The Player:Moorehouse Legacy(6)

Somehow she doubted that. "I think I've seen him on TV."

"You might have."

"Actually, I think I've seen a lot of the people here tonight on CNN."

She walked past an antique table and realized she'd missed a glass. Stopping abruptly, she bent over to grab it.

And Gray walked right into her body.

His hips connected with her backside, brushing against her intimately. The fit was shocking.

But what really got her attention was the fact that she felt something hard.

He hissed and stepped back. "Sorry, I didn't see you."

She grabbed the glass with two hands, afraid she was going to drop it. As she carefully put it on the tray, she looked up.

Gray's eyes drilled into hers, twin beams of pale blue shooting through the tense air between them.

She forgot how to breathe.

After years of fantasizing about Grayson Bennett, the legend, she was actually being stared at with wild lust by Grayson Bennett, the man.

A woman's voice broke the moment, splitting through it like an ax. "I finally found you."

Joy looked around Gray's shoulder.

The redhead walked into the room, as comfortable and relaxed as if she owned the place.

"I'm heading up for bed," she said. And then had the gall to smile at Joy.

Joy grabbed the tray and made a beeline for the door, feeling like a fool. As she rushed for the kitchen, body shaking like a paint mixer, she cursed herself.

When heavy footsteps came after her, she walked faster.

"Joy." Gray's voice was all command. "Joy!"

She stopped. And truly hated him at that moment.

God, was he going to apologize? Or worse, suggest they meet up after he'd finished with his girlfriend? Damn it, she'd known he was out of her league, but had assumed it was because he was rich and handsome and powerful. Instead he was all that and a total player.

"Joy, I'd like you to meet Cassandra."

Joy closed her eyes and prayed for composure.

Oh, this was great. He wanted to introduce them.

She squared her shoulders before turning around.

The redhead was at Gray's side, looking both sad and a little amused as she smiled in greeting.

"I'm Reese's wife," the woman murmured softly.

Joy felt the blood drain out of her head. "Oh, I didn't know …  ."

"Of course you didn't," Cassandra said graciously. "I think you came downstairs just after the introductions were made."

While Joy stuttered out her condolences, Gray put his hand on the redhead's shoulder. It was the perfect reminder of the kind of relationship the two had, and as soon as Joy could, she retreated into the kitchen. She felt awful for Cassandra's loss, and the woman did look pained. But it wasn't hard to believe that seeking solace in Gray's arms would be a relief from her sorrow.

Joy put the glasses down next to the industrial dishwasher that had almost finished a load. The kitchen was spotless. Nate, Frankie and Tom were an efficient team and had gotten the cleanup done in record time.

"We're ready to head out," Frankie said to her. "The Honda and Tom's truck are all loaded up."

"I'll just wait to put in these last few glasses and then I'll head home."

"You want me to come back and get you?" Nate asked, untying the long white apron that covered his jeans.

"I'll be fine. It's not like there's a lot of traffic on the Lake Road this time of year." And she could really use the air to clear her head.

Frankie gave her back the clothes that had suffered the tortellini onslaught. They were folded in a neat pile. "Libby washed these for you. Now be careful riding home, all right?"

"I will."

The three of them left, with Tom shooting her a hopeful glance as he went out the door last.

"See you tomorrow," he said.

Joy lifted her hand, wishing she could look forward to their date as much as he seemed to.

She took the scrunchie out of her hair and sat in a chair, running her fingers through the long waves to straighten out some of the kinks. With an obliging clank, the dishwasher started to hiss, which meant it was draining. Just a few more minutes.

And then she'd be free to leave.

She propped her head in her hand and stared across the expanse of the kitchen. Her mind raced. What was Gray doing now? Was he slipping in between cool sheets, pulling that woman's warm body to his?

"You look exhausted."

She jumped.

Gray's voice was vaguely accusatory. As if he were upset she didn't take better care of herself.

Like her health was any of his business, she thought.

"I'm only waiting for the dishwasher and then I'm leaving."

He went over to a window. "Didn't you come on a bike?"

"I did."

Gray frowned. "You can't go home on one at this hour."

