Billionaire Bachelors: Gray

by Anne Marie Winston

“All right.” He looked a bit surprised for a moment but recovered quickly, picking up the picnic carrier. “Lead the way. I’ll be the pack mule.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “Now there’s an image I can’t quite wrap my mind around.”

  “Bye-bye.” Patsy waved at her grandson as Catherine picked up Michael and the three of them trooped out the back door. “Have a lovely time. Don’t forget the sunscreen.”

  “Already put some on both of us,” Catherine assured her.

  “And his hat.”

  “I have that, too. You know, if you’d come with us, you could make sure he doesn’t get sunburned.”

  Patsy’s smile became a wicked grin. “Good try, dear. I’ll be the one lounging in the air-conditioning when you get back.”

  “She doesn’t like picnics?” Gray asked as he ambled beside Catherine across the lawn. After putting his little cap on his head, she set down Michael so he could walk. Gray, too, wore a hat. He’d pulled a billed cap from his back pocket when they’d gotten outside, and tilted it down so that most of his face was shaded. Beneath the brim, his eyes were a brilliant blue.

  “Patsy’s not much of an outdoor person. She loves flowers, but only if someone else plants and weeds them, and her idea of camping is a night at a budget motel.”

  He laughed. “Silver spoon syndrome, huh?”

  “Um-hmm. Patsy came from a wealthy family and when she married Mike’s dad, she came into an inheritance from her grandmother. That was separate from the Thorne fortune, of course.”

  “But of course,” he said, smiling wryly.

  “I suppose that’s why she’s a bit unrealistic about money,” she said, sighing as she watched Michael charge ahead of them. “She just doesn’t seem to grasp the concept of budgeting.”

  “So the family finances have fallen to you since your husband passed away.”

  She shot him a startled look. “Yes. By default, although I don’t usually mind.”

  “How did you get to be so knowledgeable about money matters? You hold a degree in English literature.”

  “How did you know that?” She stopped dead in the path. She was almost certain—no, she was dead sure she hadn’t told him that.

  He stopped, too, and a look she couldn’t interpret flitted across his lean features before he shrugged and smiled. “I don’t recall. Patsy probably told me. How else would I know?”

  “I don’t know.” Slowly she began to walk again but her mood had changed. She didn’t know why, but she felt a strong sense of uneasiness. Not fear, just a sixth sense that warned her something wasn’t quite right.

  “Catherine?” Gray snapped his fingers in front of her face. “You in there?”

  “Yes. Sorry.” She couldn’t imagine what was bothering her, and she made an effort to shake off the feeling. “Why don’t we spread the blanket over here? There’s a nice patch of shade beneath that tree.” She wasn’t eager to discuss her finances with Gray, and it was a pretty spot. Although she did all the landscape work now, she still had a local youth come in and mow the grass. He’d just been there the day before, leaving a clipped carpet of lush green.

  It was a warm June day and the little clearing was hidden from the house by a copse of trees interspersed with blooming mountain laurel in shades of pink and white. Michael chased around a big ball Gray threw for him, and moments after he showed the little boy how to kick, Michael landed an amazingly lucky shot that scooted several yards across the yard. Gray chased it, and she watched as he came back across the grass kicking the ball with his feet and doing several sly tricks, such as keeping the ball in the air by bouncing it on his knees. It was obvious that he was well coordinated and that he’d spent many hours practicing maneuvers like that one.

  She stretched out on her side, watching the two. Gray was patient and encouraging, and he handled Michael’s short attention span with aplomb. When Michael kicked and connected with the ball, Gray’s head whipped around toward her. “Did you see that? He’s a natural athlete.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer but turned his attention back to her son. Catherine watched him thoughtfully. There had been a distinct ring of pride in his voice. Almost as if…as if Michael’s ball-playing skill was a personal point of pride. But why would that be? He’d only met her son a handful of times, and really barely knew either of them. So why, then, do you feel that you already know him, that you can talk to him like you haven’t talked to anyone since Mike died?

