Tiffany’s.

“What are we doing here?” Joy asked slowly.

“Come with me.” Gray touched her elbow, ushering her through the glass doors. As soon as they were inside the yawning space, a man in a three-piece suit came up to them.

“Mr. Bennett, good afternoon. Please, this way.”

Joy’s heart was beating like a bird’s and she took her hand from Gray’s because her palm was getting sweaty.

The suffocating sensation got worse when Three-Piece appeared with a thin leather box about eight inches long and four inches wide. The man flipped open the top and slid the tray forward.

Diamond rings.

She reached out and plucked a ring from its velvet sheath. Beneath the overhead lighting, the stone’s brilliance hurt her eyes. And surely there was a hell of a metaphor in that.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She didn’t look at Gray. Couldn’t.

“Asking you to marry me.”

His Comfort and Joy
Jessica Bird

With thanks to my first reader,

aka Mom

JESSICA BIRD

graduated from college with a double major in history and art history, concentrating in the medieval period. This meant she was great at discussing anything that happened before the sixteenth century, but not all that employable in the real world. In order to support herself, she went to law school and worked in Boston in health-care administration for many years.

She now lives in the South with her husband and many pictures of golden retrievers that she hopes to replace with the real thing sometime very soon. As a writer, her commute is a heck of a lot better than it was as a lawyer and she’s thrilled that her professional wardrobe includes slippers and sweatpants. She likes to write love stories that feature strong, independent heroines and complex, alpha male heroes. Visit her Web site at www.jessicabird.com and e-mail her at Jessica@jessicabird.com.

72nd Annual

Saranac Lake

“Last Rows of Summer BBQ and Swing Dance”

The Gazebo

Town Square

Saturday, September 12

6:00 p.m.-Midnight

Featuring:

The Diamond Jim Swing Orchestra Uncle Bob’s World-Famous BBQ and a fifteen-foot Make-Your-Own-Sundae Bar!

As always, kids and dogs are welcome…

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

The boat’s engine throbbed as Grayson Bennett kept the Hacker at a low speed and close to the lakeshore. The antique, thirty-foot craft was his pride and joy, a relic of the Great Gatsby era of lake life. Made of mahogany and varnished to a shine so bright it could hurt your eyes, the Bellitas was indeed a thing of beauty. And she was wickedly fast. The long, thin design provided three discreet seating areas, marked by contoured banquettes in dark green leather. The massive engine, capable of shooting the boat through the water at speeds of sixty miles an hour, took up a good six feet of space in the middle.

He would miss her when he put her up on blocks for the winter, and the time for her yearly hibernation was coming fast. He could feel it in the air.

Even though it was the middle of the day, September was cool in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. To take the edge off the chill, he was wearing a windbreaker and his only passenger, aside from a big, very happy golden retriever, had on a thick sweater.

Naturally, the dog had plenty of insulation.

Gray looked across the seat at the woman who stared at the cliffs they were passing. Cassandra Cutler’s thick red hair was secured at her neck and her green eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. The frames covered up the dark circles of her exhaustion, too.

No doubt she saw little of the rocks and pine trees, he thought. Life had to be an inconsequential blur for someone who’d become a widow only six weeks ago.

“How’re we doing?” he asked his old, dear friend.

She smiled slightly, a tense expression he knew she worked at. “I’m glad you pestered me to get out of the city.”

“Good.”

“I can’t imagine I’m enjoyable company, though,” Cassandra said.

“You’re not here to perform.”

Gray focused on the lake ahead as the silence was filled with the sound of the boat’s deep-throated engine and the lapping of water against the wooden gunnels. Sunshine glinted off the mahogany, flashed over the tops of the gentle waves, brought out the vivid blue of the sky and the dense green of the mountains. The air was so clear and clean that when he breathed deep, the inside of his nose hummed.

It was a perfect fall day. And he was about to shoot the hell out of his quiet enjoyment.

When they’d left his estate’s boathouse, he could have taken them in any direction. To the south, where they could have danced around a thicket of small islands. Across to the west to see some of the other big stretches of property.

But no, he’d chosen the north where sooner or later the old Moorehouse mansion would appear. White Caps was a big white birthday cake of a house, perched on a three-acre bluff. Once the family’s lavish private home, it had been turned into a bed-and-breakfast by them when their money had run out.

But he wasn’t going to look at the property.

When the bluff appeared in the distance, his eyes narrowed. The long rolling lawn, which drifted from White Caps’ porches to the shore, was a dazzling green. Oaks and maples framed the house, already turning colors from the frosts that came at night.

He couldn’t see anyone and he looked harder, even as he started to turn the boat around.

Cassandra didn’t need to get anywhere near the Moorehouse place. Her husband’s sailing partner, who’d survived the yachting accident, was recovering there with his family. Gray wasn’t sure she knew that or whether she’d want to see Alex, but he wasn’t inclined to take a chance at giving her another shock. She’d had enough bad surprises lately.

Cassandra’s voice did not break his concentration. “My husband liked you, Gray.”

“I liked Reese,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the house, eyes searching.

“But he thought you were a dangerous man.”

“Did he?”

“He said you knew where most of the bodies were buried in Washington, D.C. Because you’d put a lot of them in the ground.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat and continued to stare as White Caps grew smaller.

“I’ve heard it from other people.”

“Really.”

“They say even the President is wary of you.”

He glanced back at the house again. “Loose talk. Just loose talk.”

“Considering the way you’re looking at that mansion back there, I’m not so sure.” Cassandra tilted her head to the side, regarding him with steady curiosity. “Who lives there? Or more to the point, what do you want that’s in that house?”

When Gray remained silent, Cassandra’s dry chuckle floated over on the breeze. “Well, whatever it is, I feel sorry for the poor thing. Because you look like you’re on the hunt.”

“Hold still or I’m going to stick you,” Joy Moorehouse said to her sister.

“I am holding still.”

“Then why is this hem a moving target?” She shifted back onto her heels and looked up at her work.

The wedding gown hung from her sister Frankie’s shoulders in a graceful fall of white satin. Joy had been careful with the design. Too many frills and excess fabric wouldn’t pass muster. Frankie thought blue jeans were formal as long as you wore them with your hair up.

“Do I look like I’m in someone else’s dress?” Frankie asked.

“You look beautiful.”

Frankie laughed without bitterness. “That’s your department, not mine. I’m the plain, practical sister, remember?”

“Ah, but you’re the one getting married.”

“And ain’t it a miracle?”

Joy smiled. “I’m so happy for you.”

Everyone was. The whole town of Saranac Lake was thrilled and they were all coming to festivities that were taking place in about six weeks.

Frankie lifted the skirting up gingerly, as if she might hurt it. “I have to admit, this thing feels good.”

“It’ll fit even better when I finish the alterations. You can take it off now.”

“We’re done?”

Joy nodded and got up from the floor. “I’ve basted all around the bottom. I’ll stitch it up this evening and we’ll do another fitting tomorrow.”

“But I thought you were going to help out tonight. We’re catering Mr. Bennett’s birthday party, remember?”

Joy almost laughed. She’d have better luck losing track of her own head than forgetting where she was supposed to be in another couple of hours. And who she would see.

“Remember?” Frankie prompted. “We’re going to need you.”

Joy made busywork putting her sewing kit back together. She had a feeling her excitement was showing on her face and she didn’t want her sister to see it. “I know.”

“The party could go late.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Because it wasn’t as if she’d be able to sleep when they got back home.

“I don’t want you slaving over this dress.”

“And you’re getting married in a month and a half, so I have to get the thing done. Well, unless you fancy yourself heading down the aisle in your underwear, a sight I’m pretty sure Nate would prefer to keep for his eyes only. Besides, you know I love doing this, especially for you.” She turned around. Her sister was staring out the window, absently stroking the gown. “Frankie? What’s wrong?”

“Last night, I asked Alex to walk me to the altar.”

