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Joy stared at him, dumbfounded. “Why are youÑ”
“I suggest you bring a number of your sketches so they can be posted in frames around the reception area. You will also address the crowd, so start thinking about your remarks. No more than six to eight minutes and I'll look them over for you before the event, if you like.”
“Answer me, Gray,” she said sharply. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I want to help you.”
“Why?”
“After the event, when you're written up in the three publications, you'll get a big response. You're going to need to hire an assistant and get a New York phone num?ber, but the folks in my office will help set those up.”
She shook her head. “I can't let you do this. I won't let you.”
“I already have. All you need to do is show up.”
“Which I'm not going to do.” God, she was never going to understand the man. There was nothing between them, and he was planning all this for her?
“Don't be silly, Joy. Of course you'll be there.”
“No. I. Won't.”
In the long silence that followed, she thought perhaps that was the end of the conversation. But then he reached across the seat and took her hand.
“Do you know what kept me up last night?” His words seemed slow, rusty. As if he were forcing them. “After the flames were out, some of the firemen were walking around with flashlights. One of them stood in front of what was left of that stove and said he was surprised that no one was killed. I, uh, I pictured you, reheating that stew you were having, stirring a spoon in a pan. And I imagined what would have happened if I hadn't showed up. If we hadn't been talking in the study when the thing...”
His hand squeezed hers so hard she nearly cried out. But then he loosened his fingers and stroked her wrist.
“Look, I'm lousy at relationships, Joy, but I know all about positioning people for success. At least I can do right for you in one way.” When she stayed silent, he rubbed his thumb over her palm. “Okay?”
“No, it really isn't. I feel like we're back where we were, skating around each other, not really committed to anything. Tied together, but not really.”
“Then just take me out of it and think in terms of your designs. You loved working with Cass, didn't you? And the result was fantastic. She said she was beating com?pliments off all night long at the Hall Gala. Now, you've got some other clients. You play this right and you could make a living doing what you love. This reception will help you get there.”
She forced herself to get past her frustration. He was right in one respect. She did love working with the cli?ents and making the gowns. And this kind of opportunity for a young designer starting out on her own was like winning the lottery.
But how could she let him do this?
“Joy?”
God, the girl in her wanted to turn him down because the whole thing was linked to Gray when she really wasn't. But the woman in her pointed out she'd be nuts to pass on the exposure.
“I just wish I understood you better,” she said softly.
But then she thought, No, that's wrong. She under?stood him perfectly well. What she wished was that he could commit to her and to hell with her career plans.
“I want to do one thing right with you,” he said. “Just one thing, I want to do right. I'd consider it a...favor, if you'd let me do this.”
The rest of the trip back to his house was a quiet one. After he pulled up to the back door, he led her inside.
“I'll bet you want a shower and a lie-down,” he said. “Let me show you where you'll sleep.”
She followed him upstairs and down a corridor that ran to the lake side of the house. At the end, he opened a door into a room that was done in black, cream and gold.
“You'll be staying in my room.”
Her eyes immediately went to the bed.
“Don't worry, Libby changed the sheets.”
When she heard the door shut, she turned around, thinking he'd left her.
But no. He was still in the room.
“Bath's through there,” he said, nodding to a corner.
She looked over. “So it is.”
There was a long silence. She frowned, thinking he had an odd expression on his face, one she couldn't quite read. He was staring at her, his big body very still.
“Forgive me,” he said in a low voice.
“For what?”
“This.”
He crossed the distance between them in two strides, took her face into his hands, and kissed her as though he really meant it.
Hard. Demanding. Deep.
After she got over the shock, she fell against his body, grabbing his back. Too soon, he was breaking the kiss and putting his head down on her shoulder.
“Joy...” He took a deep breath. “It kills me to think of you with another man, but F m not going to curtail your life. I hope you see whoever you want to up here. Just know that I'll be thinking of you. Wanting you. And I hope when you're down in the city, we can.. .be together.”
“Together how?”
He lifted his head and kissed her, burying his hands in her hair. The force of his passion burned through her clothes, her skin, her heart.
“I keep thinking I'll be able to let you go,” he mur?mured. “But I can't seem to do it.”
Well, at least that was something she could under?stand. For all the reasons she needed to cut him loose, the idea of never seeing him again gave her the cold cringes.
But she just couldn't comprehend how he thought she'd be with anyone else.
“What's it going to take,” she whispered, “for you to trust me?”
Gray shook his head. “I don't have to trust you.”
“You're wrong about that.”
“No, I'm not. I want you. That's enough.”
After he left, she sat down on the bed, thinking she'd phrased it wrong. She needed to feel trusted if they were going to be together.
God, they were back where they started.
