The Player, page 6
“Tom’s much better than I am,” Joy said, smiling at the guy. “But he’s teaching me.”
“And she learns fast.”
Gray felt his eyes go into a full squint and had to remind himself that he had no right to be jealous. Possessive. Resentful.
Although, man, that urge to step in between the two of them was back with a vengeance. All he wanted to do was to throw Joy over his shoulder and take her as far away from the bastard Opie look-alike as he could carry her.
Which would be Canada, he thought. Or maybe Alaska.
As Joy and the boyfriend left, Gray picked up a rib and cleaned the meat off the bone with relish.
“Gray, if she’s not your type, why do you stare at her like that?”
“Because I’m an idiot. You want more barbecue? I’m getting seconds.”
Chapter Five
“SO WHERE’D YOU LEARN to dance like that?” Joy asked as she and Tom sat down with their plates. Now that the band had taken a break, it was easier to talk.
“I took lessons when I was living in Albany. My old girlfriend made me go, but then I really liked it.”
“You’re wonderful.”
“Thanks.”
As they tucked into their barbecue, Joy looked over at the table where Gray and Cassandra were sitting. Gray was frowning and shaking his head as he got to his feet with his empty plate. He was taller than most everyone, so tracking him through the crowd was easy.
He’d looked so fierce when she’d gone over to say hello. Sure, he was never the kind of man who came across as easygoing, but something about him seemed extra sharp tonight.
“I’m glad you asked me out,” Tom said.
She glanced across the table. Tom wasn’t looking at her. He was pushing some coleslaw around his plate, his mouth drawn.
She took a deep breath. “Tom, I—”
“You don’t have to say it, Joy. I know. Just friends.” He smiled into his food, as if he hoped she’d buy the no-big-deal expression as long as he hid his eyes from her. “It’s okay. You don’t have to feel badly. We’ve had fun tonight.”
“I honestly had hoped…”
“Me, too.” Now he looked at her. “But I don’t want you to worry. I’m not going to go all weird on you or anything. When you see me around the kitchen, it’ll be just like before.”
She shook her head. “It is quite possible, Tom Reynolds, that you are the nicest guy on the planet.”
“Yeah, well, keep it to yourself. Women seem to prefer the tough ones.”
“Never could figure that one out,” she murmured, watching Gray return to his table with a full plate. She had to make herself look away from his wide shoulders and his long arms.
Tom wiped his hands on a paper napkin, shredding it. “I think it’s a fact of nature. Women are drawn to strength. Which is why you want him like you do.”
Her eyes popped.
“Come on, Joy. It’s so obvious and it’s not one-sided. That Bennett man was ready to take my throat in his hand when we walked by his table. Just be careful. Underneath all that breeding and money, there’s something scary hard about him.”
Joy glanced back at Gray and Cassandra. Two people had come up to them and Cassandra was nodding and picking up her plate. Gray seemed grim as he did the same.
They headed right for Joy and Tom.
Joy slowly put down her fork.
Oh, please be going for the trash bins, she thought.
“Hi,” Cassandra said. “May we join you? Our table wants the rest of their family to sit with them and I figured Gray and I might as well find some people we know.”
“Sure,” Joy said.
Gray sat down next to Tom. The men nodded to each other and then settled into eating. Neither looked happy.
Cassandra smiled. “You know, Joy, I really liked your designs today. I’ve been thinking about them all afternoon.”
“What kind of designs?” Gray asked.
Joy stayed quiet, thinking the last thing the man needed was to hear about her hobby. But Cassandra filled the silence.
“Dresses. She makes dresses. Evening gowns, actually. And they’re fantastic.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“It’s just a thing I do,” Joy said, avoiding his eyes.
“I was wondering,” Cassandra said, “do you accept commissions?”
“Commissions?”
“If I asked you to make a dress for me, would you do it?”
Joy stared at the woman. “Why would you want me to do that?”
“Because you’re good.”
She eyed Cassandra’s Chanel jacket. “The kind of designers you can afford are better.”
Cassandra shrugged and took out a business card. “If you’d rather not, that’s fine. But call me if you’re interested.”
The band filed back on to the gazebo’s stage and began tuning up.
“Tom,” Cassandra said. “Could you show me how to swing dance? If Joy wouldn’t mind, of course.”
Tom looked at Joy. “Is it okay with you?”
“Absolutely,” she said.
Tom glanced hesitantly at Gray, as if the other man might put up a protest. When Gray just picked up another rib, Tom got to his feet and disappeared with the redhead into the crowd.
In the long silence that followed, Joy tried to find some distraction. Unfortunately the band’s cheerful music, the laughter from the other tables, the shouts of children who were weaving in and out of the crowd, none of it offered anything half so interesting as Gray’s brooding presence.
“You’re crazy not to,” he said.
“What?”
“Design something for Cass.” He cleaned the meat off another rib with his teeth and then licked his lips.
Abruptly, Joy felt like taking her sweater off. Even though it was in the fifties.
Gray picked up a napkin and went to work on his hands. “She’s a trendsetter in New York. If you ever wanted to get noticed, this is the way to do it.”
