The Rebel

by J. R. Ward

  She tiptoed over to him, slid the book from his hands and turned off the lamp. As she got in next to him, he let out an unintelligible sentence, dragged her body as close to his as he could get it, and started to snore softly. She’d gotten used to the sounds he made. To the way his body weighted down the mattress so she always ended up in a hole next him. To his warmth and his smell.

  With cold dread, she imagined herself having to adjust to sleeping without him.

  Hours later, she must have had some kind of nightmare. She woke up in the early morning, damp with sweat, tears on her face. Nate was stroking her hair, looking worried. When she reached for him, they made love—the sweet, slow gentle kind.

  They were lying together, with her body draped boneless and utterly satisfied over his, when he asked her what her dream had been about.

  “I don’t know.” She stroked his chest. “I think I was in an old house. Going from room to room. There was someone I was supposed to find, but I just couldn’t get to them.”

  “I’ve had dreams like that. The searching variety. I had a lot of them after…” He hesitated. “After Celia left.”

  Celia. Her name had been Celia.

  Frankie was tempted to ask all sorts of questions, but what was the point? The events had marked him and doing a postmortem on what had caused the scars wasn’t going to change anything.

  Instead, she found herself wanting to tell him that she loved him.

  The realization that she had fallen for him didn’t really seem sudden or out of the blue. It had been emerging for a time, slowly inching free of her unconsciousness, coming to the forefront of her mind.

  She loved him.

  The words were so close to breaching her lips, carried up out of her heart on a complicated wave of awe and bittersweet sorrow. So her mouth would stay closed, she kissed him, and lingered, keeping their lips together.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  NATE HAD JUST GONE DOWN to start breakfast when Frankie thought she heard him cursing. She froze, her pants halfway up her legs. Yup, that low rumble was him letting loose a few good ones. Yanking a shirt on over her head and throwing on some shoes, she quickly descended the stairs and nearly tripped on her own feet when she walked into the kitchen.

  At first, she couldn’t even comprehend what she was looking at.

  There were two inches of water across the floor and more was coming in from a huge hole in the ceiling. Sheetrock covered the stove and the counters.

  “Oh, my God,” she breathed in horror.

  Nate climb up onto a countertop and peered into the rafters. “A pipe must have burst hours ago and the damn thing has to be hooked into the supply line. You need time and a constant supply of water to make this kind of mess.”

  Of course. Her shower last night. No pressure.

  “You better check the walk-in,” Nate said. “If the compressor got wet, it’s probably shorted out.”

  She crossed the room, splashing as she went, the water soaking into her sneakers. Sure enough, the compressor wasn’t working and there was a faint burning smell in the air.

  This cannot be happening, she thought. It just couldn’t be real. Any minute now the alarm clock was going to go off and they’d have a chuckle about her vivid imagination.

  Any minute.

  A sloshing noise cut through her stupid optimism.

  George looked worried as he came into the room. “I turned the sink off last night. Really, I did. At least I think I did.”

  Hearing his voice helped her flip into crisis mode. She went to her office and called the plumber and the electrician. When she came back to the kitchen, Nate had gotten out mops and buckets, but was shaking his head.

  “We need a water pump. Is there a U-Rent-It place around here?”

  She got lost for a moment looking into the rafters. Water was relentlessly snaking into her house. How much was this going to cost to repair? Thousands. Tens of thousands. Her stomach rolled. She had a home-owner’s insurance policy, but old, rotting plumbing fell into the act-of-God category.

  Actually, those rotting pipes were more like Lucifer’s territory.

  “Frankie?”

  “Ah, there’s one in the next town over. The plumber said he’d be here in fifteen minutes. If you can watch him, I’ll go and get the equipment.”

  Nate nodded. “This doesn’t smell like sewage, but the crud in that ceiling is nasty. I’m going to have to disinfect everything before we can serve food out of here. You should assume we’re closed down at least until tomorrow afternoon. Probably longer.”

  She thought of all the income they were going to lose. The guests were going to be due a refund for some of their payments. White Caps was a bed and breakfast after all. And they’d been making money hand over fist in the dining room, but that was going to stop, effective immediately.

  As Frankie stared at the dirty puddle she was standing in, she realized it was all over. There was no way to meet the mortgage payments now. White Caps was lost.

  She must have moaned or something because suddenly Nate was pulling her into his shoulder. As all of the fight left her, the only thing keeping her standing was his strong arm around her waist.

  JOY WAVED AS THE HONDA drove off. It had taken a half hour to convince Frankie that she could leave with Alex and Nate to go see the orthopedic surgeon and everything would still be under control. Because truly, there was nothing to be done. The plumber had shut off the water supply at the source and determined that the whole pipe system in the back end of the house needed to be replaced. The only good news was that he’d been able to jerry-rig a way for the bathrooms in the front to get water so the guests were taken care of.

  Reservations for the dining room had been cancelled indefinitely. Between replacing the walk-in compressor, installing the new plumbing and putting up fresh Sheetrock, they’d be lucky to reopen the kitchen in a week. But at least Frankie was handling the whole thing really well. She was utterly calm, even when the plumber had told her his part of the job would be upwards of $15,000. Assuming everything went smoothly.

  Joy headed back inside. The guests were eating lunch in town, George had gone upstairs for a nap, and Grand-Em was in her room, rereading the dance cards from her 1939 debut at the Plaza in New York. For Joy, having a few moments to herself was an incredible luxury and she decided to take a swim.

  After changing into her bikini, she went down to the dock and was about to dive in when she heard her name being called.