"Oh, yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"I beg your pardon?" She glared at him and knotted up her hair.

As he stared back, his face was fierce. God, with his dark hair and those narrow, pale eyes, he looked kind of scary.

"I'll give you a ride home."

"No, thanks." She got off the chair, went over to the dishwasher and yanked out the tray of pots even though the cycle wasn't all the way finished. She began to unload them onto the counter even though they burned her hands.

When a response didn't come back at her, she glanced over her shoulder. He was gone.

She let out her breath.

Thank God he'd given up.

She quickly put the dirty glasses in the washer's tray, slid the load in and hit the switch. It took her two minutes in the bathroom to change into her own clothes and leave the waitress uniform on the counter. On her way out, she looked around for the light switch that controlled the big fixtures hanging from the ceiling. She didn't want to waste a lot of time, though, so she turned off the ones she could before putting the back door to good use.

Gray was leaning against the side of the house, arms crossed over his thick chest. Right next to her bike.

"Let's go," he said, picking the thing up as if it weighed no more than a plate.

"Put that down!"

"Make me."

Yeah, like that was going to happen. He was only a foot taller than she and he had the bike up on his shoulder. Short of kicking him a good one in the knee, a line she wasn't prepared to cross, that man could do anything he wanted with her property.

"I don't like bullies," she said through gritted teeth.

"And I don't care if you like me or not."

Ouch. For some reason, that hurt.

She stared at him as he started walking off and then she realized he was headed for the lake, not the garage behind his house.

He wasn't going to throw the bike in the water, was he?

Joy ran after him. "That's my property! You can't just toss it-"

Gray glanced over his shoulder. "It'll be easier to put this thing in my boat than jam it into the back of my car."

As he strode along, she nearly had to jog to keep up with him.

If she wasn't mistaken, he seemed almost as eager as she was to part company.

* * *

GRAY COULD FEEL JOY'S EYES shooting into his back. She was right royally pissed and he was a little surprised. He never expected she'd put up a fight about anything. Not Joy. Not sweet, strawberry-blonde Joy.

Damn, but her unexpected strength was attractive. It wasn't going to change his mind, but he admired anyone who tried to stand up to him.

And he didn't care if he had to throw her over his other shoulder, she was not going home alone in the dark on that bike. The godforsaken thing didn't even have a headlight and the fact that there wasn't a lot of traffic in the area off-season didn't matter to him. Cars weren't the only hazard on the Lake Road. Black bears came down to the shore looking for food in the fall. Mountain lions, too.

So no, he wasn't about to let her be meals-on-wheels for some rabid, claw-wielding animal.

He opened the door to the boathouse and flipped on the light. The Hacker gleamed in its slip, all that glossy mahogany and shiny chrome reflecting the illumination like a prism. He put the bike in one of the seating compartments and then stepped on the gunnels, offering Joy a hand. When she refused to take it, he let her get settled on her own.

Getting in beside her, he started the engine. A great thunder filled the boathouse before the RPMs settled down to a rhythmic, almost sexual pump.

God, he really was hard up for her, wasn't he? He'd driven the Hacker for years and never found anything erotic in it.

As soon as they were free of the boathouse, he pulled a blanket from under the dash and gave it to her. She looked at the thing as if it were a net and she was a fish.

"It's cold," he said dryly.

She took the heavy wool from him and spread the tartan plaid over her body. "What about you?"

He shrugged, enjoying the chill because it kept him sharp. He'd only had those two bourbons all night long, but it wasn't the alcohol that was likely to get him doing something stupid. "I'll live."

A moment later she shifted in the seat. "You could speed us up and get this over with, you know. We're barely going faster than an idle."

"Less wind this way." Which was a crock. He liked having her in his boat.

She cursed softly. And then slid over next to him, awkwardly pulling the blanket over his lap. Her hand brushed against his stomach.

Gray closed his eyes, body humming like he had jet fuel in his veins.

When they'd been collecting glasses in the library, and she'd stopped short, he hadn't been prepared for the abrupt halt. One minute they were making good progress around the room. And the next, his erection was pressed up against her.