The Player:Moorehouse Legacy(17)

It was time to have a sit-down with Adams about what had happened. Gray was hoping there was some kind of logical explanation other than that of the horizontal variety, although what it might be, he hadn't a clue. And if the situation was indeed as bad as it looked, he was in a hell of a spot if the man hadn't told his wife. Allison had every right to know, but she really should hear it from her husband.

God, of all the marriages he'd ever known, theirs had seemed the most solid.

Gray was striding across the dark marble of the Congress Club's lobby, heading for the door, when the hair on the back of his neck came to attention. He glanced around. There were a number of people in the place, but none who'd make his instincts come to attention-

"Gray."

The smooth sound of his mother's voice made him shut his eyes for a moment before he turned around.

Goddamn, Belinda was still beautiful. Dark hair, just like his, thick, loose and glowing on her shoulders. Hazel eyes tilted at the corners. Expertly made-up and surgically maintained face. Naturally, she was dressed to kill in clothes only big money could afford. And just as expected, there was some man by her side. The guy was an older version of the type she'd always gone for. Handsome, well-dressed, vacant-eyed and polite.

"Hello, Mother. Who's your friend?"

"This is Stuart. Stuart, my son Gray."

Gray nodded and let the guy's hand hang in the breeze. "Nice to meet you, Stu. Now if you two love birds will excuse me, I was just leaving."

"Grayson, a moment, please." His mother's eyes flashed and she stepped forward. As if she were prepared to follow him out of the club.

"Aren't you busy?" Gray drawled, flipping Stu a glance.

Belinda leaned back and ran a hand down the man's cheek, as if she were stroking something she owned. "Stuart, excuse us, darling, won't you?"

Stuart smiled at her, kissed her mouth and left.

Bet he fetches slippers and the paper real well, too, Gray thought as his mother cleared her throat with a little cough.

"Your father," she said quietly. "How is he?"

"Why the hell would you care?"

"He's been ill. Of course I want to know how he is."

"Well, you can get the update from someone else." Gray started walking away, hoping to get free of her. On the rare occasions their paths crossed, she always wanted to talk about the past, as if he were some kind of confessor.

But going through his childhood once was enough.

When he heard the sound of high heels clicking softly on the marble behind him, he knew he wasn't going to get away with a quick-and-easy parting.

"Grayson!" she hissed.

He stopped, glared over his shoulder and then stepped into an alcove. "What."

She took a moment to collect herself. "You know, Gray, just because your father and I weren't … compatible, doesn't mean you have to hate me."

Gray jammed his hands into his pockets. Though he was bored to death with the predictable subject, somehow he never failed to rise to the bait when pressed. And if she wanted to try for a shot at redemption from him, then she was going to pay for the privilege by being a target for his anger.

"Interesting how you reduce it all to compatibility," he muttered.

"Your father and I were never well-suited."

"Yeah, you two had some real irreconcilable differences, didn't you? Starting with the fact that you are a whore and he was looking for a wife."

She stiffened regally. "I don't appreciate being addressed in such a crude manner."

"Then stop chasing after me." Gray's hand went to the knot of his tie. Beneath the silk, his throat was tight.

"You're just as bad as your father. Completely intractable. There's no reasoning with either one of you."

"And there's no way to keep you off your back, is there?"

She paled. "Grayson! I'm your mother!"

"I know," he said dully, stomach churning. "Believe me, I know."

He looked around the lobby. There weren't many people around and he knew their hushed voices weren't carrying far, but he'd be damned if he was going to have it out with her in public.

"Anyway, sorry, I can't chat," he lied. "I'm late for an engagement."

She didn't even seem to hear him. "You shouldn't judge other people's relationships."

"You're my parents. I had to live with the fallout of what you did to my father. So I'm damn qualified to judge."

"He never loved me."

"That's where you're wrong."

"He loved his books and the law and his work. I was nineteen when we married, twenty when I had you. He was twelve years older than I was, ensconced in his career. He left us both alone up at the lake for months while he was in D.C."