“What did he say?” Joy whispered, even though she knew getting their brother to the ceremony at all was going to be tough.

“He won’t do it. I don’t think he wants the attention to be on him.” Frankie shook her head. “I can’t force him to be by my side. But I really wish…hell, I wish Dad were going to be with me. Mom, as well. I wish they were both still here.”

Joy took her sister’s hand. “Me, too.”

Frankie looked down at herself, her brown hair falling forward. She gave a short, awkward laugh that Joy knew meant she was changing the subject. “I can’t believe this.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to take this thing off. It’s so gorgeous.”

Joy smiled sadly, thinking that with each stitch she put into the gown, she was trying to make up for everything her sister had done for her. God, all those sacrifices Frankie had made to become a parent too soon. The work on the dress seemed like a pitiful exchange.

“Here, let me undo the buttons in the back for you.”

When Frankie stepped out of the pool of satin, Joy swept the dress into her arms and carried it over to her worktable. Her bedroom was small, so between her sewing machine, her mannequin and the bolts of fabric against the wall, space was at a premium. Thank God she only had a twin bed.

Over the years she’d patched and repaired countless ball gowns for their grandmother at her little makeshift sewing station. Emma Moorehouse, better known as Grand-Em, suffered from dementia so she was prone to irrational obsessions. And given that she’d once been a wealthy young lady of fine breeding and reputation, she felt uncomfortable if she didn’t look her best for the parties she was certain were just about to start every moment of the day.

Except there were no parties. There hadn’t been for decades.

With the declining fortunes of the Moorehouse family, there was no money to replace either the lifestyle or the luxury their grandmother had once known. But Joy was able to keep the Golden Era illusion alive by maintaining the forty- and fifty-year-old ball gowns. In doing so, she helped Grand-Em to find a measure of calm.

And discovered a passion for clothing design in herself.

“We’ve got three rooms filled this weekend,” Frankie said as she pulled on khakis. “Which means the leaf peepers are showing up on schedule.”

The White Caps mansion had been built by their ancestors at the turn of the nineteenth century and back then, it had been one of many Moorehouse real estate holdings. Now the ten-bedroom house was all that was left of a once mighty fortune.

In the eighties, their mother and father had turned the place into a bed-and-breakfast. Following their deaths a decade ago, Frankie had struggled to keep the business going, and it appeared that they’d finally turned a corner. The B&B was on the upswing, thanks in large part to Frankie’s fiancé, Nate Walker. Nate’s fine French cooking had made White Caps a destination and his timely investment in the business had pulled them out of a debt spiral.

“So, about tonight.” Frankie shoved her feet into a pair of beat-up sneakers. “Spike’s going to mind the store here with George on backup. Nate, Tom and I are going to head over to the Bennett kitchen in another hour or so. Can you get there about five?”

“No problem.”

“Thank God, Alex is willing to watch Grand-Em. Have you told him what to expect?”

Joy nodded. “I think he’ll be okay and Spike’s here if she gets really agitated. Fortunately she’s been quieter now during evenings.”

Stewarding Grand-Em through her delusions was usually Joy’s job, but they needed all the hands they could get for the party.

“I’m so glad Gray gave us this chance,” Frankie said, drawing her hair back. “He’s a good man. For a politician.”

He’s not a politician, Joy wanted to say. He’s a political consultant who specializes in elections.

But the correction might get her sister’s attention and Joy was careful about keeping her obsession with Gray to herself. Sharing pipe dreams was almost as futile as having them in the first place.

“You’re awful quiet, Joy. Are you sure you want to come tonight?”

“I’m just distracted.” By the fact that she was going to get to watch Gray for three, maybe four, hours. And that maybe she’d get a chance to talk with him.

Although the exposure probably wasn’t a good thing. After so many years of pining for the man, lately she’d been trying to let the unrequited fascination go. She was going to be twenty-seven soon, for heaven’s sake. Living in the fantasy was getting old. And so was she.

“You don’t have to come, Joy. I could have one of the waitresses sub.”

“I want to,” she said firmly.

Sort of.

Because he was going to look so good tonight. Grayson Bennett always looked good.

“You work too hard,” Frankie said.

“So do you.”

Frankie shook her head and then stared long and hard across the room. She’d worn glasses until recently, and without the lenses, her eyes seemed bluer than ever.

“You know,” she said casually, “I was talking to Tom yesterday. He was asking a lot of questions about you. He’s a really nice guy.”

Tom Reynolds was the new line cook who’d been hired to help Nate and his partner, Spike, in the kitchen. And he was a nice guy. With a nice guy’s sweet smile. And a nice guy’s gentle eyes. And a nice guy’s polite manner.

Except Joy liked what Gray had. The power. The charisma. The promise of breathtaking, hot sex.

Which probably would have shocked her sister.

If Frankie was the practical one, Joy was supposed to be the prim, protected youngest. Except she was getting bored with being good, especially whenever Gray Bennett came to mind.

Which, in spite of her resolve, was about as often as the grandfather clock downstairs spoke up.

Basically, every fifteen minutes.

“Maybe you and Tom should go out sometime,” Frankie said.

Joy shrugged. “Maybe.”

As her sister left the room, Joy sat on the bed. She knew her fixation on Gray was unhealthy. Getting tangled up in fantasies about some man she saw maybe five or six times a year was ridiculous. And it wasn’t as if he encouraged her. Whenever Gray came up to the lake in the summer and she ran into him in town, he was always friendly. He even remembered her name. But that was as far as it ever got.

Well, except in her dreams. Then it went a whole lot further.

In real life, however, the attraction was totally one-sided. She was pretty certain about how Gray perceived her and it was just what she thought of Tom, the line cook. Nice. Sweet. Young.

Completely unremarkable.

And the truly pathetic thing was, even though she knew all that, even though she wanted to forget about Grayson Bennett, she still couldn’t wait to see him tonight.

Gray worked his father’s tie into a Windsor knot. Ever since the stroke five months ago, Walter Bennett’s left side wasn’t working right. The physical rehab helped, and with time’s passing his brain had recovered some, but his fine motor skills were still compromised.

“You ready for tonight, Papa?”

“Yes. I. Am.” The words were slow and slightly garbled.

“Well, you look sharp as hell.” Gray measured his efforts. A little tug to the right and the tie was perfect.

Walter tapped his chest with a gnarled hand, pushing aside the strip of bright red silk. “Happy. Very. Happy.”

“Me, too.” Gray smoothed the tie back into place.

“Are. You?”

Gray walked over to the bureau and picked up his father’s gold cuff links. They were heavy in his hand, marked with the Bennett family crest. He had a pair just like them, given to him when he’d turned eighteen and headed off to Harvard.

His father stamped his foot, a habit he’d developed when he had to get someone’s attention. “Are. You?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t. Lie.” Walter was stooped with age, far shorter than he’d been when he’d had his youth, but he was still a big man. And although he wasn’t fierce by nature, not like his only son, when he wanted to be, he could be very direct. The trait was no doubt one of the reasons he’d been such a successful federal judge in D.C.

Gray smiled to reassure his father. “I’m looking forward to getting back to Washington.”

Which was lie number two.

Walter huffed as his cuff links were put on and Gray had the feeling he was being given a stiff lecture in his father’s head.

“You. Should. Talk. More.”

“About what?”

“You.”

“There are much better subjects. Besides, you know the Dr. Phil stuff’s never been my thing.” Gray stepped back. “Okay, Papa. You’re done. I need to shower and change.”

“Change,” his father said. “Change. Is. Good.”

Gray nodded, but cut off the conversation by heading for his own room. On his way down the hall, he paused in front of Cassandra’s guest room.

And sometimes change wasn’t so good.

After he’d learned about Cassandra’s husband’s death, Gray had made a point of going to New York City to see her in person. He’d worried that with Reese gone, she’d be all alone in the midst of the Manhattan social tilt-a-whirl. Fortunately, their mutual friend, Allison Adams, and her husband, the senator, had taken to watching over the new widow like a hawk. But it was still a difficult time.

