Billionaire Bachelors: Gray

by Anne Marie Winston

  When had that happened? When was the last time she’d really tried to recall his face? It was a sobering realization. Yes, Gray was right. She did still love Mike…but in the way that a woman loves the memory of a life past. It occurred to her that somewhere in the bustle of surviving life’s daily grind, she’d accepted widowhood. Accepted that Mike was gone and would never be back.

  And as Gray’s face swam before her again, she realized that for the first time, she’d even accepted the possibility that someday there might be another relationship, perhaps even another marriage, in her future.

  Oh, not with Gray MacInnes. He might trip her switches with a million different circuit overloads, but she couldn’t risk getting involved with him. Even having him staying on the grounds was enough to start the more vicious of the gossips talking.

  No, Gray wasn’t on her dance card. Not now, not ever, but someday, perhaps…someday, she would find someone who made her feel as…as alive as he did.

  Of course she would.

  Five

  It was nearly suppertime the following evening when Catherine came downstairs, Michael on one hip. Patsy had invited Gray to join them again and he’d accepted on the condition that they not make a special effort for him. She was taking him literally. He might change his mind about special efforts after he’d been subjected to a meal with her son, who thought forks were drumsticks to use on his tray.

  She headed for the kitchen to see how Aline was doing with the meal, and left Michael there with her when he wanted to sample the biscuit batter. As she walked to the drawing room to see if the wet bar was stocked, Patsy came into the room with a sprightly walk. “Oh, I’m so glad it’s almost summertime!”

  “So am I.” Catherine smiled at her mother-in-law’s good spirits. “I love seeing all the flowers come to life again.”

  “And our vacation is just around the corner. Just think of how much fun the beach will be for Michael this year. I can hardly wait!” Patsy straightened a doily beneath the porcelain statue of an angel.

  “Patsy…” Catherine swallowed. She’d been dreading this conversation, trying to think of how best to approach it for days. But since the opportunity had presented itself, she might as well get it over with. “We won’t be going to the beach until the third week of September this year. I’ve rented out the house during our usual time over the Fourth of July.”

  “You’ve…?” Patsy stared at her as if she couldn’t possibly have heard correctly. “But we always go over the Fourth, dear. Since Mike was a baby, we’ve reserved the first two weeks of the month for ourselves.”

  “I know.” Catherine crossed the room to sit on the footstool before Patsy’s chair, putting her hands over Patsy’s. A surge of tenderness rushed through her at the feel of the gnarled joints. “But you know I’m concerned about watching our pennies. I thought if we rented it out during the high season and took our own vacation in the off-season, it might pay for itself and we wouldn’t have to sell it. And I have to consider my job now, too. I can’t take two weeks off so I only blocked us in for one.”

  She held her breath and looked fixedly at their joined hands, waiting for a storm of protest. But there was only silence. Finally, she dared to glance at her mother-in-law’s face—and was stunned to see tears streaming down the wrinkled cheeks.

  “Patsy!” she cried.

  “I’m sorry,” Patsy said, her voice choked with sobs. “I haven’t meant to be thoughtless about money, dear. But I did so treasure those times at the beach, and I was so looking forward to seeing Michael on the sand in a few weeks. September seems ages away,” she finished forlornly.

  “It’s just a few extra weeks of anticipation,” Catherine said stoutly, as much for her own benefit as for Patsy’s. It hadn’t been an easy decision; she had no desire to become the one who shattered Thorne family tradition.

  “Yes.” Patsy slowly eased herself to the edge of the chair and rose. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” She began to move toward the door to the hall.

  “Where are you going?” Catherine asked. “Dinner will be served in just a few moments, and Gray should be here anytime.” She’d even been counting on Gray to provide a distraction after Patsy had absorbed the initial shock.

  “I can’t eat,” Patsy said softly, and Catherine could see her shoulders shake. “Please give Gray my apologies; I’m going to rest for a while.”

