He was fascinated by those eyes. They weren’t an ordinary dark blue like his own, but a lighter, softer shade that flashed with humor or temper and glowed with warmth when she was relaxed and happy. Despite the start they’d gotten on the heat of summer, her skin was milky white, satin dusted with rose across her cheekbones. He knew without touching her that it was as silky and tender all over, as smooth and sweet behind her knee as it was in the curve where her neck and shoulder met.
But that was impossible. He couldn’t know that—and yet, he did, with a subtle sense of surety that was far more than wishful thinking. And his body knew it, too, he thought wryly as he shifted his legs beneath the table.
“Mamie is my nickname,” Patsy said. “When Mike first began to babble, that’s what stuck. He called me that all his life and now Michael does, too.”
He nodded absently, still watching Catherine. “I know.”
“You do?” Catherine’s voice was as sharp as her eyes when she turned toward him. “How did you know that? You haven’t even met Michael yet.”
He shrugged, shaken by her perceptiveness as well as his own near-slip. He was going to have to be careful. Very, very careful, or she would figure out pretty quickly that something was funny. A sense of pride swelled within him. She’d always been one smart lady—
“Mr. MacInnes?” Her tone was questioning but as sharp as it had been before.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was distracted.”
“You said you knew we called Patsy Mamie?” It was a not-very-subtle interrogation.
“Perhaps he heard someone mention it at the ball, dear,” Patsy said. “Heaven knows all I talk about is Michael. Gray probably overheard me telling someone an anecdote without even realizing he’d heard it.” She smiled, anxiously looking from one to the other of them.
“You said it yourself, a few moments ago,” he said to Catherine. “I guess I just assumed that was what your son calls Patsy.”
“I see,” she murmured. She still looked suspicious but he could see that she didn’t want to upset her mother-in-law.
“How was your luncheon?” Patsy asked brightly.
Catherine’s face lit up, as if she’d forgotten something for a moment. “Wonderful! I have some very exciting news.” She unbuttoned the blue jacket and stripped it off, revealing a sleeveless ivory silk shell beneath it, neatly tucked into the waistband of the skirt. The silk was sheer enough that he could see the lacy swirls of some kind of slip thing beneath it, plunging low between her breasts. Yeow-za. He hoped she hadn’t taken that off anywhere else today.
Hanging the jacket over the back of the chair, Catherine sank into the seat before Gray could rise to help her. “The museum board has offered me a position as executive director.”
Patsy smiled vaguely. “That’s lovely, dear.” She turned to Gray. “Catherine volunteers her time with several organizations.” He realized the older woman didn’t understand what Catherine had just said.
“But this wouldn’t be volunteer work,” Catherine said. “As the executive director, I’ll be salaried. I’ll continue to be in charge of fund-raising.” She sounded thrilled.
“Congratulations,” he said. “What kind of duties will you have?”
“I’ll be overseeing the staff, managing the budget and handling publicity, but largely I’ll be concentrating on fund-raising.”
“How does the museum raise money?” he asked.
“Federal, state and local funding,” she said, and he got the impression she wasn’t delighted with his participation in the conversation, although she didn’t do anything that wasn’t perfectly correct and ladylike. “Special campaigns, fund-raisers, bequests, income from trusts and endowments…like all nonprofits, the museum cobbles together all kinds of funding.”
“In Philadelphia I sat on a couple of different boards,” he said. “I’m familiar with what it takes to scrape together operating funds.” He made himself a mental note to make an anonymous donation to the museum.
“Catherine?” Patsy’s voice sounded troubled. “Do you mean you’ll be working?”
“Yes.” Catherine’s voice was steady. “It’s only part-time. And I can do some of the work from home while Michael naps in the afternoons, so I don’t imagine it will be that big a problem. You and Aline shouldn’t have to help with Michael any more than you already do.”
“It’s not that. But…I never worked.” He realized Patsy Thorne wasn’t being snobbish or denigrating; she honestly didn’t understand why Catherine would want to work.
