Part 23 (1/2)

”Mind if I ask you something?” he said.

Her breath caught. ”Sure.”

And let's hope it's out to dinner, she thought.

”How old are you?”

”Twenty-seven.”

”I remember being twenty-seven. It's a great age.”

As if he had decades on her.

Joy scowled. ”Yeah, well, I feel like I'm forty.”

Because being in the full-time, eldercare business would do that to a person.

”Well, you don't look it,” he said dryly. ”Not even close. You could barely pa.s.s for your own age.”

The idea he thought she was overly young rankled and she looked away from his too handsome face. Unfortunately, her eyes latched on to his legs. His thighs were striated with muscle and so were his calves. Fine dark hair marked his tanned skin.

With the force of a sucker punch, she was. .h.i.t by a wild, illicit fantasy of what one of those thighs would feel like parting her knees and then brus.h.i.+ng up against her core as he kissed her deep and hard. Her body roared to life, blood pumping, lungs getting tight.

And had someone poured warm honey all over her skin?

”It was nice seeing you again, Joy.” Gray's voice was professional-sounding, as if he were dismissing her.

”Can I ask you a question?” she blurted.

His eyebrows arched over the top of the sungla.s.ses. ”Fair's fair.”

”Why do you want to know how old I am?”

He didn't miss a beat. ”Actually, I was curious about Frankie. She's handling this place really well, but I figure she's only what, three years older than you?”

The fact that he'd only wanted to know about her sister put the kibosh on her inner harlot. Quick as a cold shower, she was back to normal. ”Yes. Yes, she is.”

”I look forward to her call. And I'm sure your kitchen will be back up and running in no time. Your plumber's working d.a.m.n hard.”

Joy frowned. The plumber had already left.

”Although by the sound of it, he's also a demolition expert.” Gray waved and turned away.

She watched him saunter down the dock. He moved smoothly and powerfully. She wanted to call him back. To ask him to swim with her or just to stay and talk about anything. Her sister. His father's party. The weather.

And then, as if he'd heard her wish, he stopped just as he reached the gra.s.s. ”Your brother,” he said over his shoulder.

”What about him?” She tugged up the edge of her towel.

There was a pause and then he seemed to shake himself to attention. ”The accident. Was it on Reese Cutler's sailboat?”

”Yes, it was. Did you know Alex's partner?”

”His wife, Ca.s.sandra, actually. Is Reese okay?”

”I'm so sorry,” she said gently. ”He was killed.”

Gray swore under his breath. ”That's awful. I'm sure Alex is devastated.”

”He is.”

”If there's anything I can do, let me know.”

”We will.”

He nodded his goodbye and strode up the lawn. His concern for her brother touched her heart, draining away some of the frustration. And as if panning for gold, she replayed their conversation, something she always did whenever they said even two words to each other. Something struck her. If he'd cared about how old Frankie was, why hadn't he just come out and asked her age?

And what was that thing about the plumber?

Joy hurried up to the house, and as she got closer, she heard a loud thumping sound. Coming from upstairs. Confused, she followed the sounds to the Lincoln Bedroom.

And jerked to a halt in the doorway.

George was driving a sledgehammer into the wall while Grand-Em stood next to him with great satisfaction.

”What are you doing!” Joy hollered.

Gray Bennett slid into his BMW and gripped the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white.He felt like a lecher. Ogling some woman-some girl like that.

d.a.m.n it, even though she'd said she felt like she was forty, Joy Moorehouse looked like she was barely out of high school. All lovely skin and luscious strawberry blond hair and flas.h.i.+ng eyes-that special, rare innocence drifting off of her like sweet perfume.

She made him feel ancient.

And hot as h.e.l.l.

He groaned, s.h.i.+fting in the leather seat. What the h.e.l.l was he doing, fantasizing about Joy Moorehouse? He'd known her forever. Good G.o.d, he could remember her in pigtails as she'd danced across the gra.s.s of the town square during some parade or other. And he'd always thought she was lovely, sure, but this summer, something had changed. He'd first noticed the difference when he'd seen her sitting in a car downtown in early July. He'd been struck by her smile as she'd spoken to her grandmother. It was so honest. Direct. Uncomplicated.

And just now while he'd looked into those wide, beautiful eyes of hers, he'd somehow been reminded of every dirty deed he'd ever done in his life. All the way back to when he'd stolen a BB gun from the Saranac Lake hardware store when he was eleven.

G.o.d, the list of bad things he'd done was a long one. Which was what you'd expect from a political operative who'd floated around the Was.h.i.+ngton cesspool for a decade and a half.

Dens of iniquity just did not sp.a.w.n men of honor, he thought. And the righteous never survived in them.

Politics was all about playing hardball and he had one h.e.l.l of a vicious arm, as well as a fantastic accuracy rate. Which was why he was paid so d.a.m.n well and feared by public servants all the way up the food chain into the Oval Office itself. He'd made a fortune, to add to the one he'd inherited, and for a long time, he'd been downright impressed with himself.

Lately, though, he'd begun to feel that he'd lost his way. Lost himself. And seeing Joy brought those dislocations into close, painful focus. He'd wanted to reach out and touch a little of her purity, as if that would cleanse him.

He gritted his teeth and thought there was going to be absolutely no touching.