If Gray and Allison hadn’t ridden her so hard, Cass never would have agreed to come up for the weekend. She’d have continued to nurse her broken heart in that big penthouse on Park Avenue all by herself.

Gray kept walking. Cassandra and Allison were two unusual women for the circles he ran in. They loved their husbands and were faithful to them.

Which was why Reese’s death struck him as unfair.

Most of the ladies Gray knew, and he used the term lady loosely, thought fidelity was something you had for a clothing or shoe designer. The fact that some sap slid a diamond on their finger and they’d thrown on a white dress made little impression on their libidos.

But maybe he was just bitter.

Yeah, only a little, he thought.

Gray shut the door to his room and took off his polo shirt. He’d had a lot of women come on to him over the years and a good number had been married. But he couldn’t blame his distrust of the fairer sex solely on his contemporaries.

No, he’d learned his first lessons at home.

From mommy dearest.

Belinda Bennett was a blue-blooded, well-moneyed beauty. Real top-drawer stuff if you looked at her Mayflower roots and all that patrician bone structure. Unfortunately, she was first and foremost a harlot. A rebellious, misbehaving, spoiled brat who seemed determined to make her mark on her back.

As if getting screwed by men who didn’t give a damn about her was a badge of independence.

God, the things she’d done to his father. The humiliation. The degradation. And all of it caused by what she’d done with his friends at the club. His tax attorney. His own cousin. As well as the gardener, her tennis instructor, the choir master.

Hell, even Gray’s camp counselor and his prep school English professor hadn’t been off-limits. And she’d also managed to find her way into the pants of two of his buddies from college. Former buddies, that was.

Gray turned the shower on, kicked off his shorts and stepped under the water.

His father was a good man. Weak when it came to love, but a good man. Unfortunately, this combination meant he’d stayed in the marriage even though he’d known what was happening. Even though his heart had gotten broken over and over.

Which was precisely what happened when your principles outweighed your common sense. You got spanked.

Courtesy of the spectacle, Gray had decided long ago never to let a woman get into his head, much less the center of his chest. He’d been called a misogynist by quite a number of them, and though that was hardly something he was proud of, he’d never denied the charge.

Gray couldn’t imagine trying out what his father had attempted and failed at. He couldn’t fathom the idea of finding a woman he could really trust and marrying her.

Ah, hell. Maybe he was just a coward.

Gray snorted as he stepped out of the shower and toweled off.

Yeah, and if he was such a pansy, why were so many members of the Senate and the House of Representatives scared of him? And the President of the United States might not be wary, but he sure as hell took Gray’s calls, no matter where the man was, no matter who he was with.

No, it wasn’t cowardice that had him pulling the I-am-an-island routine. It was a complete lack of myopia. He saw clearly the truth other men didn’t. If you gave anyone the power to hurt you, soon enough, they were going to use it.

Gray walked into his closet, picked out a navy-blue suit and a button-down shirt, and tossed them onto the bed. He pulled on the pants and was zipping them up when he caught a flash of movement outside.

His hands stilled and he leaned toward the window.

He’d know that strawberry-blond hair anywhere.

Joy Moorehouse was coming down his driveway on a bicycle, her long mane of curls streaming out behind her like a flag. She pulled up to the side of the house, looked around and seemed to realize she’d overshot the service entrance. Slipping off the bike, she walked it around to the back, away from view.

Gray’s body slammed into overdrive, his blood pumping, his muscles twitching as if he were about to run after her.

He cursed and planted his hands on his hips.

This was not happening, he thought. He was not feeling any of this.

Yeah, whatever.

And then, as if his libido were taking a potshot at him, he was subjected to a quick replay of the day he’d caught her in nothing more than a bikini.

God, that had been a couple of weeks ago, but he could picture it as clear as if it had happened this morning.

To think he’d once considered his accurate recall a gift.

After years of seeing Joy around town during the summers, and finding her pretty but otherwise unassuming, something had changed this season. And that was before he’d gone to White Caps and come upon her just as she was about to take a swim.

Lovely before, she’d become instantly a thing of legend. Those subtle curves, all that smooth skin, those eyes so startled and wide when she’d seen him.

Frankly, he was appalled with himself. She was so young. Well, maybe not that young, but there was something so pure about her. So guileless. So honest. She was fresh in a way that made him feel as though he should wash his hands before he dared touch her.

Hell, with all her innocence, she made him feel dirty and ancient. Dirty for the things he’d done. Old because he had nothing but cynicism and hard ambition to offer anybody.

Gray cursed again and yanked on his shirt. The buttons refused to behave well under his fingers and it took him twice as long as it usually did to get the thing done up. And forget about the cuff links. He actually dropped one.

As he crammed the shirttails into the waistband of his pants, the fact that he was suddenly in a rush to get dressed and go downstairs didn’t escape him.

But it sure as hell didn’t improve his mood.

Chapter Two

Joy propped her bike against the house and looked around. She’d grown up in a big place, but Gray’s mansion was huge. The three-story structure was the size of a college dorm and looked like a castle. It was also in perfect shape, the great stone walls pale and clean in the late sun, the trim painted bright white, the shutters gleaming black.

“Yea, you’re here!” Frankie’s voice came out an open screen door. “How’d you like to help make cream puffs?”

Joy swept her hair up and pinned it out of the way with a barrette as she came into the industrial-quality kitchen. “I’m your girl. Just show me—”

The force of the blow sent her reeling into the wall and nearly kicked her feet out from under her. Something hit her in a wet splatter and then there was a loud clang as a pan bounced on the floor. The kitchen went dead quiet.

Tom Reynolds’s face was the color of oatmeal. Although it wasn’t as if he’d had a deep tan to begin with.

“Oh, God. Are you okay?” He reached out. “I didn’t see you. I’m so sorry. I’m really, really…”

Joy glanced down at herself. Her white shirt and black pants were covered with tortellini and pesto. She looked as though she’d been stabbed and was bleeding brilliant green.

Right out of a Roger Corman flick, she thought with a grin.

“I’m fine.” She was more worried about Tom. He didn’t look so steady. “Trust me, I’ll recover.”

The poor guy was on the verge of another round of apologies, but Frankie’s fiancé cut him off with a hand to the back of the neck.

“Whoa, tiger. What was I telling you about slowing down?” Nate was a big, handsome man dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. He looked about as chef-like as your average Harley motorcycle owner, but he was heaven on wheels behind a stove. “You all right, Angel?”

She smiled at her soon-to-be brother-in-law. “Fine and dandy. Just keep me away from the vampires. I could give a garlic wreath a run for the money.”

Frankie came over, shaking her head. “We’re going to have to get you out of those clothes. I think I saw some waitressing uniforms in the back room. Let me see what I can find.”

Nate got down on his hands and knees and started cleaning up the mess. “We’re going to have to get creative. There isn’t enough time to remake this batch so we’ll have to whip up something else.”

Tom sank to the floor, putting his head between his knees for a moment. His blond hair was messed up as if even his follicles were upset.

“I really need this job,” he said softly.

Nate froze. “Who said you were getting canned? Good God, you should know half the things I’ve dropped over the years.”

Joy put her hand on Tom’s shoulder. “It was just an accident. I should have been looking where I was going, too.”

The cook blushed as he began scooping up tortellini with his hands. “That’s a nice thing for you to say, Joy.”

A second later Frankie came back with a black-and-white uniform in her arms and an impish, sixty-year-old woman at her side.

“Oh, look at the poor girl,” the woman said, grabbing the clean clothes. “Come on, now, I’ll show you to a shower.”

As Joy’s hand was taken in a firm, warm grip, she let herself get swept along.

“I’m Libby, Old Mr. Bennett’s housekeeper.” They went up a set of back stairs. “I suppose I’m his butler and his secretary when he’s here, too. I’m also Ernest’s mom.”

“Ernest?”