  A few minutes later, the ball game ceased to hold Michael’s interest and he was entertaining himself by turning and turning in big circles on the grass until he fell, giggling and too dizzy to stand. But as soon as he could stand without losing his balance, he would begin to spin again.

  Gray dropped down beside her on the blanket and she quickly sat up. Reclining felt just a little too intimate and vulnerable.

  “He’s terrific,” he said. He took off his cap and tossed it on to the blanket, running his fingers carelessly through his dark hair. “In a few years he’s going to be a mainstay of a soccer team.”

  “I worry about what’s going to happen as he grows older,” she confessed. “I can’t teach him all the boy stuff he’s going to need to know. I went to all-girls’ schools my whole life!”

  Gray laughed, but his eyes were understanding. “I don’t think you have to worry. Michael may not have a father figure in his life, but he’ll have plenty of male role models if you get him involved in sports and other activities. On the other hand, he does have what’s most important—a stable, loving home.”

  “That’s comforting. I hope you’re right.” But she knew it would still worry her. Then she remembered he spoke from experience. “I guess you do know what you’re talking about,” she conceded, “since you grew up in a similar manner and you’ve turned out just fine.”

  Gray’s eyebrows rose. He turned his head to watch the little boy as he spoke. “There are few similarities between my childhood and Michael’s, trust me.” He gestured to the beautiful spot around them. “Michael’s never going to have to worry about whether or not you’ll be able to pay the rent or buy food for dinner.”

  Not if I can help it. Then defensiveness kicked in and suddenly, it was important to her that he not think she’d grown up taking wealth for granted. “Before…you asked me how I learned to handle money.” She pleated the blanket between her fingers. “I didn’t grow up wealthy, either.”

  Understandably, he looked a little surprised. “You didn’t?” His smile was crooked. “You’ve adapted well.”

  “As have you.” She inclined her head briefly. “My father was a librarian at the University of Maryland. We weren’t going to get rich on his salary, but we should have been able to live comfortably. We didn’t.” Her voice was flat. “I learned early to check the mail and hand-carry the bills to my father, then watch while he paid them. It was the only way to keep our utilities from getting turned off.” She shook her head. “I learned when he got paid and made him give me grocery and rent money. Sometimes he would surprise me and come home with what he told me was a bonus. He’d tell me to spend it on clothes, but I saved as much as I could for the weeks when he didn’t bring home enough.” Or any.

  Understanding began to dawn in Gray’s eyes. “What was he into?”

  “Gambling,” she said. “After his death I found all kinds of betting stubs in his office. I wasn’t even sure what they were until Mike told me.”

  “That must have been tough to handle.” He put out a casual hand and rubbed it up and down her back in a comforting gesture. Unfortunately, her senses were finely tuned where he was concerned, and her body reacted to his nearness and his touch, her heart racing and her breathing growing shallow in anticipation.

  Annoyed at her inability to control her reactions to him, she moved restlessly, dislodging his hand and leaning back on her elbows. “It was. I worshipped my father. It was terribly hard to see him in a whole new light. My father, addicted to gambling the same way some people are addict
ed to drugs or cigarettes.”

  She lapsed into silence, contemplating the past. Gray didn’t speak, didn’t move to touch her again, maybe sensing that she needed a few moments. They watched Michael turning and turning on the grass while birds chirped and the peace of the day soothed raw wounds she hadn’t let herself think of in several years.

  Finally, he stirred. “Why did you just tell me all that?”

  She was startled. “I—I don’t really know. I guess…I guess it’s important to me that you understand who I am, that I’m not just some spoiled little rich girl.” The words were out before she really thought about what she was saying.

  Gray turned toward her. “It’s important to me to understand you.” He raised a hand and cupped the side of her face, tilting her chin up with his thumb as he leaned toward her. “Just for the record,” he murmured, “I never would have characterized you as ‘a spoiled little rich girl.’”

