussions. I know every dirty deed you've ever done and you want to know what should scare you even more? I have a file on you. Stuffed up good and thick with documents you've signed, memos you've written, pictures, too. One call to a newspaper and a couple of faxes and I can shatter that image you've spent a lifetime building. Oh, and did I mention, I have the Washington Post on speed dial? New York Times, too."