“It’s really going to be like in-depth volunteer work, Patsy,” said Catherine patiently. “I promise it won’t take time away from you or Michael or the other things I do.”
The statement appeared to reassure her mother-in-law. “You know,” she said, “since Gray is new to the area, you should take him to lunch sometime and tell him about all the local organizations that he might be interested in joining.”
“What a good idea, Patsy.” Catherine didn’t sound as if it were a good idea at all.
“I’m free for lunch tomorrow.” He didn’t know what made him say it; perhaps it was a simple desire to see those blue eyes flash at him again instead of studiously ignoring him, as she’d been doing far too successfully.
“I’m sorry, I have plans for tomorrow,” Catherine said. “Another time, perhaps.”
“You have plans?” Patsy sounded dismayed. “Oh, dear, I didn’t realize—I thought Tuesdays were your day at home. I promised Birdie I’d fill in with her bridge group.”
“It’s all right,” Catherine said. “That was what I meant. Tuesday I spend the entire day with Michael.”
He was amused to see a faint flush creeping up her cheeks as she wriggled out of the lie. “We’ll do it another time.” Her gaze met his again and he smiled blandly.
“Yes. Well.” She rose and snatched her jacket from the chair. “I must go check on Michael. It was nice to see you again, Mr. MacInnes.”
“Gray,” he said, rising. “Call me Gray, remember?”
“Gray.” She was halfway out the door and his name floated back as she whipped around and glared at him. “Goodbye.”
“Goodness,” Patsy murmured. “Catherine seems to be a bit…on edge this afternoon. I wonder if taking a job is such a good idea.”
He could have told Patsy exactly why Catherine was on edge, but there was no sense in upsetting her. Catherine Thorne wasn’t comfortable with him one little bit, though she was too well bred to say it outright. Sparks flew when those marvelous eyes of hers fastened on to him, and while he wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, he was beginning to be fairly sure of one fact—Catherine appealed to him on every level there was. And not simply because he happened to inherit her husband’s heart. It was his pulse that began to race even faster than was normal now when she walked into the room, his mouth that felt as dry as a cracker, his stomach that instantly tightened into a nearly painful knot of desire.
He was interested in her in a far more basic way than he’d anticipated, and he was almost as sure that she wasn’t immune to him, either.
And that could be a problem, he admitted to himself as he recalled her reaction to her mother-in-law’s comment about the donor on the first evening they’d met. Because he could never, ever tell her that he’d received her husband’s heart.
Thank heavens Gray MacInnes had insisted on paying his own utility fees, Catherine thought as she breezed into her bedroom the following evening. She couldn’t imagine trying to explain to Patsy that they simply didn’t have the money to spare on generous gestures right now.
Quickly, she twisted up her hair with fingers made expert from years of practice and secured it with pins. She’d just finished feeding Michael his dinner and she had no time to lose. Walking toward the closet, she wondered what on earth her mother-in-law was up to…as if it weren’t transparently obvious. Patsy had come home from the bridge game today and promptly walked along the winding path that led to the guest cotta
ge. When she’d returned, she’d casually informed Catherine that Gray would be joining them for dinner that evening.
Dinner! She blew out an exasperated breath. She couldn’t blame Patsy—her mother-in-law didn’t begin to comprehend the financial concerns that hounded Catherine every day. To her, it was natural to extend their hospitality to their guest. Patsy had wanted Aline to run out for some far-too-expensive cuts of beef, but Catherine had talked her into serving Chicken Kiev, a dish for which she knew they already had the ingredients. And then there was the fact that this was a night when Michael normally ate dinner with them. Because Patsy had invited a guest, Catherine had fed him early and arranged with Aline to bathe him tonight instead of Friday, when Catherine often had dinner engagements and had to go out.