“I don’t know if I want to get noticed,” she murmured.
He smiled slowly, as if that pleased him. Although God only knew why. She’d assume a man like him would only be impressed by killer instincts.
“You want to dance?” he asked, meeting her in the eye.
Definitely time to lose the sweater, she thought.
“I don’t think—”
“I’ll tell you up front. I’m not as good as Tom. Not even close. But I know enough to stay off your feet.”
Eyes remote, he stood up. Extended his hand. And waited.
More contact with him was exactly what she didn’t need.
So she cursed her lack of self-control as she got to her feet. And the moment she put her palm against his, naturally, the band slipped into the old Sinatra ballad, “Three Coins In The Fountain.”
“Maybe we should wait until they speed it up,” Joy said. His hand was big. Warm. Steady.
“Probably.” His voice was low as he led her over to the band. “We probably should.”
She was dimly aware that Tom and Cassandra were walking off the dance floor, heading toward the make-it-yourself sundae bar. As the remaining couples started getting close, Joy went blank on the whole slow dance thing. Just stood there with her arms down and her eyes on the band.
As if she could will them into playing a fricking polka.
In a smooth movement, Gray stepped up to the plate and took charge, which was embarrassing. He lifted both her hands up to his shoulders and rested his own on her waist. His body began to move. Hers followed instinctively.
And she became aware of every inch of him.
His muscles were hard beneath her hands as they shifted under his sports jacket.
She couldn’t look him in the eye so she focused on the tanned skin of his neck. And the way his dark hair brushed the top of his shirt collar. And the strength of the hands that held her firmly and with total confidence.
He would know what to do with a woman’s body, she thought. How to stroke it. How to kiss it. How to make a woman moan.
God, he smelled good.
One of his hands moved to the small of her back. Nudged her a little closer to him.
She glanced up. His pale blue eyes were hooded and in the dim light of the tent she couldn’t read his expression.
“I didn’t want that person to bump into you,” he explained, nodding over her head.
Oh, right. Of course.
He let the space grow back between them. And she meant to look away, she really did. The trouble was, her eyes got stuck on his lips.
His mouth was so close to hers. Only a matter of some inches. All she’d have to do to kiss him would be to go up on her tiptoes and lean forward. Then she would know what he tasted like.
“Joy.” His voice was stern. “Look at me, Joy.”
“Huh?” She lifted her eyes.
“Hello,” he said sarcastically.
She frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“I wanted you to remember who you’re dancing with.”
As if she could forget. “Believe me, I’m not likely to get you and Tom confused.”
“Then stop staring at my mouth like you’re hungry. Save those looks for your boyfriend.”
Joy’s face burned. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire, she thought.
Gray cursed. “The hell you don’t. And get your hand off my neck.”
Joy jerked the thing back, wondering how it had wandered from the socially acceptable position on his shoulder up to his nape.
“Man, I’ve got to hand it to Tom.”
“What?”
Gray’s hands tensed on her waist. And then his head bent down. His voice was deep and a little hoarse as it vibrated in her ear.
“Do you have any idea what those eyes of yours can do to a man?”
Joy stopped breathing. Nearly stopped moving. The music, the people, the tent, the whole world faded away. The only thing she knew was the raw male heat vibrating out of Gray’s big body. She looked up. His eyes held the promise of naked skin on naked skin. Of dangerous, emotionally reckless sex that would break her heart into a thousand pieces.
“Damn it, Joy. You’re killing me.”
She stayed quiet, lost in his eyes.
“Fair warning,” he gritted out. “I’m about to show you just what that look’s doing to me. And you weren’t too crazy about feeling it last night, remember?”
“That’s because you were thinking about someone else.”
“Was I?” Gray made a low sound in his throat and pulled her closer. Their thighs brushed. His palms moved up her rib cage and he flexed his fingers as though he was testing the strength of her bones. As though he wanted to crush her against him.
But then she was put back impersonally. Almost as if she were an inanimate object like salt and pepper shakers or a phone he was through using.
She was disappointed until she met his eyes. They burned.
“Goddamn, I hope Tom knows how lucky he is,” Gray muttered.
“It’s not like that.”
“How old is he?” As if Gray hadn’t even heard her.
“Twenty-nine.”
His eyes assumed a bored look. “Perfect age for you.”
She thought about pointing out, again, that she and Tom weren’t together. But then it might seem as if she were sending Gray a message, and she had her pride. Besides, the song was over and he was already pulling away.
They went back to the table where Tom and Cassandra were chatting over the remnants of their sundaes. The redhead stood up.
“This has been such fun,” she said, “but I need to leave early tomorrow to go back to the city. Tom, it was great to meet you… .”
As the goodbyes started rolling, Joy glanced at Gray. He was smiling at something Cassandra had said and shaking Tom’s hand.
It was the middle of September, she thought. He would be leaving soon to go back to his real life and he wouldn’t return to Saranac for months and months. Whole seasons would have to pass, the chilly autumn and the bitter winter and the wet, cold spring, before he would come back.
