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“Gray. Call me Gray. Any friend of Joy's is a friend of mine.”
Tom's eyes narrowed as if he didn't believe a word of it.
Smart kid, Gray thought.
Cassandra rushed in, as if she, too, had picked up on Gray's latent aggression. “We were just watching you on the dance floor.”
'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 re?mind himself that he had no right to be jealous. Posses?sive. 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, IÑ"
“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 any?thing. 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 pre?fer 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 fig?ured 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, actu?ally. 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 de?signers 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 thinkÑ”
“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, nat?urally, 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 get?ting 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 ex?plained, 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 talk?ing 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 wan?dered from the socially acceptable position on his shoul?der 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 vibrat?ing out of Gray's big body. She looked up. His eyes held the promise of n**ed skin on n**ed 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 a salt and pepper shaker 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. Be?sides, 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...”