  She closed her eyes as his face drew nearer and then his mouth was on hers, warm and firm, shaping and testing and teasing until she began to kiss him back, letting him pull her up against him and clasping his shoulders. He parted her lips and his tongue slipped inside in search of hers, playing a gentle game of seek and retreat. Fire began to kindle low in her belly and she moaned beneath his mouth, sanity threatening to flee. “Michael,” she finally managed.

  Gray lifted his head abruptly, tearing his mouth from hers as his chest heaved. “Sorry.”

  Her head drooped like a flower too heavy for its stem, and her forehead fell against him as she took deep draughts of his clean, male scent. “You weren’t going to touch me, remember?” She spoke breathlessly, her face buried in his neck.

  He cleared his throat, and his voice was sober, an odd note of self-recrimination clear. “I remember. But I can’t seem to stay away.” He drew back far enough to look into her eyes. “I think about you all the time.”

  She swallowed. His honesty deserved the same in return. “I think about you, too.” She smiled, though the effort was painful. “I’m not ready for this…but that doesn’t seem to matter when you touch me.”

  His eyes darkened. “If we were alone,” he said in a deep, low growl, “I’d be tempted to abuse that knowledge.” His hand lifted. “I’d touch you here—” His fingers drifted along her cheekbone and stroked down her neck with a featherlight touch out along her collarbone. “—and here.” The tips of his fingers whisked quickly over one already-taut nipple and she sucked in a sharp gasp as a bolt of sexual pleasure shot straight down into her loins. “I’d slide my hand down here,” he went on, trailing his fingers down her belly, and I’d definitely touch you here.” One long finger slid between her legs and pressed firmly right over the throbbing flesh covered by her panties and shorts.

  “Stop,” she gasped, grabbing his thick wrist and dragging his hand away.

  He smiled down into her eyes. “And then—” He turned his arm and grasped her hand in his own, drawing it to his lap. “—it would be your turn to touch me.” He held her palm over the full column of his arousal, and she gasped again as his flesh leaped in response. Her fingers automatically curved to cradle him, and his jaw clenched as a sound of pure male need escaped him. He dragged her hand away from his body and pressed a kiss to her palm before linking their fingers. “But I won’t, because you’re not ready for that.”

  She wasn’t sure her voice would work and she cleared her throat before she tried it. “Actually, I think I am.” She tipped her face up to his, meeting his heated gaze full-on. “You said before that I was still in love with my husband, and you were right. Part of me will always love Mike, but he’s a memory now. It’s time to move on.” Way to go, Catherine. So much for not wanting to get involved.

  Gray drew in a harsh breath. He tore his gaze from hers and looked blindly up at the sky. “You know,” he said in a conversational tone, “your timing really sucks.”

  She laughed, breaking the sensual spell that bound her; she suspected he’d said that on purpose. “Yours isn’t much better.”

  His smile carved a deep dimple in his cheek. “Wanna bet?”

  Michael came running toward them then, bored with his solo game, and she began to set out the food, grateful for the chance to recover her balance after Gray’s last provocative comment.

  Afterward, her son’s little head began to droop, and they headed back to the house so Catherine could put Michael down for a nap. Gray insisted on carrying the child, leaving Catherine with the empty—and hence, much lighter—basket.

  As she moved with them back across the lawn and up the steps to the kitchen door, she was riveted by the sight of the sleeping child cradled in Gray’s arms, his small head resting against Gray’s heart.

  Although it wasn’t her nature not to plan, she decided that she was not going to think too much about where all this was going. There were simply too many variables, too many obstacles, for her to predict, or even allow herself to dream about the future.

  But…how could there not be a future with Gray in it? A few weeks ago she hadn’t imagined she could love again. Now, she was afraid she was dangerously close to doing exactly that.

  Catherine invited him to an evening barbecue, another picnic and two more family dinners in the following week. In the evenings, Patsy took Michael off for his bath after dinner, giving them moments of privacy that Gray looked forward to the way a prisoner longed for the day of release.