“He’s not allowed in the kitchen when we’re cooking. Although he’d be handy at cleaning up that pasta.”

At the top of the stairs, they turned right and went down a hall. On the walls there were black-and-white photographs of sporting events hung from floor to ceiling. Joy slowed. There were staid ones from the 1920s, with men dressed formally for cricket and a woman with her hair cut into a bob twirling on old-fashioned ice skates. A football team picture from the forties had all the players wearing leather helmets and big Hs on their chests. There was a shot of a track-and-field event from the seventies, with a man wearing first-generation Nikes vaulting over a pole. Another picture was taken at a swim meet with a girl diving fiercely into the water.

“Ah, yes, the Bennetts over the generations,” Libby said fondly. “They’re an athletic lot, aren’t they? I put up the pictures because I couldn’t stand to have them lying around, collecting dust in boxes. And wouldn’t you know? Gray and his father both make a point to take first-time visitors up here to witness the glory.”

Joy stepped forward only to pause again. In a simple black frame, she saw four men standing in front of a crew boat, their arms linked. Gray was on the end, grinning.

“Oh, I like that one, too,” Libby said. “Young Mr. Bennett looks so happy in it.”

The woman went down further and opened a door. A golden retriever bounded out into the hall, eighty or so pounds of glee in a pale fur suit. After a quick lick of Libby’s hands, he headed straight for Joy.

Libby did her best to quell the adoration, but Joy didn’t care. She was perfectly happy to be climbed on.

“Ernest likes you,” his mom muttered while trying to grab his collar.

With a lunge into the air, the dog leaped up, his front paws nearly shoulder height. Joy laughed and gave his sides a sturdy round of patting.

“I’m not sure I should take it personally,” she said. “I smell like Italian food, so what’s not to love?”

After Ernest found a tortellini in the folds of her shirt, she went into the room. It was beautifully decorated with flowered wallpaper and lots of drapes. A four-poster bed with handmade quilts folded at the foot took up most of the space. The rest was occupied by antiques.

“This is lovely,” Joy said, thinking of the staff quarters back at White Caps. Those rooms were like prison cells in comparison.

“The Bennetts take very good care of me. And Ernest. Young Mr. Bennett’s practically adopted him.”

“He likes dogs?”

Man, if Gray Bennett was a canine lover, that would pretty much seal the deal on him being a total dreamboat.

“Don’t know about all dogs, but he loves Ernest. They go on walks together and boat rides and—” Libby shook her head. “I’m rambling. The shower’s through there. You’ll find fresh towels on the rack and there’s a hairdryer under the sink. I’d have taken you to another room, but the other staff quarters are shut down for the winter and the guest rooms are all filled. Do you mind if Ernest stays?”

Joy looked at the dog who returned her gaze with inquiry.

“Of course not.” She smiled and fluffed his soft ear.

As his owner left, Ernest planted his butt on the floor and leaned into Joy’s leg.

“So, Gray’s your buddy,” she said to the dog when the door closed. “Got any secrets you’d like to share?”

Gray pushed open the butler’s door and strode into the kitchen.

“Hey, big guy,” Nate called from the counter. “You’re lookin’ fine tonight.”

They shook hands with a meaty clap. White Caps’ new chef had turned out to be someone Gray knew well. He and Nate had gone to college together, though they’d lost touch thereafter. It had been a real kick in the pants, in a good way, to find out who’d transformed the Moorehouses’s kitchen into paradise.

But then life could be like that. Six degrees to the right or left and you were staring your past in the face again.

“Everything smells terrific,” Gray said while scanning the room. He waved at Frankie, who was lining up dozens and dozens of dough balls on stainless-steel trays. There was another guy bent over the stove, someone he didn’t recognize.

Where was she? he wondered. Or was he totally losing it and had only imagined seeing Joy on his lawn?

“You need anything?” he asked, stalling.

“Nah, we’re all good.” Nate went back to mincing up parsley with a vicious-looking knife. “Everything’s under control.”

There was a pause and Gray became aware that everyone was working except for him.

Ah, hell. He couldn’t very well stand here like a wallflower.

The butler’s door swung open behind him.

“There you are,” Cassandra said. “There’s someone on the phone for you. Libby’s been running around the house looking everywhere.”

As the heads in the room turned in her direction, Cassandra smiled. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Gray measured her expression as she looked at Frankie. There was no sign of recognition on her face. Or Frankie’s, either. Good Lord, the two women didn’t know each other.

He cleared his throat. “Cassandra, this is Frankie Moorehouse. Alex’s sister. Frankie, Cassandra Cutler. Reese’s…widow.”

Cassandra paled, her hand coming to her throat. Frankie had a similar reaction, straightening slowly in shock.

Damn it, he should have warned them both, he thought, feeling like a heel. He’d just assumed that they knew who the other was.

Frankie came forward, wiping the flour from her hands with a side towel. “I’m so sorry about Reese.”

Cassandra reached out. “Your brother. Is he all right? I’d heard when the Coast Guard found him he was injured.”

Frankie nodded. “He’s recovering. It’s going to be a long haul, though.”

“When he didn’t come to the funeral, and he didn’t call, I worried…” Cassandra’s voice broke. “I can only imagine what he’s going through. He and Reese were closer than sailing partners. They were like brothers. Where is he?”

“Here. At home.”

“I must see him.”

Frankie took a deep breath. “You’re welcome to, but you should be prepared. He’s, ah, not really open to conversation. Although maybe you can reach him. We sure haven’t been able to.”

Gray noticed that Cassandra’s body was shaking and he slipped his arm around her waist. She leaned into him.

“I’d certainly like to try,” she said. “I want to know what happened on that boat.”

As Joy left Libby’s quarters, she corralled Ernest with her leg, somehow keeping him inside the room. She felt like a jailer and it was hard not giving in to the dog’s pleading eyes. Staring up at her, he was on the verge of speech, desperate for clemency.

Except there was no way she was going to buy the whole saint’s-preserve-me, I’m-just-a-meek-fellow routine. And having already experienced one catastrophe this evening, she didn’t want to chance what would happen if the retriever got loose in a kitchen with Tom Reynolds. The two could probably level the whole house.

As she went down the stairs, she wondered when she’d run into Gray. She figured it probably wouldn’t be until the party started, so she had at least another forty-five minutes to prepare herself. Coming around the corner into the kitchen, she smoothed the uniform, thinking at least the thing fit her. The skirt was a little short, but other than that it looked decent—

She skidded to a halt.

Gray Bennett was standing by the stove, looking better than any man had a right to. His dark hair was brushed back from his arrogant face. His broad shoulders and chest filled up a beautifully tailored navy-blue jacket. And the faint pink of his button-down shirt brought out his tan and his pale blue eyes.

The only thing that ruined the picture was the fact that he had his arm around a woman. And he was looking down at her face as if he cared deeply for her.

Joy’s stomach heaved.

Oh, God.

She actually considered running back upstairs, but forced herself to stay put. After all, she was being utterly ridiculous. A man like him wouldn’t live the life of a monk. And she’d read plenty of stories in the papers about who he was out with in D.C. So the fact that he had a woman really shouldn’t be a surprise.

Except it was. Whenever he’d come to Saranac Lake, he’d always been alone. She’d never actually seen him with someone firsthand.

And of course, the woman was a beauty. Thick red hair, pale, translucent skin, green eyes that were looking curiously distraught. And the cream dress she was wearing? It was so perfectly simple, the fabric so gorgeous, the fit so precise, it had to be haute couture.

They were perfect together.

Joy looked back at Gray and was startled. His eyes had narrowed into beams and they were trained on her. Which wouldn’t have bothered her ordinarily except he did not seem happy. The simmering darkness in his face was dismaying. In the past, he’d always been friendly to her. Why was he suddenly looking at her as if she wasn’t welcome in his house?

“Tom, would you like some help with the filet?” she asked, quickly going over to where the cook was cutting up beef.

“That would be great,” Tom said, making room for her at the counter. “Here’s a knife.”

