The Player:Moorehouse Legacy(35)

When her knees gave out, he caught her easily.

"I'm not finished," he said, carrying her to the bed. "Not by a long shot."

He laid her down and went right back to where he had been. Her body was transformed by his loving, a bloom of heat starting where he was kissing her so thoroughly and spreading through every part of her.

And then without warning, he changed his tempo, speeding up, intensifying the caresses. She jerked under his mouth and thrashed her legs around until one flopped over his back. And then the world exploded and she called out his name, her breath stopping, her heart stopping, her thoughts stopping. She dissolved away, and when she condensed once more, he was lying beside her, nuzzling her neck, his tender words praising her.

Blindly, she turned onto her side and moved her body against his. His breath went in on a rasp when her stomach rubbed over his erection.

"I don't want to stop," she said. "I want more."

He laughed, a deep, masculine purr. "And I'm happy to oblige."

He rolled her onto her back and kissed her breasts, starting to move down her body again.

"No." She stopped him. Pulled him back up. "I want you … inside."

His eyes closed, his face tightening. "Joy, we don't have to."

"You're so hard, I can feel the beat of your heart on my hip."

Gray's lips peeled off his teeth as if her words excited him to desperation. "I'll be fine. Hell, I deserve this."

"No, you don't. Make love with me," she whispered, stroking his back. "Make love with me until we don't know which part of us is you and which is me."

His eyes flipped open. He gently stroked her face. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, capturing his nape, urging his mouth down. He kissed her long and slow, and when he pulled back, she heard the sound of that drawer opening. Through heavy lids, she watched as he sheathed his length, wondering how he was going to fit inside of her, reminding herself that he had once before.

Parting her thighs with his knee, he settled his weight on top of her, propping his shoulders and chest up with his elbows. Stroking her hair back, he kissed her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek. Her body moved under him of its own accord, straining, trying to get close.

One of his hands disappeared between them. His weight shifted and she felt him positioning himself against her.

And then in a slow, sweet movement, he pressed inside, stretching her, filling her. There was no pain. Just an incredible rush of pleasure.

His head dropped down to her shoulder as his body started to tremble.

"Does it hurt?" he asked thickly.

She was so busy absorbing the sensation, she barely heard him.

"Joy? I need to know. Should I pull out?"

"Oh, God, no … don't ever."

He seemed to relax a little. And then he started to move.

Joy arched against him, grabbing onto his hips. He was a sensuous, heavy tide rolling on top of her, inside of her, the friction of his body creating a growing heat. She threw her knees out as wide as they could go so she could have even more of him.

"That's right," he said, his guttural voice almost foreign. "Sweet woman, you're going to be the death of me."

His rhythm grew more powerful, though she sensed he was still holding back by the sweat that broke out over his skin, by the tense muscles that were churning against her.

"More," she demanded, nipping at his shoulder with her teeth. "Gray, give me more."

"Wrap your legs around my hips."

She did as he asked and gasped at the depths he hit as he surged forward, pulled away, came back. She sensed that there was something coming for her again, something he could share in if he let himself go, and urgency made her frantic.

"Don't hold back," she said, scoring his skin with her nails. "Come with me, Gray. Be free."

With a throttled growl, he slipped the chain on his control and give her everything he had, pumping into her hard and deep until she cried out his name and went rigid under him. From a great distance, she heard a wild roar and realized dimly that the sound had come out of his throat, out of his chest, maybe out of his soul. His body convulsed into hers again and again.

And then there was only stillness and their panting breaths.

When he started to roll off her, she complained the only way she could-by holding onto him.

"We have to be safe," he said with a voice gone straight to gravel. She felt his hand come between them and then he slid out of her body. "Even though I want to stay inside of you until I'm hard enough to do that again."

He settled her into his arms. And then he kissed her lips.

"I've never been so … wild before," he said softly. There was real wonder in his ragged voice. "Did I hurt you?"

She cozied up to his slick skin and his overheated muscles. "Not at all."

