The Player:Moorehouse Legacy(37)

"I'm with the New York Post. Here to cover the new designer. But now that I see you, can I get a quote about Beckin's suicide?"

"No, you can't."

"Are you surprised? Do you have any idea what might have caused him to kill himself?"

At that moment, a journalist from the Times looked through the crowd at Gray and started making her way over. A couple of other people noticed him and started whispering.

Gray turned and strode out of the lobby. He wasn't going to ruin Joy's moment. As much as he wanted to be in there with her, his presence was going to kick up the Beckin scandal and dilute her exposure.

He'd see her back at the suite.

* * *

AS JOY STEPPED AWAY from the man who'd put his arm around her waist, she glanced across the room and caught sight of a dark head turning away at the entrance.

Gray.

Her heart went cold as she watched him leave.

God, even after the night they'd had together, he was still convinced any man who touched her was going home with her.

"Joy? Are you all right?"

She turned and forced a smile at Cassandra. "Yes. I am."

"Well, then come over here and meet Lula Rathbone."

Two hours later the reception wound down and Joy was in a taxi heading back to the Waldorf. She regretted like hell not bringing her bags with her and hoped Gray had gone elsewhere.

When she opened the door to the suite, she listened carefully. Hearing no sound, she rushed into the guest bedroom.

Only to find him sitting in a wing chair. Right next to her luggage.

His hands were up in a bridge in front of his chest. He looked grim.

"You're packed," he said.

"I'm leaving."

"Why?"

"There's a ten forty-five to Albany."

She went over and grabbed the portfolio and her battered suitcase. His hand whipped out, stopping her.

"Let me go," she said.

"I don't want to."

"Why? Do you need to get laid again?"

He hissed, hand tightening. "Is that what you thought our night together was?"

"Yes. I do." Because making love takes two, she thought. And it was just sex to you.

His hand fell away. He seemed to pale, as if he were either shocked or offended.

More likely the latter, she thought.

"You know I suppose I should thank you," she bit out. "You've taught me so much and turned me into a success, just like one of your candidates, right? You told me what to wear and what to say, and you got the players all lined up, and everything went smoothly. They loved my work and I'm sure I'll be getting more clients so I guess I have a steady job now. It's a hell of a payback you gave me for just a couple of hours with my body."

Gray rose from the chair, fury in his face. "You think I'm that kind of man?"

"You don't love me. You don't trust me. But you're clearly susceptible to guilt. Tonight was just a different version of that showdown at Tiffany's. I figure now you think you can walk away with a clean conscience."

He loomed over her, enraged. "Just so you know, I had no intention of walking away from you. Until now." He marched around her, heading into the living room. "Don't let the door hit you on the ass when you leave, sweetheart."

As if he were the one who'd been wronged.

She went after him, lugging her stuff. "You have a hell of a nerve getting pissed off! You're the one who walked out on me two days ago."

"Are you still here?" he drawled from the bar as he poured himself a bourbon. When he turned to her, his stare was icy.

Looking up at him, she felt tears prick the corners of her eyes.

"Oh, good. Now you're going to cry," he snapped. "You insult the hell out of me, get all huffy because I'm offended, and then pull the weepy routine. I never pictured you as a gamer, but maybe I was wrong. You want me to get all romantic and beg you to stay now, right?"

"No, I would never expect that," she whispered.

"What a relief."

"Because you are incapable of love."

His eyes narrowed. "How the hell would you know what I'm-"

"Have I ever done anything to betray you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Tonight, at the reception. I saw you turn away when that man came up to me. Even after all this time, you still think I'm going to run off with any idiot in pants who looks my way. In fact, I'm willing to bet you think Tom's going to be my first stop when I get up north, don't you? You probably figure I'm going to try out all those moves you taught me in your bed, right?" He opened his mouth, but she kept going. "God, I must have done something really awful to you, although I can't even begin to guess what it was. You don't even trust me enough to talk about your work."

"What does my job have to do with this?"

"Every time I brought up what you do, you pushed me away."