  Catherine’s heart sank. Surely Patsy was kidding. “But—you love it when Gray comes to dinner. You don’t want to miss that, do you?” She heard the cajoling tone in her own voice, but Patsy didn’t stop.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, dear.”

  There was a dead silence in the room as Catherine stood, listening to her mother-in-law’s footsteps recede as she mounted the stairs. The lump in her throat grew to the size of a small boulder, and though she swallowed repeatedly, she couldn’t control the sweep of emotion; tears began to flow as she took several hitching breaths of pain.

  She took several steps and sank down on the love seat, her head in her hands. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair, she thought as anger rose, hot and choking. Mike had never let on that they were having financial difficulties, so when he’d died, it had been a terrible shock to learn that the family investments had taken a serious hit and that they’d been living almost hand-to-mouth for the past few years.

  They could have cut back if they’d known, she thought resentfully. All those years of driving expensive cars, keeping unnecessary household help, lavish gifts and equally lavish entertaining, vacations several times a year…why hadn’t he simply told her they had to live a little more frugally?

  Then she thought of Patsy’s shattered expression of a few moments before. All right, it would have been terribly hard on him to have to explain their monetary woes to his mother. But it wasn’t any less difficult for her. Especially now, alone, without any support. A rare moment of abject self-pity swept through her. She couldn’t afford the luxury of giving in to her own sorrows very often, but right at the moment, she—the moment!

  Abruptly, she remembered what time it was. Gray would be arriving for dinner any minute. Panicked, she leaped up and raced for the powder room. It would never do to let him see that she’d been crying.

  Just as she crossed the foyer, the doorbell rang. Cuss! Hastily, she swiped her fingers beneath her eyes, hoping she’d caught any mascara smudges.

  She could hear Aline coming from the back of the house, and Michael’s quick little baby steps pattering along as she walked to the heavy front door and pulled it open. “Good evening, Gray. Please come in.”

  As always when their eyes met, that hot, intense sensation flashed through her and she had to work not to let it show.

  “Good evening.” His voice was deep and quiet, and he smiled slowly at her, melting the few brain cells that hadn’t been sizzled by the initial eye contact. But the smile faded almost instantly as his gaze roamed her face, and consternation wrinkled his brow. “Have you been crying?”

  “Of course not.” She smoothed a hand self-consciously down the side of the simple lavender skirt she’d paired with an ivory camp shirt and fought the urge to stammer. “Allergies.”

  He didn’t call her a liar aloud, but the single raised eyebrow and the doubtful look told her she hadn’t fooled him one bit. Then his eyes softened. “I don’t like to see you unhappy.”

  Had his tone really been that intimate, that concerned, or had she given it a personal inflection that hadn’t existed? Hastily she changed the subject. “I guess Patsy told you we took you at your word about dining informally.”

  Gray wore khaki trousers that clung to his strong thighs, and a lightweight white knit shirt with the collar open. In one big hand he cradled a metal cookie tin, which he handed to her. “She did,” he said, “and I brought an informal dessert.”

  Curious, she pried open the tin. As a wave of delicious baking scent drifted out, she inhaled deeply. “Ohhh,” she sighed. “Butterscotch brownies. Buttersc
otch is my all-time favorite flavor.” Then she remembered the last small gift he brought. “You either have an informant or the best luck in the world,” she said, laughing. “First my favorite flower, now my favorite cookie.”

  Gray’s smile wavered and faded as a strange look entered his eyes. They looked almost haunted. Was it worry? Guilt? Ridiculous, she thought to herself. Don’t be ridiculous. What could he possibly have to feel guilty about?

  “Coo-kie!” Behind her, Michael and Aline had entered the hallway.

  “Hello, Gray,” Aline said. “Hope you like roast beef.”

  “Love it,” Gray answered, “especially if it’s as good as those tarts you gave me the other day.”

  The housekeeper smiled. “It will be,” she promised. Then she turned and headed back the way she had come. “I’ve got biscuits in the oven,” she announced.

