Until You're Mine

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.