“Catherine is one of those people who give gift-opening a bad name,” Patsy informed Gray. “She can make a single package last a full half hour.”
Gray smiled. “My mother was like that. And she saved the paper, too, to reuse. She actually ironed the stuff to get the creases out.”
“My goodness! How industrious.” Patsy uncovered a small gold box and paused expectantly, waiting for Catherine. Then they lifted the little box lids at the same time.
“Ohhh,” Patsy said. “How utterly beautiful. And so delicate!” She held up a slim pin fashioned in the shape of a pale pink lily, enameled with an iridescent gloss that brought the tiny flower glowing to life. “I adore lilies. Thank you, Gray.”
He inclined his head. “My pleasure, I assure you. Your generous offer of living space was greatly appreciated. Now that I’ve seen it, I appreciate it even more.”
“What did you get, Catherine?” Patsy craned her neck.
“An iris,” Catherine said. “My favorite flower.” She looked across the glass coffee table at Gray. “And in my favorite shade, as well. Thank you very much.” Her pin was beautifully wrought in a delicate pale blue exactly like her favorite shade of the pretty late-spring flower.
“You’re very welcome.” His eyes were warm and intent. “When I saw that one, I thought of you immediately.”
Why did she have the feeling he meant that literally? Flustered, she glanced at her watch. “Goodness, Aline’s probably ready to shoot us. We’d better head for the table.”
“Where’s your son?” Gray was frowning. “I assumed he’d be eating with us.”
“I fed him earlier,” she told him as he seated Patsy at the head of the table. “He usually eats around five.”
“I should have known,” Gray said. He was behind her now, pulling out her chair and when she sat, pushing it in beneath her. The action bent his head over the back of her chair and his breath ghosted across the back of her neck, making a shiver of reaction rush down her spine. “My receptionist back in Philadelphia has three- and five-year-old sons. They get exceedingly cranky if mealtime is delayed very long.” He smiled as he took his seat.
The table had been set with salads and a cold consommé and Catherine ate quietly, letting Patsy’s chatter fill the air during the first two courses. When everyone appeared to be finished, she excused herself and carried the dishes to the kitchen. With smooth, economical motions, she dished up the chicken breasts she’d made that afternoon, added asparagus tips covered with a Hollandaise sauce, new potatoes—
“May I help?”
Catherine’s hand moved as she startled, and only Gray’s quick reaction saved Patsy’s lovely china from shattering on the tile floor. “Goodness,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you to sneak up like that.”
“Sorry.” His brows rose. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just thought you could use some help.”
“Oh, no thank you. I’ve got it under control.”
“I can see that.” His blue eyes were dark and a line appeared between his brows. “Catherine—I’m sorry for putting you to all this trouble. When Patsy invited me, I just assumed you had staff to make and serve the meal. I wouldn’t have—”
“It’s not a problem,” she said hastily. “I just can’t see the use of keeping extra help around when it’s just Patsy, Michael, Aline and me. Most of the time, Aline and I handle the meals. If we’re having a dinner party or something, of course we hire qualified help.”
“Well, I still appreciate all the trouble you’ve gone to. I’d have been perfectly happy to eat in the kitchen.”
“Patsy would have been beyond horrified if I’d even mentioned feeding a guest in the kitchen.” She smiled, sure he was only trying to put her at ease. Then she picked up two of the garnished plates, balanced the third on her forearm and nodded her head at the roll basket she’d just filled. “Since you’re here, you could bring those in.”
“Certainly.” He took the rolls and held the swinging door between the kitchen and the dining room open for her, then waited until she’d set down all the plates so he could reseat her.
“Thank you,” she said.
Every inch of her skin felt sensitized by his proximity and she jumped when his warm breath tickled the tender flesh of her exposed ear.
“My pleasure.” His voice was deep and low, imbuing the conventional phrase with an intimacy that made thoughts fly instantly to slick bodies and silk sheets. Dear heaven, she could imagine all too well the pleasure she could find with him.
Subduing the images—and her racing pulse—took all the willpower within her.
Three
He would rather have eaten in the kitchen, Gray thought, surveying the beautifully laid table at which he’d just taken his place. No matter how many years it had been since the last time he’d had to worry about money, he still wasn’t comfortable, deep down, with the trappings of exceptional wealth.
Oh, he’d gotten used to wearing cashmere sweaters. And he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed driving sporty little cars, of which he had somehow acquired a few too many. Whirlpool tubs and the totally awesome exercise room in his Philly house were cool, too, as was being able to give however much monetary assistance struck his fancy to his favorite charities.
But household help? He doubted he’d ever take for granted the fact that other people cleaned his clothing and made his meals. His lawn got mowed by the same yard elves who kept his flowerbeds neat—for a tidy sum—and yet he still felt guilty that he hadn’t mowed the damn grass himself. And he still shut off lights every time he left a room, turned off the water in the sink rather than letting it run while he brushed his teeth, and turned down the heat when he went away. He’d rather be boiled alive than hire a valet or a chauffeur as people expected him to do, and having little chocolate mints placed on the pillows of his freshly made bed every day, was frankly, embarrassing.