"You were never alone."

Memories of her against the side of the house at the lake, a man's hands under her dress, her head back and eyes closed, hit Gray like a pile driver. He'd been thirteen when he'd caught that little show. The echoes of her laughter, so high, shrill and desperate, had woken him up for months afterward.

And he hadn't been alone, either. Shame had been his constant companion when he was a teenager. Knowing what his mother was up to. Keeping her secrets. Lying when his father called and she was out screwing some random guy.

Belinda opened her mouth, but he silenced her with his hand. "You know something? I'm no more interested in this conversation than I was the last ten times you cornered me somewhere. Goodbye, Mother, dear."

"I think of you, Grayson," she said starkly, grabbing his arm.

He flipped out of her grip and turned away. "And I think of you. All the damned time."

Gray burst through the ornate doors and cut through the rush of pedestrians on the sidewalk. As his limousine slid up and he got in, he became aware that his hands were in fists.

While the car sped down Park Avenue, he stared out the window, trying to collect himself and failing. When the driver pulled up to Allison and Roger's building, Gray couldn't make himself open the car door. For reasons he despised, his mother still had the capacity to make him feel like a lost boy instead of the man he was. The vulnerability pissed him off, and with his emotions bouncing around, he knew he wasn't fit for the social scene bubbling in the penthouse far above.

"You want to be taken somewhere else?" the driver asked when Gray didn't get out right away.

"No. Thanks."

Gray left the limousine and walked around the block a few times, the cold breeze seeping in through the worsted wool of his suit. When he was ready, he went through the building's lobby, got into the elevator and convinced himself he was sufficiently on autopilot so he could make it through what was left of the party.

Except the moment he put his foot through the Adams's door, he knew he was lying to himself. There were about a hundred people milling around the perfectly appointed penthouse, and though he knew all of them, they suddenly seemed like total strangers to him. Or maybe he just wished they were. The sound of people talking and laughing, the smell of hors d'oeuvres, the simmering, polite aggression as folks tried to one-up each other, it all hit him like an assault.

He turned to go back out the door.

"Gray!" Cassandra walked up and kissed his cheek. "I called you. Joy's here-"

His breath stopped. "In town?"

"Yes. At this party as a matter of fact. She-"

"Where is she?"

His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for strawberry-blond hair. His heart was in his throat, and though he felt pathetic about the desperation, he wanted to see her. Especially tonight.

"Maybe she's in the library," Cassandra murmured, glancing around with him. "I think she wanted to look at the books."

Gray knew the apartment's layout and moved through the guests as quickly as he could without being rude. He was about to go down a hallway when Roger Adams stepped in front of him.

"We were worried you weren't coming!" The senator was all smiles. "Did you catch Wright? He's over there, by the bar."

Gray stared down at the man he thought he'd known so well.

Fury, spurred by the chummy visit with his mother, sharpened his voice so it cut through the chatter. "We need to talk."

Adams's eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?"

At that moment, Allison, who was laughing with someone no more than four feet away, caught Gray's eye and blew him a kiss.

Adams reached out a hand. "Bennett, you look like hell. Come on, let's go to my study."

"No." Gray shook off the hold. "We're not going to do this tonight. And not here."

"Okay," Adams said slowly. "I'll be in Washington as of tomorrow. Is everything all right?"

"I'll see you down there at your office."

"Gray, what's going on?"

"Anna Shaw. That's what. And I'm not talking about the leaks."

"Oh … God." The senator's face paled first and then ran red. Sweat broke out over the man's upper lip. "Look, I-"

"No, save it. We'll do this in private. Not a yard away from your wife."

Gray turned away in disgust and stalked off. The last thing he wanted was for Allison to overhear anything. And besides, adultery was a subject he couldn't handle talking about tonight.

As he headed for the far corner of the penthouse, several people jumped in his path, but he shrugged them off harshly. He didn't have anything polite left in him. Thinking about the betrayal in the Adams's marriage made his own past come close enough to choke him. As if looking into his mother's face hadn't been bad enough.