As she went to work, she was shaken and trying not to show it. Seeing Gray looking so good was hard. Catching him with his hand on some redhead’s hip was worse. But getting stared down by the man was nearly unbearable.

When she looked over her shoulder a while later, Gray had left and taken the Julianne Moore look-alike with him.

But what Joy saw was a real zinger anyway.

Nate was standing behind Frankie and had pulled her back against his body. He was whispering something in her ear as she bent over the cream puffs. His face was tight with hunger and Frankie had a half-smile on her face as if she liked what he was saying to her. Joy looked away quickly.

“They sure are happy,” Tom said.

Of course, they were. Because what they had was real, not some childish, one-sided fantasy.

Joy thought back to the nights she’d stayed up imagining different ways she’d run into Gray. There were so many. Maybe they’d meet in town, just passing by on the sidewalk. He’d stop and tell her it was hot out and ask her if she wanted something cool to drink. Or maybe she was on an island out on the lake and he’d go by in one of his boats. He’d catch sight of her and pull into the dock and they’d lie in the sun. The scenarios were like little plays she directed and the outcome always ended with them kissing.

Daydreams, she thought. Fantasies. With all of it, down to the clothes he wore and the way he looked at her, existing only in her mind.

As she thought about the way Nate stared at Frankie, she couldn’t bear her pathetic hallucinations.

“Tom, would you like to go out to dinner with me?” she blurted.

The cook’s mouth actually fell open as he stopped slicing and glanced up. He looked as though someone had just offered him a free Mercedes-Benz. “Well, yeah.”

“Tomorrow night. Pick me up at seven?”

“Sure. I mean, I’d love to.”

Joy nodded and went back to work. “Good.”

Chapter Three

By the end of the evening, as the guests were either heading home to their own houses or retiring to the bedrooms upstairs, Gray categorically considered the party a success. His father had a glow on his face that had been missing for months. The food had been sublime. People had had a great time.

But he was just as happy to have it over. He’d wanted to escape for the last hour although it wasn’t because he’d been overwhelmed by the guests. Fifty people was a good-size party, but nothing like the four- or five-hundred-head social endurance tests he did regularly in D.C.

No, the problem was Joy.

He’d given himself whiplash searching the crowd for her. Every time he saw a flash of black and white, his head flipped around, but rarely had it been the woman he’d wanted to see. Over the course of the evening, he’d only caught a couple glimpses of her passing hors d’oeuvres or picking up empty glasses. She seemed to stay far away from him, as if on purpose.

Hell, that uniform was a knockout on her, so he should probably be grateful.

Gray went into his study and tore off his jacket, tossing the thing onto the back of a Chesterfield sofa. He removed his cuff links, put them in his pocket and rolled up his sleeves.

He was fixing himself a bourbon when the U.S. Senate Majority Leader walked into the room.

Gray nodded over his shoulder. “Hey, Becks. You want to join me?”

“Just add plenty of rocks,” John Beckin said with his trademark glossy smile. The expression lightened his air of masculine distinction. With his silver hair combed back from a strong face and horn-rimmed glasses perched on his straight nose, the man’s aura was one of intelligence and discretion, and it wasn’t all image. He’d clerked for Gray’s father straight out of law school in the seventies and had been smart as a whip even then. The two were still close.

Gray handed over a squat crystal glass with two inches of liquor and three cubes of ice in it.

“Thanks. Listen, I wanted to catch you alone,” John said, shutting the door. “How’s Walter really doing?”

As a career politician, and a very successful one, Becks knew how to project sympathy and understanding. In this case, Gray thought the emotions were probably real.

“Better every day.” He poured a glass for himself, neat. “But this is the first time you’ve seen him in person, right?”

“I have to tell you, it was a shock. His e-mails sounded so positive, but it’s obviously hard for him to get around. And his speech…” John shook his head. “But hell, Gray, I don’t mean to be negative. He looked happy tonight. Especially when you were toasting him. That man couldn’t be more proud of you.”

“Thanks.”

“Has Belinda been by?”

Gray tossed back the bourbon, draining the glass in two swallows. The liquor burned his gut. Or maybe that was just his anger at his mother. “No, she hasn’t.”

And she knew better than to try if he was around.

John put a hand in his pocket and went over to a window. “You know, since my Mary died, I’ve been reminiscing a lot more than I used to. These last two years have been hard for me, and I was thinking, as I saw you with your father, that he’d be so alone without you. Children are a blessing. I’m sorry that Mary and I never had any.”

Gray kept his mouth shut. As children were not in his future, he didn’t feel qualified to comment on them.

There was a silence and then John seemed to shake himself out of the mood he’d sunk into. When he turned, his face was intense.

“So, I must tell you something I’ve heard.”

Gray cocked an eyebrow. “You know how I like your news flashes.”

“Well, this one I’m not happy about. You recall those stories in the paper about certain internal disputes in the Senate? Written by the acerbic and nosy Ms. Anna Shaw?”

“I’ve read them. Sounds like you boys have a leak.”

“We do. And I know who it is.” John finished his drink, the ice tinkling musically against the crystal. “I’m afraid one of my fellow senators is having an affair with Shaw.”

Gray poured himself another shot of bourbon. “And you know this because?”

“The lovely Anna was seen coming out of the man’s hotel room. During the Democratic National Convention.”

“How does that equate with an affair? Maybe he was giving her an interview.”

“It was 4:00 a.m. She was wearing a raincoat with nothing under it. And it wasn’t the first time.”

“Well, that was stupid. On both their parts.” He brought his drink up to his lips.

“It was Senator Adams.”

Gray froze, looking over the rim of his glass. “Excuse me?”

“Roger Adams.”

As in Allison’s husband? “You sure?”

“You think I’d make up something like this?”

“Son of a bitch.” Gray put the bourbon down. Allison and Roger Adams were hardly frontrunners for marital problems. Not by a long shot.

“Now, it’s none of my business who sleeps with who on the Hill.” John started to move around the room, looking at the leather-bound books on the shelves. “God knows, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting an adulterer in that town. But I resent the hell out of a man who cheats on his wife while holding himself out to be a feminist. Adams is trying to bring another Equal Rights Amendment to the floor, for God’s sakes. He’s made a point to support women’s causes.”

God damn, Gray thought. Roger Adams.

Never would have seen that one coming. And Allison probably wouldn’t have, either.

John rattled his ice. “I have to tell you, the fact that the idiot picks a reporter and spills our secrets to her while he’s taking her to bed really ticks me off.”

The senator paused and looked across the room. There was calculation in his face and Gray’s eyes narrowed.

“I have the feeling you’re not just passing along gossip,” Gray drawled. “Don’t beat around the bush, Becks. What do you want from me?”

The Majority Leader had the grace to flush. “My fellow senators come to you for advice. They seek you out not just because you’re smart, but because you’ve gotten the most powerful of them elected. I want you to warn the others. Adams isn’t to be trusted. Not anymore. I’d do it myself, but they’d look through party lines and figure I was just trying to screw the guy.”

Gray smiled sardonically. “And you’re not? Not even considering he blocked your attempt to loosen up the campaign finance reform bill in the last session?”

“See, this is my point exactly. That’s what everyone will think when really I’m just trying to keep my Senate protected.”

His Senate. Not the American people’s.

Gray felt a wave of exhaustion come over him, like someone had thrown a wet wool blanket over his head. He was getting tired of Capitol Hill and its intrigues, he really was.

“Look, Gray, I’ll give you the names of my sources. Check out the stories yourself. And then help me put an end to these salacious articles. That reporter is making a mockery out of our political process and that gum-flapping Democrat is helping her do it.”

The door to the study burst open.

Joy pulled up short, an empty tray hanging from her hand. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was looking for the library.”

Becks smiled paternally, the hard tone in his voice disappearing completely. “Not to worry, my dear. An interruption from the likes of you is no hardship.”