He was definitely more of a stainless steel than silver kind of guy.
Patsy and Catherine, on the other hand, were clearly precious metal. Highly polished, lovingly cared for, sterling quality. He wasn’t sure yet if they were the ostentatious kind or quietly wealthy, but he doubted either of them knew a single thing about what it was like to leave the house in the morning worrying about whether your electricity would still be on when you got home.
It was an interesting meal. Patsy chattered nonstop to him and Catherine, sprinkling her conversation with stories about everything from her various civic groups and her golf game—which he gathered was dismal—to anecdotes about her grandson, which Gray drank in eagerly.
He learned that Michael had turned seventeen months old on the first of the month, that he spoke amazingly well for such a young child and that he hadn’t walked until he was over a year, concerning both his mother and his grandmother.
“After all,” Patsy said, “even though they assured us the baby wasn’t harmed in the accident, we worried that some delayed effects might surface.”
“Patsy worried,” Catherine corrected. “From everything I read, he was right on the far edge of normal, particularly for little boys.”
“At any rate, we’re so thankful to have him,” Patsy said. “He’s brought life back into the house again. It was like a tomb after Mike was killed.” Then, apparently realizing from the silence that followed that her choice of words had been less than wise, she said, “Well, you know what I mean.”
He smiled, trying to help her past the awkward moment. “I imagine a baby lightens the heaviest heart.”
Heart. Heart. Heart. The word echoed in his head and he wondered if he was the only one who immediately thought of organ donation and transplants.
“Are you originally from Philadelphia, Mr.— Gray?” It was the first time since the dance that Catherine had asked him a question. Even though he knew she’d done it largely to get past the silence that had fallen, her blue eyes were fixed on him with sincere interest.
“Yes.”
“Oh!” Patsy was instantly in
trigued. “Such a lovely, stately city. Is your family still there?”
He doubted she would have found the run-down neighborhood and modest little Cape Cod in which he’d grown up “lovely.” But all he said was, “No. I’m an only child and my mother passed away while I was in college.”
“And your father?”
“He was killed in an accident before I was born.” And he might as well tell them the rest of it; the details of his early life inevitably came to light in the articles written about him. “He knew about me but he died before they could marry.”
“Your poor mother.” Patsy actually had tears of distress in her eyes. “To lose her young man like that. How awful. And in our day, of course, raising an illegitimate child carried a much greater stigma than it does today.”
He could have kissed her. He should have known someone with a heart as soft as hers wouldn’t be judgmental. He might have been honest, might have given her concrete examples of just how difficult it had been for both his mother and for himself, but a choking noise from Catherine’s direction caught his attention.
Her cheeks were pink and she was staring at her mother-in-law, clearly scandalized. She was…she was upset on his behalf, he suddenly realized, because her mother-in-law had essentially just called him a bastard, even if she’d done it with the best of intentions. He was pleased that she was worried about his feelings, but he knew Patsy hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. She just seemed not to hear her own words sometimes. He couldn’t help grinning; he barely caught back the laugh that almost rumbled up. “I’m named for my father,” he said to mask his amusement. “Gray was his last name.”
Catherine cleared her throat. “So you and my son have something in common,” she said. “You both were born posthumously and you’re both named after your fathers.”
He nodded, not sure where to go with the conversation.
“My parents are both gone, too,” she went on in a quiet, well-modulated voice. “My mother died young, like your father, so I never knew her. I lost my father when I was in college. It was…difficult.”
“You were close?”
She nodded, looking down at her fingers where she’d linked them together. “Very. I was devastated.”
“But Mike took care of her,” Patsy chirped. “They were married right after she graduated from college, and I got the most wonderful daughter-in-law on the face of the earth!”
Catherine smiled with wry affection as she regarded her ebullient mother-in-law. “I was equally lucky. Patsy’s been like a mother to me.”
“You know, Gray,” Patsy said, her eyes on the bit of roll she was carefully buttering, “it seems silly for you to have a whole meal prepared just for yourself in the evenings. Why don’t you join us on a daily basis?”
The suggestion startled him, coming out of the blue as it had. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” he said carefully, not looking at Catherine. He could just imagine what she was thinking right now.
“It’s no imposition,” Patsy said gaily. “In fact, I think it would be a wonderful way to get Michael used to having a man in his life.”
Catherine’s eyebrows rose. He gave her points for biting her tongue. “Why does Michael need to get used to having a man in his life?” she asked in a sweetly reasonable tone.
“Well, you know, dear, I’m sure you’ll marry again one day,” Patsy said.
He glanced back at Catherine, who just smiled and shook her head as she turned to him and said, “Patsy won’t rest until she’s gotten me married off again.”
“Oh, pooh.” Patsy waved a hand in the air. “I just want what’s best for both you and Michael.”
Had he ever heard anyone say, “Oh, pooh,” before? He couldn’t help laughing this time. “I imagine Catherine will work that out in her own good time,” he said.
“Thank you.” Catherine’s voice held just a touch of exasperation.
“So, Gray, will you have dinner with us while you’re here?” Patsy asked. She was unshakeable, he realized. You might be able to distract her for a while, but you weren’t going to get away with ignoring her.
