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“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 for?eign. “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, some?thing 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 con?trol 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 couldÑby 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 reach?ing 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 tongueÑ
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 assas?sinated. 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 porta?bles. “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 land line, I'll call you back.”
He checked the Blackberry. Another one of his peo?ple.
“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 de?luding herself, it had been something close to love.
Was it even possible? But how else could his incred?ible 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. Some?thing had changed between themÑ
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 br**sts. “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 re?ally was just hanging by the phone.
As she finally showered for dinner, she remembered parts of conversations they'd had, words he had spoken.
I've left a lot of women the morning after and never looked back.
You should have saved it for someone who loved you.
You were absolutely right about that Tiffany's charade. I don't want to get married. I'm never going to get mar?ried.
I never knew sex could be like that.
Sex, not love, she thought. He'd never said one word about love.
In a bitter rush, she figured she had to give him some credit. He'd known what he was like and he'd fought himself as long as he could, even when she'd thrown her?self at him. So none of this was a surprise. Now that he'd had her, he was done.
She stopped herself. He hadn't cared enough to call or even explain why he'd had to leave. Come on, did she really need it spelled out more clearly? She loved him. He didn't love her. That was it.
She forced herself to go down to the Bull and Bear Restaurant and have dinner. As she watched the other pat?rons laugh and talk over their wine and beef, she was so lonely she wanted to cry.
Chapter Sixteen
When Joy walked out onto Fifth Avenue a little after ten the next morning, she felt as if she'd aged a decade for every hour since Gray had taken off without a backward glance.
As she went to her appointments, her sketch folio under her arm, her box of pencils and supplies in her hand, she worked hard to keep from tearing up. To dis?tract herself, she thought of the colors of Saranac Lake. The ice-blue of the autumn sky. The yellow flashes of sunlight over churning, navy waves. The deep green of the hemlock-bearded mountains.
In the midst of the gray, architectural forest she walked through now, she missed the hues and tones of the northern woods.
And the rush of the people around her no longer seemed exciting. The mania was discordant and jarring. She had to fight to keep her portfolio from being kicked out of her arm as pedestrians brushed up against her.
When she stepped off the curb without looking, a taxi honked and its driver flipped her off.
By the time five o'clock came around, Joy headed back to the Waldorf, feeling deflated. The evening's re?ception loomed over her like a tangible obstacle, some?thing she had to surmount or break through.
She checked the Amtrak schedule. The last train leav?ing for upstate pulled out of Penn Station at ten forty-five. The party was starting at seven and would be over by nine-thirty. If she packed her things, she'd just have to stop by the hotel to get her bags before she headed across town for the trip home.
As she rode up to Gray's suite in the elevator, she thought that the fantasy of coming to New York, being with a handsome, powerful man and finding success in a career was a good fantasy. But only on paper. The re?ality had left her bruised, older and painfully wiser.
She would go back to Saranac Lake and complete the five gowns. If tonight yielded any more prospects, she could return to the city if she wanted to, but her home base was going to remain upstate. With the money she'd earned so far, she could afford to move into a small apartment with Grand-Em until White Caps was back in working shape. And she could probably camp out with Alex in their father's workshop until she found a place of her own.
The elevator came to a stop, a bell chiming. She stepped out into the creamy hallway and looked down at the beautiful golds and maroons of the carpet.
One thing was certain. She was never staying at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel ever again, no matter how much cash she had.
“Hello, Dad,” Gray said as he walked into his father's study. He'd been back in Washington since the prior morning, but this was the first chance he'd had to get home. “I know you've heard.”
As was now typical, his father was not seated behind the big mahogany desk but was in front of the fire. A red tartan throw covered his legs though the room was warm.
“I. Have.”
Gray sat down in the closest chair. He still couldn't believe what had happened, even after having spent the last day and a half talking about the tragedy nonstop with news outlets, political figures, pundits.
John Beckin was dead. Had been found hanging in his bathroom by one of his staff.
“You okay?” Gray asked.
His father frowned. “Sad.”
Gray looked away, not wanting his eyes to show.
“Son?” When there was no response, his father leaned forward, taking Gray's hand and shaking it. “Son? Talk.”
Gray squeezed his father's palm and then sat back in the chair.
His father cracked his cane into the floor, the sound a demand he didn't have the strength to make with his voice.
Gray cleared his throat. “I saw Becks two nights be?fore he did it. We argued. I, uhÑit got nasty. Real nasty.”
“Think. Fault. Yours?”
“Hell, Dad. I threatened to expose some of the things he's done.”