Dinner. She’d had to spend time she would rather have spent playing with Michael setting the table in the dining room, cutting flowers for the table and polishing silver that they rarely used anymore. Patsy, of course, would never have given those things a thought. Her mother-in-law had been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth; household help took care of pesky details like work. She wasn’t a thoughtless or unkind person. It was simply the way she’d been brought up—gracious, genteel, pampered. There were times—many more of them, recently—when Catherine thanked God for her own less-than-wealthy upbringing. If she hadn’t had experience stretching pennies, who knew what might have happened to Patsy, Michael and her by now.
She was certain that Patsy wouldn’t have known what to do when she discovered that Mike had invested almost everything they owned in some risky stock proposition that had gone sour, leaving them nearly insolvent. The only bright spot was that the house was debt-free, and if she could just keep up with living expenses and taxes, they might be able to keep it. Although she had yet to tell Patsy there was even a possibility that they could lose it.
She sighed. Dinner. With Gray MacInnes. It was bad enough that Patsy constantly set her up when they were in public, but now she was bringing a man into their home.
Mike had been gone for two years. She hadn’t even thought of looking at another man for the first year-and-a-half. She’d been too busy grieving and then caring for her infant son. After she had realized what kind of shape their finances were in, she’d been completely immersed in trying to keep their ship afloat without unduly worrying Patsy, who had no head for business and seemed unable to grasp their accountant’s concerns.
But a few months ago Patsy had begun to fret about Michael growing up in a household of women. She’d cooked up plot after plot with her bridge cronies, her golf partners and her luncheon pals to introduce Catherine to grandsons, nephews, godsons, next-door-neighbors, their lawyers and accountants and heaven only knew who else.
She’d managed to evade most of them, although there had been three blind dates, one of which was, unfortunately, too awful to be forgettable. And now this.
Yanking a black cocktail dress from the closet, she stepped into it. After sliding her feet into strappy black sandals, she stopped for a moment and drew in a deep breath. Calm down, Catherine. Getting angry won’t solve anything.
Besides, she knew Patsy didn’t mean to upset her. The older woman had welcomed her into the Thorne family so warmly that Catherine often felt as if Patsy were her own mother. Thinking of her mother, who had passed away when Catherine was born, invariably led to thoughts of her father, and she took another deep breath as tears stung her eyes.
He’d been a university librarian, often living in the world inside his head, but he’d loved Catherine dearly, as she had him. His death during her senior year of college had been devastating. The only thing that had gotten her through it had been Mike, whom she’d begun dating a few months earlier. It had seemed natural to turn to him for help when she’d discovered her father’s gambling debts, and it had seemed even more natural to accept his proposal a few months later. Lord, she missed him still. They hadn’t even been married a year when he died.
Sighing again, she stopped to peer into the large mirror in the hallway to be sure no trace of tears marred the makeup she’d applied after her shower. No tear tracks. Good. For some reason, she didn’t want to admit to any weakness in front of Gray.
As she descended the stairs, the front doorbell rang, its tone deep and commanding. Aline, the housekeeper, bustled into view from the hallway and crossed the foyer, and Catherine could hear her welcome the visitor. The voice that floated into the house was instantly recognizable, and a shiver ran up her spine, shaking her hand on the banister. What was it about Gray that unnerved her so? He’d been polite and friendly the night of the dinner-dance. She couldn’t find fault with his manners even if she tried. He didn’t ogle her or openly assess her figure like the one jerk she’d gone out with. He was nice to Patsy, listening attentively to her chatter as if he really were interested. He should be the perfect man.
But…something bothered her. Something so deeply instinctive she couldn’t ignore it if she tried. It was not, she was sure, the fact that he was incredibly sexy and attractive, although she was well aware of him in that way.
Just then, the object of her worrisome thoughts stepped through the door and into the foyer. Aline closed the door behind him, said, “I’ll tell Mrs. Thorne you’re here. You go on into the drawing room,” and rushed back the way she’d come. Catherine knew Michael would be toddling around on Aline’s spotless kitchen floor looking for cabinets that didn’t appear to have been securely relatched.