“I’d love to join you on occasion,” he temporized, not wanting Catherine to feel he was crowding her, “but I’d better not plan on making it a daily event. Thank you for the offer, though.”
He wanted to see Catherine’s son so badly he ached. But without making a pest of himself or conjuring up some artificial excuse she’d surely see through, he couldn’t devise a way to get into the house to see Michael.
And so it was three more days before he saw the child of the man who’d given him his new heart. It also was the first time he’d seen Catherine since the evening Patsy had invited him to dinner.
He was in the spare bedroom he’d turned into his home office, halfheartedly working on a design for a sprawling, three-level home that a famous actor had asked him to design with a specific piece of property in western Colorado in mind. The plans were coming along beautifully and he was beginning to consider entering them in a prestigious architectural competition. And not a solar window in sight, he thought with guilty satisfaction.
While part of him was extremely pleased that the window design he’d created was functional and cost-efficient enough that it was making solar power a real possibility for the average homeowner, he was getting damn sick of every person who commissioned his work asking for four million of the stupid things scattered all through their houses.
He was roughing out the layout of a parlor/music room on the first floor when he heard a shrill voice through the open window. Drawn to the sound, he rose and walked across the room, pulling the curtain aside.
Catherine was walking along one of the flagstone paths that wound through the beautiful gardens. She wore slim khaki pants, sandals and a pale aqua camp shirt, and her blond hair was tied back in a long, loose ponytail rather than in the practical, severe upsweep he’d always seen before. At her side, holding on to her hand, toddled a sturdy little boy in jean overalls with a mass of white-blond curls.
Michael. Gray’s hand tightened on the drape for a moment as a completely unexpected thrill of pride and pleasure rushed through him.
Almost instantly, he spun away from the window as shock replaced the first rush. What the hell was that? He’d read the theories about cellular memory in transplant cases, knew the anecdotal evidence that supported the phenomena he’d experienced…but what he’d just felt wasn’t a memory. It was a—a reaction.
He let himself process that notion for a moment, but in the end he couldn’t come up with any logical explanation. It had felt almost as if he’d absorbed some of Mike Thorne’s spirit or something, when he’d received his heart. As if he really had experienced the thrill of seeing his own son for the first time. But…that couldn’t be.
Could it?
The piercing giggle of a small child cut through his thoughts and he went with impulse, taking the stairs two at a time down to the first floor and opening his front door. “Hello, Catherine.”
They were just turning on to an alternate path and she had to glance back over her shoulder. There was nothing flirtatious about it, but when their eyes met, Gray felt a zip and sizzle within him that he thought for a moment must have been heard in the air. Had she heard it? Felt it, too?
“Hello, Gray.”
The sound of his name coming from her lips pleased him. But it was a distant recognition. All his attention had centered on the small person who had twisted around to stare at him.
“Hi,” he said softly, hunkering down so that he was closer to the child’s level. It was hard to speak; there was a funny constriction in his chest and he had to clear his throat. He didn’t know why in hell he was feeling like this, but there was no denying that meeting Catherine’s son was producing these overwhelming feelings inside him.
The little boy had turned clear around, wriggling free from his mother’s hand though he moved part-way behind her and peered out from around her khaki-clad leg. He regarded Gray solemnly, th
en a mischievous grin lightened his blue eyes. He looked up at his mother and demanded, “Who dat?”
“Mr. MacInnes,” Catherine said. “He’s going to be our neighbor for a little while.”
“Mi-ter Mac,” said the child with great satisfaction.
“MacInnes,” Catherine repeated, but the little boy only grinned.
“Mac!”
Gray chuckled. “‘Mac’ will be fine,” he told Catherine, though he never took his eyes from the child. “What’s your name?”
The little boy’s thumb crept into his mouth as though pulled there by an invisible string. He grinned around it, but didn’t speak.
“Can you tell Mr. MacInnes your name?” Catherine prompted.
“Mac!”
“Yes. Tell Mr. Mac your name.”
“Mi-kuh.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Michael.” Gray held out his hand. “May I shake your hand?”
The child shook his head vigorously, making the blond curls dance wildly. He took a step back behind the safety of his mother’s leg again, although Gray noticed he was still grinning around that thumb.
“That’s okay.” Gray stood, brushing off the knees of his black slacks. He was standing in a bright patch of sunlight and he automatically moved into the shade. An increased risk of skin cancer was one of the side effects of the immunosuppressants he still took twice daily, and he had become cautious about limiting his exposure to sunlight. “Going for a walk?” he said to Catherine.
She nodded, absently putting one hand on her son’s fair hair and ruffling the curls. “Michael loves to be outside. He’d spend all day every day digging in the dirt if I’d let him.”
“Dig!” The little boy heard the one word that mattered. He grabbed his mother’s hand and tugged with all his might. “Dig now.”
Catherine laughed, waving her free hand in Gray’s direction. “All right. Say goodbye to Mr. MacInnes.”
“Bye.” It was tossed over one shoulder as Michael already was charging down the path, dragging his willing mother along in his wake.
Billionaire Bachelors: Gray Page 4