  He knew what he was doing was wrong. He’d lied to her—sort of—and now he’d waited far too long to tell her the truth. She would hate him if she ever found out.

  It couldn’t last. He was the first man who’d touched her since her husband died. One day she would realize he was just an ordinary guy, and she’d move on. One day this would end, and he would get out of her life. But until the day that she grew tired of him, he didn’t have the strength to leave.

  Right now, all he could think of was Catherine. When he wasn’t with her, he thought about her. Of the way her hair fell straight and shining down her back on the rare occasions when she didn’t twist it up, of the way the muscles in her long, slim legs flexed as she stooped to pick up her child, of the way her sweet little bottom filled out her shorts, of the way she lowered her head slightly when she smiled into his eyes.

  Of the tender way she kissed her son’s temple when he laid his head on her shoulder, of the gleam of laughter in her eyes when she gently teased, of her determination to keep the only life her mother-in-law had ever known running smoothly despite the agonizing loss they’d suffered.

  Of the way her mouth moved under his, the way her soft body felt in his arms. Of how desperately he wanted to take her down to the floor and bare her silky flesh to his eyes, mouth and hands.

  After Patsy had taken Michael up to bed one evening, he waited until Catherine joined him in the family room. They’d gotten into the habit of watching the news and discussing it. And kissing. As he watched her walk toward him, he thought about how ridiculous it was that the highlight of his day was a single quarter hour in the evening when Catherine sank down beside him in the circle of his arm. How lucky he was to have this chance at all.

  God, he’d nearly blown it with the stupid comment about her degree the day of the first picnic. He still didn’t know why he’d blurted that out. But as he had, he’d had a vivid, undeniably accurate mental image…she wore a graduation cap and gown, and she ran full-tilt toward him with a smile as she waved her diploma. He held out his arms and she ran right into them, alternately laughing and crying between kisses.

  “The only thing that could have made this day better is if Daddy had been able to be here.”

  “I know.” He blotted her tears with his thumb and kissed her again. “I wish he was here, too. But you know I will always take care of you, don’t you?”

  Thinking about it gave him an unsettled feeling. He’d begun to remember more things, and in more detail, than could possibly be explained rationally. Most of the time he simply refused to think about i
t. But occasionally, his unique perception reared its head and he couldn’t avoid it.

  Like when he’d been kicking the ball with Michael in the yard. The thrill that had shot through him when the kid proved adept at it was pretty intense. Too intense, maybe? As if the part of Mike Thorne that lived within him had been proud of the little guy’s prowess. As if the guy was still determined to be a part of his family’s life in the only way he could.

  And then Catherine sat down, curling up in his arms as if she’d done it forever, and thoughts of her scattered everything else churning in his brain.

  “Hi,” he murmured, turning his head to nuzzle a kiss beneath her ear. “Everything under control during bath time?”

  “Everything’s fine.” She tilted her head slightly, giving him better access to the sweet taste of her there, just along her jaw, and her voice was breathy.

  He lifted a hand and turned her face toward him, seeking her lips, satisfaction coursing through him as she sank against him with a quiet murmur of pleasure. He drew her across his lap, cradling her in one arm as he bent his head and kissed her deeply, repeatedly, until she was turning her head blindly seeking his mouth, until they both were dragging in harsh gasps of air as if they’d run side-by-side marathons.

  He stroked her hip and cupped her breast through the light summer blouse she wore, feeling the nipple rise even through her bra. He’d made himself a promise that he wasn’t going to put his hands beneath her clothes, or shove them up out of his way, or, best of all, remove them entirely, in her home. He didn’t quite know why, but it felt important to him and so he doggedly stuck to it night after night even though sometimes he could barely think enough to remember the vow. He was so heavily aroused he ached, and her hip squirming and pressing against him was the sweetest torment he could imagine. But—he silently gritted his teeth—he wasn’t going to take any chances on Patsy walking in on something that had gotten out of hand. And once he touched Catherine the way he longed to, the way he dreamed of in fevered nights of tossing and turning, he knew there would be no stopping.