Until You're Mine. Jessica Bird

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