She looked flustered. “I’ll just come back for the empty glasses in here later—”

“Not at all. I’m leaving.” The senator put down his drink and smiled at Gray. “We’ll talk soon and thank you again for including me tonight. It meant a lot just to see Walter again. He did so much for me when I was getting started.”

As Becks left, Joy stared at his face as if trying to place the man. Then she shook her head. “I’ll sweep this room later.”

She turned away. And Gray couldn’t let her go.

“Joy. Wait.”

She hesitated, back straight as a wall. When he went over to her, she did not look at him.

Good Lord, she was so lovely.

The light from overhead fell down on the delicate planes of her face and brought out the golds and pale reds of her hair. Her long, slender neck was set off by the short white-lace collar of the uniform, her collarbones just barely exposed by the cut of the blouse. Even at the end of a long night, she smelled like lavender.

Gray burned.

“Let me help you,” he said roughly.

Let me kiss you, he thought. Just once.

Impatience flickered over her features, tightening the lips he stared at. “That’s not necessary. Really.”

As if she’d have preferred to be aided by a gorilla.

“I want to.”

He polished off the bourbon he’d put down, reached for the senator’s glass, which was close by, and cocked his eyebrow. She brought up the tray and he put the crystal on it.

“I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, you’ve already pointed that out,” he murmured, taking the tray from her.

Joy swallowed a groan. She didn’t want to get anywhere near Gray. Not now. Not when she was trying so hard to put her crush to bed.

She winced. Bad choice of words.

“Shall we?” he said in that low rumble of his.

She glanced up and was unable to look further than the top button of his shirt.

The width of his shoulders was enough to block her view of the room entirely and he towered over her, making her feel small. She looked down a little, hoping he’d feel shorter that way. Instead she just noticed that he’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were muscular with veins that ran down into his long, sure hands.

“Don’t you have something else to do?” she demanded.

Couldn’t he go save the world or something and let her finish her job in peace?

“Nope.”

Joy gritted her teeth and walked across the hall into a parlor. Going through the beautifully appointed room, she picked up empties and put them on the tray he held. As they moved around, she could feel him looming behind her and she could have sworn his eyes were on her body.

Stop it, she told herself. She knew damn well that was just her fantasies talking. He was only helping her out, probably thought he was being chivalrous.

When they were finished there, they went into the library she’d been looking for in the first place. With only the sound of his loafers and her flats on the marble floor, the silence started to get to her.

She couldn’t stand it anymore.

“So who was that man you were talking to? I feel like I’ve seen him before.”

“Just a politician.”

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-blond 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.

Remembering the feel of her made a groan rise in his throat and he was grateful for the sound of the engine.

He’d been watching her as she’d moved, the swaying of her hips, the shifting of her shoulders. Her legs were long and slender, and every time she bent this way or that, the skirt had ridden up a little higher on her thighs.

At the moment they’d come into contact, he’d been picturing himself putting the tray aside, sitting her down on one of the leather couches and parting her legs with his hands. He’d wanted to fall to his knees and kiss his way up the inside of her thighs. Feel her hands burrowing deep into his hair as she urged him closer to her heat. The image had been hot, wild, totally insane.

Yeah, and then he’d bumped into her.

She must have felt what she did to him. How could she have missed it?

And if it hadn’t been clear then, it must have been obvious when she’d wheeled around. He’d known his lust was showing on his face, but everything had happened so fast, the meeting of their bodies followed by her quick spin, that he hadn’t been able to strong-arm his expression into any semblance of neutrality.

No wonder she didn’t want to be alone with him.

Maybe that was why he was so hell-bent on taking her home. He wanted to prove to them both that he could take care of her. Because back in that library, he sure hadn’t been thinking like Gallahad and she’d caught him red-handed.

Or red-blooded, as the case had been.

Gray felt something tickle his face. A strand of her hair had escaped the loose knot at her neck and was dancing in the wind. He reached for the silken length, but she caught it first and tucked it behind her ear.

“Sorry,” she said.

He wasn’t. He wanted her hair down and all over his body.

Gray reached up and massaged the bridge of his nose.

“Are you okay?” she said gruffly, as if she didn’t like being concerned for him. “You look like you’re really cold or something.”

No, he wasn’t cold. He could have jumped buck-naked into an ice bath and had the damn thing boiling in a matter of minutes.

“Gray?”

“I’m fine.” Yup, for a guy being tortured by his libido, he was just Jim-dandy.

He took his hand off the steering wheel and gave the throttle a push to speed them up. She might have a point about getting the ride over with.

“Your father seemed to enjoy himself tonight.”

“He did.”

There was a pause. “He looks better than when you and he ate at White Caps last month.”

“He’s coming along. It’s been hard for him.”

“And you, too, I imagine. I, ah, I saw how carefully you watched him tonight.”

The words were soft. He looked at her.

Joy was staring out at the lake.

“How’s your brother doing?” he asked, thinking she must know all about how tough it was to see someone suffer through rehab and recovery.

“He had another operation two weeks ago. They replaced his tibia with a titanium rod and he still might need to go back under the knife again. They’re not sure. He’s also been struggling with a post-op infection.” She pulled up the edge of the blanket and began braiding the fringe. “He’s been so brave. He never complains even though it’s obvious he’s in a great deal of pain. I think the hardest thing for us is the fact that he’s a terrible patient. He won’t take his meds a lot of the time. He drinks too much. And he never talks about what happened.”

Gray wanted to reach out for her hand.

“I’m really sorry,” he said instead.

Her eyes came to his face. “Thank you.”

“You take care of your grandmother, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility.”

Joy shrugged. “No one would tend to her as well as I’m able to. And she really can’t be alone. The dementia has taken away most of her internal logic and reasoning and replaced them with paranoia. We’re trying her on a new medication right now and I hope it calms her. I hate to see her distressed.”

“You’re a very good person, Joy,” he said abruptly.

She shrugged. “Alex and Grand-Em are my family. Of course I’d take care of them.”

“There’s no ‘of course’ about it.” His mother had had no compunction about letting others worry about him. Hell, when he’d contracted viral pneumonia in first grade, and had spent two weeks in a pediatric intensive care unit trying to breathe, he’d seen the woman only once. “They’re fortunate to have you care so much.”

Joy looked away. They were quiet for a while, but some of the tension had been eased.

It wasn’t until White Caps came into view that he broke the silence.

“I’m sorry about what happened tonight.”

She gave a short laugh. “This boat ride hasn’t been too hard to endure.”

“No, in the library.”

Joy stiffened. “Oh, that.”

Yeah, that.

“I’m glad Cassandra came in when she did,” he muttered, replaying the scene in his head and having to shift in his seat.

“So am I.” Her voice had an edge.

So he had offended her, he thought.

Gray cleared his throat. “I don’t want you to think that I’d ever…take advantage of a woman.”

“Believe me, I don’t,” she said dryly.

As he pulled into the dock, he knew she was angry again, but he didn’t regret making the apology. It had been the right thing to do.

He threw a rope around a cleat to keep the boat in place and then lifted out her bike. He wanted to say something else, but she didn’t give him the chance.

“I can take that up,” she said quickly. “Thanks for the ride.”

And without a backward glance, she rushed away, the wheels of her bike bumping along the dock planks.

He watched her until she was all the way up to the house, heading around the corner, disappearing out of sight.

He had an absurd impulse to run after her.

But then what?

Then he would take her into his arms and pull her so close that he’d feel every breath she took. And he’d kiss her until neither one of them could stand up.

Get in this boat, he told himself. And go home, Bennett.

It was another ten minutes before he could make himself leave.

Joy marched up the lawn, grip tight on the bars of her bike.

God, he’d apologized.

How humiliating was that? As if she needed the confirmation that what he’d been feeling had had nothing to do with her. Sure he’d been happy to see Cassandra! Happier still, no doubt, to hear she was heading for bed. Because he’d clearly been thinking of the redhead when he’d become…well, aroused.