"You don't want to know about-"

"I did. I truly did. When you came up to White Caps that night and you finally spoke to me about something in your life, I was so relieved. I thought, See, he does view me as an equal. He does trust me. But then you pulled away, shut the door, closed up." She shook her head. "This has been one wild ride. I've loved you for years and the only thing that lived up to my expectations was the way you felt inside of me two nights ago. But like all dreams, that went away when I woke up."

"You've loved me for years?" he said softly.

She looked away from his face, unable to bear the sight of him.

"Yeah, stupid, isn't it? And here's the craziest part. When I said those words that first night we were together, guess what? I really meant them." She laughed harshly. "But don't worry, I'm over it. I might be dumb enough to get caught in a fantasy, but I'm not a masochist." She jacked up her load. "So goodbye, Gray. It's been real. Way, way too real. Oh, one more thing. I know one-nighters are your specialty, but in case you get an itch up north and start thinking of coming to find me, don't. I don't want to ever see you again."

She turned around and strode across the carpet. As she left the suite, the door closed of its own volition behind her.

* * *

PENN STATION WAS FAIRLY BUSY even though it was late and Joy got a lot of funny looks as she sped along with her luggage. Even in New York, evidently, the sight of a woman in a chrome-yellow evening gown steaming through a mass transit lobby was a curiosity.

Her train was already waiting so she hiked up her dress and hightailed it down to the platform. At the far end of the line of cars, way in front by the engine, there was a uniformed ticket collector and he waved her over to him.

"You need help with all that, ma'am?" he asked as she approached.

"No, I'm fine. Thanks."

"Here, lemme get you on board." He took her suitcase and gave her a hand up.

His casual politeness nearly undid her and he seemed surprised when her eyes welled, as if women who wore evening gowns never cried.

Stepping into the railcar, she saw there were plenty of seats available. She took one by the window, shuffling her portfolio and suitcase into the space on the floor with the porter's help. She eyed the bathroom, which was only four rows away. Tissues were going to play an important role on the trip home and it was good to know she was close to a ready supply.

With a whistle and a lurch, the train started to move.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Sure enough, the tears started to fall.

Dimly, from the platform, she heard some shouting, but she ignored the commotion as the line of cars sped up, the engine in front chugging, churning, gaining momentum as it took them toward the tunnel.

When the cars were going at quite a clip, someone said, "My God, he's going to jump!"

Joy glanced behind her. People had stopped trying to settle their carry-ons and were looking out the windows. With little interest, she turned to the glass.

There was a man running by the side of the train, tie flapping behind him. He was yelling something.

My God, was it-

"Gray?"

She shot out of her seat. Just as he took a leap into the air.

"Gray!" she screamed.

* * *

FEET DON'T FAIL ME NOW, Gray thought as he hurled his body toward the open doorway of the last car.

In midair, he eyed the train wheels below and then glanced up at the fast-approaching entrance to the tunnel.

Now there were two great choices. Sliced in half or flat as a pancake.

Fortunately his trajectory and speed had been right, but as he sailed through the doorway, the leather soles of his wing tips slid on the metal flooring. He grabbed onto a hand bar to keep from shooting out the other side.

As soon as he had his footing, he started running down the aisle, scanning the passengers. People leaped out of his way, magazines flying, pocketbooks exploding from hands, luggage being dropped.

Far, far down the way, through the open doors of many cars, he saw Joy's bright yellow dress. She was jumping out of her seat, looking at him with horror.

"We're not finished," he shouted, tearing down the train toward her. "Joy! We're not finished, you and I!"

When he finally reached her, he careened to a stop, panting for breath, holding on to the top of seats to steady himself.

"We're … not … finished."

"Are you trying to get yourself killed!"

A porter came up to them. "Sir, I'm going to have to-"

Gray shoved his hand into his pocket. "Here's …  my … ticket."

The porter looked at the thing as if it might have been in a different language. Clearly, the guy hadn't seen too many passengers board on a wing and a prayer.