Gray began to cross the foyer. He stopped when he saw her halfway down the stairs. “Good evening,” he said. “You look lovelier than ever tonight.”
“Thank you.” She inclined her head, trying to ignore the rush of pleasure his words brought.
He looked pretty darn fantastic himself, although she wasn’t about to say so. He wore a black, silk short-sleeved shirt and matching black pants and the combination was both casually elegant and devastatingly attractive. His dark hair gleamed with raven highlights and his smile was a white slash in his face.
He waited silently as she descended the rest of the stairs and she was conscious of his eyes on her, though she didn’t look at him again, instead giving unnecessary attention to carefully setting her feet on the treads of the steps.
“I brought you something.” It wasn’t until he spoke again that she realized he had kept one hand behind his back.
“I couldn’t possibly accept a gift,” she said.
He grinned. “A woman who doesn’t love a surprise? Amazing.” Then he brought his hand out from behind his back and there were two small packages clasped in his fingers. “It’s merely a token of my thanks,” he told her, extending one toward her. “One for you and one for Patsy, in appreciation for your generosity.”
She didn’t know what to say. Not only had he personalized the moment, he’d just made her feel incredibly guilty for her churlish attitude. The guilt made her smile overly brilliant as she said, “Well, in that case, I accept with alacrity.”
She reached out to take the small package from him, but he didn’t release it immediately, and her fingers stilled as she glanced up at him.
He was staring at her mouth.
The moment hung, suspended like the dancing motes of dust in the sunshine that slanted across the parquet floor.
His face was taut, and as she stood, frozen, he lifted his gaze slowly until their eyes met again. His were dark and intense, hungry, and she sucked in a small breath of shock.
“Hello, Gray.” Patsy’s voice came from behind her, rich and musical, clearly delighted with his presence.
His eyes changed, bland distance replacing the desire, and she blinked as he dropped his hand and stepped back, leaving her holding the small package.
As he turned to greet Patsy, Catherine took several deep breaths, trying to still her quivering insides.
Dear God, there’d been enough heat in that look to melt her nylons.
“Patsy.” Gray took the hands the older woman extended an
d kissed her cheek, then presented her with the gift remaining in his hand.
“A present? You shouldn’t have.” She flapped one hand at him as if dismissing the idea, but Catherine noticed she lifted the little box and shook it lightly beside her ear. “What would this be? And you have one, too? How lovely!” she said to Catherine. “Well, come and have a drink and we’ll take turns opening them.” Patsy gestured toward the drawing room he had yet to enter, then led the way into the room.
After one more frozen moment, Catherine followed her mother-in-law, feeling a little—no, a lot—like a leaf in the way of a steamroller.
Patsy immediately sent Gray to the bar, where he poured sherry for her, but Catherine refused any alcohol. “Just a glass of Perrier with lime, please.” It felt so odd to have a man in the house again. She’d lived alone with Patsy for twice as long as she’d lived there with Mike, and sometimes she could barely remember what it had been like. That thought seemed sacrilegious, or traitorous—oh, this whole situation was impossible! She wanted to scream, but she took a seat on the striped silk chaise near the baby grand, tugging her skirt modestly down and crossing her ankles without really thinking about the actions.
She kept her gaze lowered as Gray walked across the subdued hues of the Middle Eastern patterned rug with her drink and another just like it for himself. His big hand dwarfed the glasses and she couldn’t avoid brushing her fingers against his as she took her drink from him. The action, innocent as it was, seemed far too intimate to her superacute awareness of his every move.
“Come on, Catherine,” Patsy said. She’d taken a seat on the deep burgundy sofa and was playfully waving her little package in the air. “We must open these!” She began to tear off the ribbon, but then she stopped, waiting for Catherine.
The last thing she wanted to do was open Gray’s gift, but she knew her mother-in-law would never understand that. Reluctantly, she slipped the ribbon off her own small package and carefully pried open one end without tearing the paper.
Billionaire Bachelors: Gray Page 3