And of course, he didn’t take advantage of women. A man like him didn’t have to, because who would turn him down? God, as much as she hated to admit it, she wouldn’t have. If he’d reached out to her, she would have stepped right into his arms and opened herself up to him, even though he’d had another woman in his mind.

Could the situation with him get any worse? she wondered. Her fantasies had been bad enough, but now she actually knew what his body felt like.

Okay, so it had only been for a second, but the impression was indelible.

And the idea he was going home to put that hard length of his to good use was a total nightmare.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Her date with Tom tomorrow night was a godsend. It really was. Honestly. She needed to try to connect with someone she could actually—

The toe of her shoe caught a tree root and she pitched forward. Dropping the bike and pin-wheeling her arms, she managed to recover her balance before she face-planted into a pachysandra bed. But absurdly, tears pricked her eyes.

She wanted to curse.

Except she didn’t know why meeting Gray’s lover should bother her so much. The man was completely out of her league and she knew it. He was sophisticated and urbane and…she was a virgin, for heaven’s sake.

Joy put her hands over her face, wincing at her own inexperience. It wasn’t that she hadn’t had boyfriends. There had been a few, back in high school. But when college had rolled around, she’d had to work to help pay her way. The guys she’d met then were into partying and having fun. Between her course load and her two jobs, she’d been exhausted most of the time and not exactly the poster girl for a happy-go-lucky relationship. And as soon as she’d graduated, she’d come home to take care of Grand-Em. Saranac Lake was a small community so there weren’t a lot of eligible guys her own age to date. Besides, taking care of Grand-Em was an around-the-clock kind of job.

So how was she supposed to have found a man she really wanted to be with?

God, she was a fossil. At the age of twenty-seven, she was a total fossil.

Joy dropped her hands and glanced up at the sky. The stars overhead were blurry.

She should have known right off the bat that the night was going to end badly.

Getting hit with a tortellini air raid the minute she’d walked into the man’s house could not be, had not been, a harbinger of good things.

As she forced herself to pick up the bike and start walking, she thought at least one prediction of hers had come true. She wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.

So she might as well get back to work on her sister’s wedding gown.

Chapter Four

The next morning, Joy threw down her pin cushion as Frankie tore out of the bedroom. In the wedding gown.

“Frankie! Wait, you can’t—”

“I have to catch Stu before he leaves! His phone is out.”

Joy leaped to her feet and ran after her sister, figuring at least she could grab the skirting and keep it off the ground. Assuming she could catch up. When she finally got within range, Frankie was flying out the kitchen door. Together, they hightailed it for Stu’s produce truck.

Wiry, ancient Stu was about to get in the cab, John Deere cap pulled down low, coveralls hanging off him like a sack. The old man was a typical Adirondack woodsman. Which meant if he was surprised to see Frankie coming at him in a wedding gown, you’d never know it.

“Nate and Spike need a special delivery of arugula,” Frankie said breathlessly. “Is there any way—”

“Yup.”

“By Tuesday?”

“Yup.”

“Stu, you are a magician! Thank you.”

There was a pause. “Yup.”

Stu doffed his cap and climbed up into the truck. Just as he was about to take off, a car came down the driveway.

It was a big BMW. Gray’s.

Joy nearly dropped the dress, at least until the lovely redhead got out. Then she began squeezing the fabric in her fists. She dropped the skirting before she got it sweat stained.

Frankie lifted a hand in greeting. “Good morning.”

“Hi.” Cassandra smiled in a small, tight way, as if she were uncomfortable. But then her eyes narrowed on the gown. “Good Lord, that’s marvelous.”

Frankie did a twirl. The white satin skirt billowed out as if the fabric knew it was time to show off. “Isn’t it?”

“Who’s it by? Narciso Rodriguez? No, Michael Kors.”

“Her.” Frankie pointed at Joy.

Cassandra’s eyes widened. “You did this?”

Joy nodded.

The redhead walked around Frankie, inspecting seams and folds. “You designed and made it yourself?”

“It’s a hobby.”

“You’re very good. Do you have any others?”

“Gowns? No. Designs? Tons of them. I could wallpaper the house with what I’ve sketched.”

“You’re quite good.” Cassandra smiled more widely, but the expression faded as she looked at Frankie. “I probably should have called first. I, uh, I was hoping Alex would see me.”

Frankie nodded. “Come on in. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

As they walked over to the kitchen door, Cassandra smiled at Joy. “And maybe afterward, you could show me some more of your work?”

Joy shrugged as they went inside, figuring the woman was just being polite. “I was refining a few sketches this morning during breakfast. They’re over here on the table.”

Cassandra went right to them and her focus was so intense, it was intimidating.

Joy sank down in a chair, wishing she hadn’t been so quick to offer up her work. No one but her family had ever seen her designs. And here was a woman dressed in an Escada jacket and slacks pouring over an amateur’s pathetic scratchings. Joy wanted to grab the drawings. Hide them. Protect them.

Cassandra went through the loose pile, sliding the thick sheets one on top of another. Joy wanted to point out errors, mistakes, places where she thought she could do better. But she couldn’t find her voice.

Besides, no doubt Cassandra would find the faults herself.

The woman looked up.

Please don’t be cruel, Joy thought. Let me down softly.

“These are wonderful,” the woman said, glancing back to the sketches. “You have an old-fashioned approach, particularly in the bodices, but the total effect comes across as fresh. Your color combinations are vivid and the elegance of line is…masterful.”

Joy went a little dizzy.

Cassandra smiled and looked across the table with open, friendly eyes. “You’re quite good. Perhaps better than good. Where did you go to school?”

“UVM.”

“I didn’t know they had a design program.”

“I majored in business.”

The redhead frowned. “Then who taught you this?”

“Well…I suppose my grandmother’s ballgowns and day suits from the fifties. She wore Mainboucher, St. Laurent. Chanel, of course. I’ve deconstructed all of her clothes. Taken them apart, laid them out panel by panel, studied how the structure of the garment was created in the seams and the folds and the gathers. Then I’ve stitched them back together. She wears them still. She’s—she’s ill, and if she doesn’t look her best, the dementia gets worse. We can’t afford new ones of the quality she once had so I just learned how to patch and preserve. In the process, I guess I got an education.”

“How extraordinary.” There was respect and compassion in Cassandra’s voice.

Well, this was just terrible, Joy thought.

First the woman turns up on Gray’s arm. Then she turns out to be a nice person.

God, as petty as it was, it would somehow be easier to dislike the widow.

Frankie came down the stairs, flushed as if she’d been in an argument.

“I’m sorry, Cassandra. He’s not awake.”

“He doesn’t want to see me, you mean,” the woman said in a small voice.

“I’m so sorry.”

Cassandra shook her head. “I’m sure it’s too raw for him still. Thank you for trying.”

“He’s just…” Frankie’s mouth thinned. “He’s hardened so much, he won’t listen to anyone.”

“Don’t be angry with him. I’m sure he’s doing the best he can.”

“Yeah, well, he won’t heal if he doesn’t let people in.”

“That’s his choice.” Cassandra took a deep breath. “But I shouldn’t be telling you what to do about your own brother.”

“You’re the only one outside of the family who has any right to an opinion,” Frankie said quietly. “I know I said it last night, but I’m so sorry for…everything you lost.”

“Thank you.” Cassandra’s eyes closed briefly. And then as if she were pulling herself out of a spiral, she looked at the table. “These sketches are truly wonderful, Joy. You have a spectacular eye.”

After goodbyes were exchanged, Joy and Frankie stood in the kitchen doorway and watched the BMW go around the bend in the driveway.

“I really liked her,” Joy said, heading back to the kitchen table. Her papers were in an orderly pile now. After Cassandra had looked at them, the woman had been careful to gather the drawings together, stacking one on top of the other. As if they were art.

“She is lovely,” Frankie said. “And she liked your stuff.”

Joy rifled through her work, looking at the images with fresh eyes.