  That voice. His voice.

  She turned around and squinted into the sun, thinking she had to be hallucinating.

  But good Lord, was that Gray Bennett? Walking down the lawn to her?

  Joy lunged for her towel and wrapped it around herself. Being practically naked in front of him was not going to improve her verbal skills.

  Which had pretty much drained out of the soles of her feet and into the cribbing anyway.

  God, he was too beautiful to look at. Dressed in tennis whites and with his dark hair all shiny in the sunlight, he looked powerful and sexy. With his sunglasses hiding his eyes, he seemed calm and in control, but she was curious to find as he got closer that his harsh, hawklike face was somewhat tense.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked as he hit the dock.

  She opened her mouth and words came out in a ramble. “We had a little plumbing problem in the kitchen so the guests are out to lunch and Frankie took my brother to Albany.”

  “Alex is in town?”

  “He was in an accident.”

  Gray frowned and took off the glasses. His blue eyes glowed with intelligence. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is he all right?”

  “We hope he will be. What are you doing here?” She winced. Way to be welcoming. Maybe she should kick him in the shins while she was at it. “What I mean is—”

  He smiled. “My father’s birthday is in the middle of September and we’re going to have the party up here this year. I was wondering if White Caps catered.”

  They
never had before, but she couldn’t imagine Frankie would turn down business, especially now. “Why don’t I have my sister give you a call?”

  “Sounds good.” He put his sunglasses back on and his head tilted down a little. As crazy as it was, she had the feeling he was staring at her. And that he’d covered his eyes because he didn’t want her to know it.

  “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 pass 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 hit by a wild, illicit fantasy of what one of those thighs would feel like parting her knees and then brushing 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 sunglasses. “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 damn 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 grass. “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, Cassandra, 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.

  Damn 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 flashing eyes—that special, rare innocence drifting off of her like sweet perfume.

  She made him feel ancient.

  And hot as hell.

  He groaned, shifting in the leather seat. What the hell was he doing, fantasizing about Joy Moorehouse? He’d known her forever. Good God, he could remember her in pigtails as she’d danced across the grass 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.

  God, 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 Washington cesspool for a decade and a half.

  Dens of iniquity just did not spawn men of honor, he thought. And the righteous never survived in them.

  Politics was all about playing hardball and he had one hell of a vicious arm, as well as a fantastic accuracy rate. Which was why he was paid so damn 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.

  Sweet, innocent girls were not safe with the likes of him. He’d broken enough hearts to know that his attractions were intense and short-lived. He moved on as soon as he got what he wanted, and though he didn’t like his behavior, he hadn’t been able to break the pattern and he wasn’t into lying. No woman had captured his attention for long, and when they asked him how he felt, he was honest.

  Which had led him to being slapped once or twice.

  He closed his eyes. And saw Joy standing on the dock before she’d become aware of his presence, that bikini of hers giving nearly everything away.

  Gray cursed and started the car. All he needed was to be caught sitting in her driveway staring into space with a hard-on. Yeah, that would be just terrific.

  As he headed out onto Route 22, he told himself that as soon as he and his father headed back to Washington, everything would return to normal. He’d forget all about those wide, lovely eyes of hers. Within days of being in D.C., he wouldn’t think of her at all.

  FRANKIE LET NATE DRIVE HOME from Albany because she was exhausted and distracted. As they got on the Northway, she glanced over her shoulder once again.

  Alex was out cold in the back of the car. After all the tests the doctors had put him through, he looked like he’d been to hell and back, his skin sallow under his tan, his eyes sunken. His whole body had been shaky as he’d gotten out of the hospital’s wheelchair and maneuvered himself into the backseat at the end of the ordeal. The orthopedic surgeon had decided to operate on his leg and ankle next week and his recovery was going to be a long and very expensive one.

&n
bsp; Thank God he’d been smart enough to get himself health-care coverage a few years ago.

  Frankie reached out to stroke his arm, but held back, not wanting to wake him. Although it had been hard to see him suffer through all those tests, what pained her more than anything else was how unclear his future was. It was hard to tell whether or not his career as a professional sailor was over. She thought he suspected it was, however, and that the loss must be staggering.

  “Is he asleep?” Nate asked.

  She nodded and settled back into her seat.

  “Listen,” Nate continued, “I’ve been thinking about the kitchen situation.”

  So had she. The disaster had been in the back of her mind all afternoon. As had its implications.

  “I’m selling,” she said softly.

  His head jacked around. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Why?”

  “Why the hell do you think? I’m out of money,” she snapped. With a ragged breath, she put a hand to her forehead and leaned against the window. “I’m sorry.”

  Nate’s palm, warm and sure, covered her knee. “We can make it. I’ll get us back up and rolling as soon as I can.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t say we. Please just…don’t.”

  His touch evaporated.

  “I want to help you,” he said with an edge.

  “I know you do.” But you’re leaving in three weeks. “Except it really is over. I called Mike Roy before we left and told him to get in touch with the Englishman.”

  “Ah, hell, Frankie.” Nate’s voice was rough.

  “It’s my only option. Even if I could afford to replace the plumbing, there are a hundred other things in that house that are on the verge of exploding. White Caps needs someone who can make a serious capital investment. We’re talking hundreds of thousands of dollars. And besides, even if I could squeak by on the mortgage this year, I’ve got a huge tax bill to face in the spring. This season’s business was…extraordinary, thanks to you. But next year? We’re not going to be able to sustain the momentum. I need to face reality.”