  “Mama!” Michael acted as if he hadn’t seen her in several years. He made a beeline for her legs, almost knocking her off balance as his sturdy little body slammed against her knees.

  Gray cupped her elbow and steadied her, and she was acutely aware of his nearness and the heat of his strong fingers searing the bare skin of her arm.

  “Coo-kie, coo-kie, coo-kie!” chanted her son.

  “After dinner,” she said, looking down into his wide blue eyes.

  His eyebrows drew together and she recognized the signs of impending storm clouds. “Now,” he demanded.

  But Catherine shook her head. “After you eat your dinner.”

  Michael stared at her for a moment, clearly gauging her resolve and his chances of success. Then she could almost see him give a mental shrug as he changed tack. “Eat now,” he said.

  Gray laughed. “You don’t miss a trick, do you, buddy?”

  Michael looked up at their guest. “Mac eat now, too.” It wasn’t a request.

  Gray looked at Catherine. “Are you ready to eat?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose so. Patsy won’t be joining us tonight. She’s not feeling well. So unless you want a drink, we can go right in.”

  “I’m fine.” He shook his head. “Is Patsy going to be all right?”

  Catherine nodded. “She should be fine by tomorrow.” She handed him the tin again, then bent and picked up her son. “Come on, sweetie, let’s go wash our hands.”

  “Mac wash.” Michael twisted around to peer at Gray over her shoulder. “Coo-kie?” he asked hopefully.

  Gray laughed. “After dinner,” he reminded Michael. Beneath his breath, she heard him say, “Although you get points for persistence.”

  Dinner wasn’t the ordeal she had feared without Patsy’s presence, thanks to her child. They ate in the kitchen, as Gray had specifically requested when Patsy had invited him again, and Michael played favorites with Gray throughout the meal, offering him food and letting Gray feed him while refusing his mother’s advances with peas and carrots.

  Gray asked question after question about the little boy, and she was warmed by his interest and the way he handled Michael. He would make a wonderful father one day.

  That thought inevitably led her to a more personal speculation—what would he be like as a lover? His hands, so gentle with her son, were enormous. They looked more as if they were fashioned for construction work than for designing buildings on paper. Would those hands be gentle on her body? Her breath came faster as she imagined him drawing her closer, opening the buttons of her blouse with surprising dexterity and sliding one warm, rough palm inside, cupping her breast and teasing her with his long fingers.

  “Catherine?”

  She jumped, and as her gaze flew to his, a flush of heat warmed her cheeks. Gray was looking at her with a curious half smile, his eyebrows lifted. “Penny for your thoughts,” he offered.

  “Not a chance.” She knew her voice was too fervent, and another wave of heat surged through her. Oh, God, how embarrassing to be caught in a prurient daydream by the object of her thoughts.

  “All right.” He grinned at her.

  She kept the conversation light throughout the rest of the meal, focusing on Michael. She’d probably bored Gray silly with talk of her son, but he was the single most important thing in her life, so Gray would have to deal with that if he wanted to—wanted to what?

  She was driving herself crazy with this stupid speculation!

  Michael had finished his cookie at last, and she rose, thankful for the diversion. As she lifted him from his high chair, she said, “Okay, buddy, time for a bath.”

  “Bath!” Michael trotted off down the hall as fast as his little legs would move.

  She smiled at Gray. “He loves to splash.” Abruptly, she became aware of her breach of etiquette. “Oh, dear. I’m terribly sorry I don’t have time to offer you an after-dinner drink or coffee—”

  “Don’t touch either one.” Gray dismissed her concern with one offhand gesture.

  “Oh.” She glanced back at the hallway down which her son had disappeared, wondering what he might be getting into. “Well. Then. I’m sorry to toss you out on your ear but it’s important to keep him on a regular schedule.”

  “Could I—that is, would you mind if I came along and watched?” She was surprised by the request and even more surprised when he flushed a deep ruddy hue. “I’ve never been around kids much,” he said, spreading his hands sheepishly, “and believe it or not, I’m fascinated.”