“What time is Tom picking you up?” Frankie asked.

“What? Oh, seven. And thanks for watching Grand-Em for me.”

“My pleasure. It’s been too long since you’ve been out of this house and Tom’s a—”

“Really nice guy. I know. You’ve told me that.” And Joy knew it too well.

“There’s nothing to be defensive about,” Frankie said gently. “What’s going on, Joy? Are you nervous?”

“No. Not really. Now let’s get you out of that dress, okay? I’m living in terror of the grass stains you may have gotten on the skirt.”

“Are you sure you’re not worried about tonight? It’s been a while since you’ve gone on a date.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Joy winced at her sharp tone. Biting her sister’s head off wasn’t normally something she did, but being reminded that she was going to be alone with Tom made her feel raw.

Probably because he wasn’t the guy she wished she was having dinner with and she felt badly about that. And also because she couldn’t have the man she wanted.

Neither of which was her sister’s fault.

“Sorry. I take that back, Frankie.”

“It’s okay. I suppose I just want you to have what I found.”

Joy took her sister’s hand. “That’s because you’ve always sought the best for me and you’re totally in love with a great guy. But maybe that kind of thing’s not in store for me, you know? And if it isn’t, that’s okay. Come on. Out of that dress.”

But it wasn’t okay. Not really. Somehow going on a date with a nice guy she really should like made her feel lonely. But Frankie was right. Even if Tom wasn’t the man she was going to end up married to, Joy needed to get out of the house.

Although by the time six-thirty rolled around, she almost had to cancel. Grand-Em was all worked up because she’d misplaced her first edition copy of Jane Eyre. The trouble was, she’d lost the book in 1963 while traveling abroad. Frankie insisted on handling the crisis so Joy could get ready and all was eventually calmed when Grand-Em took to reading the operating instructions for the new backup generator they’d bought.

The relief Joy felt when it looked as if she might have an out seemed like an insult to Tom so she became determined to make an extra effort. While blow-drying her hair, she talked to herself about giving people a chance, seeing past the obvious, valuing the steady over the exciting and dangerous. She even tried to channel various fairy tales with happy endings. The trouble with that, though, was Gray kept showing up in the prince suit with the glass slipper in his hand.

When Tom’s pickup rambled up to the house, she went downstairs, said goodbye to Frankie and Nate, and headed outside.

Tom came around and opened the door for her. He was freshly showered, wearing a button-down shirt that was painfully free of wrinkles. His khakis were likewise right off the ironing board. He looked like a man who had taken special care with his clothes and was uncomfortable in them, either because of all the effort he’d gone to or because he wished he had better options.

“You know what I think we should do?” he said as he got behind the wheel. “There’s a concert in the square tonight. They’re serving barbecue. We could walk around, listen to the music, eat on the grass.”

“That’d be great.”

He put the truck in gear and looked across the seat at her. “You look really pretty, Joy.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She smelled Windex, as if he’d cleaned the cab for her. “Thanks, Tom.”

Gray parked the BMW in front of Barclay’s Liquors, taking a space as it was vacated by a minivan. The town square was hopping tonight. A couple of white tents covered about half of the two-acre stretch of grass. Underneath them, people sat at picnic tables, eating barbecue that was being cooked over open flames on big, flat grills. In between the tents, a twenty-piece swing band was set up in Saranac Lake’s signature Victorian gazebo, its righteous horn section ripping through a Count Basie standard. People were dancing on a parquet floor lit with torches.

“Does the town do this often?” Cassandra asked as they crossed the street.

“Once a month or so in the summer. This must be the last one. In another couple weeks, it’s going to be too cold.”

Three teenage girls skittered by wearing glow-in-the-dark, green neon necklaces. In their rush, they moved over the ground with the same restless excitement and chatter as the loose, colorful leaves swirling in the chilly wind. The sound of their laughter made Gray smile as he and Cass ambled over to the tents. Smoke, infused with molasses and cayenne pepper, drifted into his nose. His stomach checked in with a grumble of approval.

“When are you going back to D.C.?” Cassandra asked.

“Very soon. I need to go to New York next week and then I’ll move Papa down.”

“Are you teaching that poli-sci seminar at Columbia again this semester?”

“Yeah. They asked me back.”

“We’ll have to have dinner. Maybe Allison and Roger can join us.”

“Sounds good,” Gray replied, even though the thought of the Adamses made him wince. He still couldn’t believe the adultery story, and was hoping when he looked into the facts Beckin had given him, that it would all be just a bunch of BS.

As he and Cass stopped in front of the band, he glanced over at her. She was staring at the couples that were dancing. “You ready for some food or do you want to risk a little swinging with me?”

“Sounds good.”

“Let’s try eating first,” he said gently. Cassandra had been remote since going to see Alex Moorehouse. Gray gathered that the meeting hadn’t gone well, but she didn’t seem to want to talk about it so he didn’t press.

As they got in line, he looked over at the people in front of the band. There were a couple of folks who could really dance, the men swinging the women over their shoulders, twirling their dates or wives around in circles. There was one couple who were damn good. The guy handled his woman as though she were an extension of his own body and she responded to him as if thinking of the same move at the same time he did.

Gray stopped moving.

Good Lord, it was Joy.

As the song came to a fevered end, that White Caps cook spun her around, flipped her over his back and then dipped her low, holding her in place. Joy hung on to his shoulders, head back, breathlessly laughing. Her hair drifted down, almost touching the floor as she looked up at her partner.

Young and free. So beautiful, she hurt Gray’s eyes.

The man slowly lifted her to the vertical, his hands lingering on the small of her back.

Gray ground his teeth. He had a stupid, near overwhelming urge to march across the dance floor and peel the other guy off her. Roughly. And sure enough, he felt his weight shifting to his left foot and his right knee bending up. As if his body were not under his control.

He forced himself to look away.

Her boyfriend had every right to touch her. And given the way she’d held on to him during that flashy finale, she wanted the guy’s hands on her.

Damn it.

“Gray? What’s the matter?”

Evidently he’d spoken out loud. “Nothing.”

“We’re up. What do you want?”

Now if that wasn’t a loaded question.

When they’d gone through the line, they took their food over to a picnic table and squeezed in with a couple and their two kids.

Gray bit into a steaming rib. Spicy and piping hot from the grill, the burn on his lips and tongue was distracting, but didn’t go far enough.

Then again, he’d need someone to go Medieval on his ass to get Joy off his mind.

“So tell me something,” Cassandra said as she picked up a piece of chicken, her pinkies cocked.

“Hmm?”

“How long have you wanted her?”

Gray froze.

Okay. So now his pork tasted like an old shoe.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Bennett. I saw how you were looking at Joy just now. And last night.”

Gray stabbed some coleslaw with his plastic fork. Thought about putting the subject on ice. Didn’t.

“You see that guy with her? The young one?”

Cassandra nodded.

“You see how happy he makes her?”

“I see how much she enjoys the dancing. I don’t know how much of it is him.”

Gray leveled his eyes across the picnic table. “Don’t split hairs. She’s glowing. You honestly think I could make her feel that way?”

“Well, yes.”

“Wrong. A girl like that is going to want more than sex, Cass. Hell, she deserves more than that. And flyboy with the smooth moves over there no doubt has love on his tongue and a ring in his pocket. A couple of nights is all I can offer her. Maybe not even that.”

“Don’t shortchange yourself.”

“You know my history and people don’t change.”

“Not true.”

He rolled his eyes and poked at his food. “Fine. I’m not going to change. She’s not my type and I like her too much to—”

“Hi, Gray. Cassandra.”

His head snapped up. Joy and the cook were walking by the table.

As she lifted her hand in a tentative greeting, Gray’s eyes went over every inch of her black sweater and her worn blue jeans. Her hair had curled up around her face from exertion and her cheeks were flushed.

Oh, sweet, beautiful girl, he thought, fingers tightening on his plastic fork until it bent in two. He dropped the thing quickly and wiped his mouth.

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