He relaxed even more. "Sweet Joy, I never knew sex could be like that."

She closed her eyes, giving herself up to the peace between them. Tomorrow, she'd think. Now, she just wanted to rest against him.

* * *

GRAY WOKE UP AROUND five to find himself lying on his side and wrapped around Joy. He had her head against his chest, one arm underneath her neck and the other around her waist. His thigh had worked its way between her legs. He'd even tucked his foot in so his sole was on the back of her calf.

He hated that he had to return to D.C. The last thing in the world he wanted was to leave his woman and get on a plane.

His woman.

Damn, he liked the sound of that.

And maybe he didn't have to go. Maybe he could just stay through her party.

He kissed Joy's shoulder absently and felt her stir against him. The slow-boil arousal he'd woken up with quickly overflowed, flooding his body with heat and need.

Except considering how demanding he'd been the night before, he wasn't sure whether she'd be ready for more of him.

The question was put to rest when she pulled him over on top of her.

He looked down into her face. Her eyes were low-lidded with the remnants of sleep and the beginnings of passion.

He couldn't find words for how lovely she was to him. How the night before she'd taught him about true passion, not the other way around. How she was reaching him on so many levels that she terrified him and amazed him in turns.

All he could do was show her. With his mouth and his hands. His body.

He kissed her slow and easy, parting her lips with his tongue-

The phone rang on the bedside table, about two feet from his ear. He felt like he'd been shot through the head.

Glaring at the damn thing, he said, "Don't worry, I'm not picking up."

It went silent after four rings.

He was lowering his head back down when it started up again.

And then his cell phone went off in the pocket of his suit jacket. And his BlackBerry started bleating on the top of the dresser.

When he got triple-teamed like this, it was because the world was on fire. Someone important had been assassinated. Or died. Or been brought up on charges.

With a vicious curse, he grabbed the cordless off the bedside table while standing up and going for the portables. "What?"

"It's Dellacore. We got a big issue, boss."

Gray stalked over to his suit, pulled out the cell phone and flipped the thing open. "Hold on, Randolf's on the cell. Yeah, Randy? Dell's on the landline, I'll call you back."

He checked the BlackBerry. Another one of his people.

"So who kicked it?" Gray asked. "Or got kicked?"

He left the bedroom, thinking that maybe Joy could go back to sleep.

* * *

AS GRAY SHUT THE DOOR behind himself, Joy curled over on her side. She could hear his voice, low and grim, in the other room.

Her body was still warm from what they had started and she thought of the way he'd looked at her just now, right before he'd kissed her. His eyes had had a kind of depth to them she'd never seen before. If she wasn't deluding herself, it had been something close to love.

Was it even possible? But how else could his incredible passion last night be explained? She didn't need to have had a hundred lovers to know that what had passed between them had been beyond good chemistry. Something had changed between them-

The doors opened and Gray strode into the room. "I have to go to Washington right away."

She scrambled upright, holding a sheet over her breasts. "What happened?"

"Nothing you need to worry about." His words were clipped as he headed into the bathroom.

She heard the shower turn on. Less than ten minutes later, he came back into the bedroom and went straight to the closet.

"Gray? Tell me what's going on."

In mere minutes, he emerged fully dressed. His face was impassive, his mouth nothing but a grim line. He paused by the bed.

"I don't know if I'm going to make it to the party." He bent down, eyes boring into hers. He opened his mouth. Shut it. "I will never forget the warmth you showed me last night."

His lips brushed hers. And then he was gone.

An awful numbness stole over her. She pulled more of the sheets and blankets around her body.

Maybe his father had taken ill again. Or there was some kind of emergency.

He would call her, she thought. Later in the day. He always did.

Except when seven o'clock rolled around and she hadn't heard a word, she felt like she'd been totally forgotten.

She'd spent the whole day in the suite, shut off from the outside world. She'd passed the hours refining her drawings, pretending that she was working while she really was just hanging by the phone.

As she finally showered for dinner, she remembered parts of conversations they'd had, words he had spoken.