  “I believe it,” she said lightly. “And I don’t mind at all.” Liar. “Follow me.”

  As she walked down the hall and up the back stairs to where Michael’s bedroom and bathroom were located just a short distance from her own, she was very aware of Gray’s large body following closely behind her. The bathroom seemed too small and intimate with him looming at her side. To cover the nerves that danced inside her, she said, “I am constantly amazed at how quickly his mind is developing. In fact—” she shot him an innocent smile “—I’d be happy to let you bathe him and I’ll watch.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Hmm, is there an ulterior motive in that offer?”

  She laughed. “You bet. I could stay dry!”

  Gray laughed, too. “Thanks, but I’d better just watch this time.”

  The kid was a wild man in the bathtub. He had his mother soaked within five minutes, and Gray escaped only by standing well out of range of the little hands that sent merry plumes of water winging every which way.

  Catherine still wore the skirt and blouse she’d worn at dinner, and Gray wondered if she would have changed into old clothes if it hadn’t been for him. He had to give her credit—she didn’t seem to mind Michael’s splashing and loud squeals of merriment. In fact, she joined in, picking up a little rubber fish, filling it with water and squirting it all over his belly. Each time she stopped, the kid would shout, “More!”

  When the bath ended and she had wrapped the wriggling child in a large bath sheet, Gray began to excuse himself. “I’ll wait downstairs while you get him to sleep,” he said.

  “Mac, ’tory!” Michael said in a definite tone, peering out from beneath the towel with a grin as his mother carried him into his bedroom.

  “What did he say?” Gray asked. Tory? Surely the kid was too young for history lessons.

  “Story,” Catherine clarified as she wrestled the little boy into a pair of disposable absorbent underpants and pajamas. “He loves books, and it sounds like you’ve been elected to read the story tonight.”

  He was taken aback. “Me?”

  “You.” She chuckled. “Don’t look so horrified. His favorite book is about a dog named Spot, and he’s got it memorized. All you have to do is turn the pages and read a little. He’ll supply anything you forget.”

  “All right,” he said slowly. “Where do I sit?”

  She pointed to a large rocker in the corner. “He’ll sit in your lap.”

  Okay. He could do this. Maybe. He lowered himself into the rocker, then reached up automatically when Catherine swung the little guy into his arms. As she handed them a big white book with
splashes of bold colors and a funny-looking hound on the front, Michael squealed and let loose a string of chatter that Gray didn’t begin to understand. He looked helplessly at Catherine for a translation.

  She was moving around the room picking up toys and turning back the sheet in the crib. As she straightened, he saw that the entire front of her shirt was soaked from the bath.

  And transparent.

  Beneath the lightweight shirt, she was wearing a white bra that must have been pretty lightweight as well, because through both layers, shirt and bra, he could see the distinct dark shadow of her nipples. The fabric clung to every curve, every taut peak, outlining her breasts as faithfully as if she wore nothing.

  The gentlemanly thing to do would be to look elsewhere and pretend he hadn’t noticed. Yeah, like that was possible. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, watching as if in a trance while she bent and picked up the towel and her breasts bobbed and swayed gently with every motion.

  She glanced over at them then, catching him in midstare. Her face changed the moment their eyes met and she froze like a doe at the side of the road. A warm red tide of color rose from her neck to her hairline, but she didn’t look away. Her lips parted slightly, soundlessly, and in her eyes he saw the same erotic awareness that he was feeling. Desire, need, pure lust and yet something more…

  Michael squealed again, squirming around in Gray’s lap to babble another incomprehensible phrase at him. Gray winced as the baby bounced enthusiastically, pinching an all-too-sensitive piece of his equipment and he quickly shifted the child.

  He cleared his throat. “What’s he saying?” His voice came out hoarse and raspy, a stranger’s low growl.

  “He’s telling you he loves Spot.” Belatedly, she raised the towel and hugged it to her chest.

  He couldn’t help smiling. “Too late,” he said softly.

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand, and her blush deepened.