She carefully studied the planes of his face, noticing how his eyes creased at the corners as he smiled. How his five-o’clock shadow dusted his jaw. How his broad chest filled out his jacket. How his flat stomach led into his hips and then his long, long legs.
This was the last chance to see him until next summer.
And she was willing to bet she would never, ever, dance with him again.
Gray turned and looked at her. The smile slowly fell from his face.
“Goodbye, Joy.”
She blinked quickly and lifted her chin, trying to be a grown-up. “’Bye, Gray. Have a good winter.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
And then he and Cassandra walked away, his hand on the small of her back as he helped her negotiate through the crowd.
“Joy?” Tom’s voice was soft.
“Hmm? Sorry, what?” She looked at the ground, afraid the shine in her eyes would show in the torchlight.
“Would you like to go home now?” he said gently.
“Yes. Please.” She picked up her plate and saw Cassandra’s business card on the table.
Joy threw the thing out with the trash.
* * *
BACK AT HIS HOME, Gray undressed and got into bed naked.
He had an ache in his chest and rubbed his sternum. Damn barbecued ribs. He loved them, but man, he paid a price.
He dropped his hand onto the bedspread.
Ah, hell. Who was he kidding.
Joy had knocked him out tonight. Put him right on his ass.
That expression on her face, that uncalculated, sensual curiosity, had been like getting hit by a car. For a guy who knew all the plays in the female seduction handbook, direct, unreserved approaches were sexy as hell. But it wasn’t just the novelty that got to him. His hot response was all about Joy. Her lavender scent. Her long, wavy hair. Her pale, smooth skin.
Just the memory of that dance had his body cranking up.
He punched his pillow, rolled over onto his side and shut his eyes.
It had taken some serious lecturing to convince his hands to stay on her waist. And preserving that two-inch distance between their bodies had made him shake.
Making her boyfriend the topic of conversation had seemed like the only way to break the mood. Otherwise he would have led her off the dance floor, past the tents and into the velvety darkness.
Where he would have been more than happy to indulge her appetite.
Indulge it until she was under him and hanging on for dear life as he…
His groan was pitiful and he thought of the nice guy she was with.
By the time Gray saw her next year, she could be engaged. Married.
What a lucky, lucky man that line cook was.
* * *
A WEEK LATER, Joy knocked on her brother’s door. “Alex?”
She heard the sound of the bed creaking. Then a graveled voice. “Yeah?”
“Can I come in?”
“Hold on a sec.”
As she waited, she took a deep breath.
“All right,” Alex called.
She opened the door.
Alex was lying on the twin bed, his big body overflowing the mattress. His leg cast was elevated on a pillow and the one on his arm was tucked against his side. He’d obviously just pulled on a shirt because his hair was down flat on his forehead and he was tugging at the bottom hem.
In the past month he’d lost a lot of weight and it showed in his face. Harsh before, now the strong angles were drawn. And though a lot of his tan remained, the rich glow couldn’t hide his gray pallor. His sun-streaked, dark hair was a mess, clean, but not combed.
“How are you?” she asked softly.
He frowned and ignored the question. “This isn’t mealtime.”
“No, it isn’t.” She looked for a place to sit in the sparse room. There was none, so she lowered herself to the floor next to his bed.
And went eye to eye with a half-empty Scotch bottle.
As she glanced at the liquor, Alex drummed his fingers on the mattress. He’d obviously had enough of Frankie’s lectures to stop drinking. Eat all his food. Take his medicine.
“I need a favor,” Joy asked. “Well, it’s more than that.”
The fingers stopped. “Okay.”
But his suspicion was obvious in the way he dragged out the word.
“I, ah—” She paused, wishing there was another way to get what she needed. “Things are slowing down here now that we’re closed for the season. Grand-Em’s on that new medication and it seems to really be helping. Frankie’s wedding’s in good shape. Her dress is done.”
Alex crossed his good arm over his chest. Even with everything the doctors had done to him, even though he’d dropped ten, maybe fifteen pounds, even though he was lying down, he was still imposing. “What do you need?”
“Cassandra Cutler’s phone number.”
There was a long silence. When Alex finally spoke, his voice was as tight as the tension in his jaw. “Mind if I ask why?”
“She saw some of my designs and asked me if I wanted to make a dress for her. I told her no, but…I don’t know. I have some extra time and it might be kind of fun. The problem is, I threw out her business card and I don’t know where she works. When I called information in Manhattan, her home phone’s unlisted. I thought you might know how to get hold of her. I almost didn’t want to ask because I don’t want to upset you. In fact, if it makes you feel uncomfortable, I won’t call her at all. I’ll just let the whole thing go.”
Alex pushed a hand through his hair. Closed his eyes.
“You know what?” Joy said. “This was a bad idea. I’m sorry—”
He shook his head. “No, it’s no big deal. I’m glad someone’s taken an interest in what you do and she’s well known for that fashion thing.”
He rattled off some numbers and she scrambled to find something to write them on.
“Say it again?” she said, scribbling on the back of a magazine.
“That’s their apartment in New York.”
“Thanks, Alex. This means a lot to me.” Joy hesitated, eyeing the way the shirt sunk into his concave belly. “Can I bring you something to eat?”