Nowhere. Except for the passion.
A couple of nights later, Joy woke up in a cold sweat, jolted from sleep by the bad dream that had been dog?ging her since she'd watched Gray go into the fire. In her nightmare, everything was just as it had happened that evening. The smells, the sights, the sounds. Except Gray didn't come back out of the house.
Shaky, overheated, she slid from his bed and padded over the Oriental rug to the bathroom. The marble floor of the bath was cold under her feet and the water she splashed on her face was so icy it numbed her cheeks.
There'd be no going back to sleep, at least not for a while, so she pulled on a black cashmere robe that smelled like Gray and went downstairs. When she got to the first floor, she saw a glow coming from the back of the house.
“Frankie?” she called out.
“No, Alex.”
She walked into the kitchen. Her brother was warm?ing something on the stove, wearing nothing but flannel pajama bottoms. One side of them had been ripped open to accommodate the cast and a couple of safety pins held the fabric together above his knee.
He must be cold, she thought, though she knew bet?ter than to suggest he put on more clothes.
“You hungry?” he said without looking up.
“No. Do you want help?”
“I think I can handle Campbell's chicken noodle by myself.”
God, he was so thin now, she thought, easing herself into a chair at the table. Years of hard physical labor on sailboats had put pounds and pounds of muscle on his big frame and much of that was still with him. The differ?ence was that any small layer of fat he'd had had been stripped from under his skin. His muscles were set in such stark relief, she could see their individual striations.
He took the pan from the stove, poured the steaming soup into a bowl, and then grabbed for his crutch. He carefully limped over to the table and spilled a little broth as he sat down. His face got fierce as he used his napkin to mop up.
He dunked his spoon, but he didn't bring any of the food to his lips. He just stirred.
“Not sleeping well?” he asked her.
“No.”
“Nightmares?”
“How did you know?”
“Been there. Still doing that.” His brows came to?gether, as if he were forcing himself to focus. Slowly he lifted a spoonful up from the bowl. He blew on it and then put it into his mouth.
Joy let out a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding.
The soft sound made Alex frown, as if he knew she was glad he was eating and he didn't appreciate her con?cern.
“It's not just the dreams,” she said quickly. “I really can't sleep at all.”
“You didn't burn down White Caps. You read the fire inspector's report.”
“That's not what's keeping me up.”
“So what is?”
“I watched the man I love go into a flaming room. It's not something I'm going to forget.”
Alex's eyes snapped up to hers. “So you've got it that bad for Bennett?”
“Yes. But don't tell Frankie. Don't tell...anyone.”
He shook his head. “Watch yourself, Joy.”
“I know. He's a lady killer. I've heard it all before. I tell it to myself.”
“Doesn't help, does it?”
“What?”
“Telling yourself what to feel.” He went back to his soup.
“No, it doesn't.” She watched as he ate some more, wondering about his private life. It was odd to know so little about the brother she loved so much. “Have you ever been in love, Alex?”
“Yes.”
Now that surprised her. “Really?”
He nodded.
“What happened?”
“Nothing good. That's why I'm telling you to watch yourself. Even if Gray Bennett was a model of monog?amy, and he isn't, love is one long, rough road. To be avoided if possible.”
“Who was she?”
But Alex was finished talking. She could tell by the way his mouth had flattened. The closing down, shutting off, reminded her of Gray.
God, maybe the two of them should go out together. They'd be so damned comfortable in each other's op?pressive silences, reveling in the utter lack of intimacy.
“So when are you heading back to the city?” Alex asked.
“Now that Frankie and Nate aren't having a big wedding, I guess I'll go down sooner. And with Libby agreeing to watch Grand-Em, I feel a little more free about leaving.”
“Are you going to stay with Cassandra?”
She narrowed her eyes. His tone was so casual, too casual. Especially in light of the tension that had lifted his shoulders and made him grip his spoon as though it might slip out of his hand.
“Is it her?” Joy asked quietly. “Is she the one you loved?”
“No.”
“I think you're lying.”
Alex lifted the spoon to his mouth. He paused, star?ing down at the bowl. “Doesn't matter if I am.”
“Damn it, it matters to me,” she snapped.
Alex's eyes shot across the table.
Before he could say anything, she linked her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Why the hell am I so untrust?worthy? Will you please tell me? I mean, do I give off some kind of disreputable vibe? Because I just don't get it.”
Her brother slowly put the spoon down. “Who said you were untrustworthy?”
“You are, right now. What do you think I'm going to do? Race up to Cassandra and spill your secret?”
“No,” he said slowly. “You won't do that because I don't have a secret to tell.”
“Oh, right. It couldn't possibly have anything to do with the fact that I have some integrity.” She got up. “My mistake.”
