The Renegade (The Moorehouse Legacy #3)(35)

Her smile faltered, and the red splash that hit her cheeks was clearly shame, not delight, because it was backed up by a wince. She looked away quickly, not acknowledging him, but O’Banyon caught the exchange. He pegged Alex with a pair of hazels that read BACK OFF loud and clear. Then the man stepped in close and fit his arm around her waist.

Alex could understand the reaction. If Cassandra were his woman, he’d send the same message to any man who eyed her.

A meaty hand clapped on his shoulder, and Spike spoke right in his ear. “Do yourself a favor tonight, my man. Be careful with O’Banyon. This situation’s got jaws of life written all over it.”

Alex nodded. “I agree with you completely.”

*

An hour later Cass was in total party numb. Too many people, too much noise, too little air.

Making an excuse to Jack Walker, the new governor of Massachusetts, she snuck out of the living room. She was surprised at the number of guests and partially grateful. The more bodies in the house, the harder it was to concentrate on Alex.

Well, not really.

She found herself always watching him out of the corner of her eye, seeing who he talked to and how he acted. He didn’t seem any more interested in the party than she was. The only time he smiled was when Spike shot him a couple of words and a dry grin. Otherwise, Alex was a tall, silent presence that commanded people’s attention even though he rarely opened his mouth.

Predictably, the women were captivated by him. They came up to him all the time, smiling, getting in tight, touching his arm, his shoulder. He barely noticed. He looked over their heads or through them, even when they got really persistent.

Unlike Spike he clearly wasn’t taking any of the lovelies home tonight.

It was so different from the way Reese had behaved. Even when she’d been with her husband at a party, Reese had engaged in social sex. He’d been a toucher, a looker, a flirter, walking the line between sensuous and sleazy perfectly. Women had adored him and he’d adored them right back.

Alex, on the other hand, was choosy about who he shared himself with.

Cass grimaced, thinking of how he’d withdrawn from her body. Yes, he was definitely choosy.

Pushing her hair back, she uttered a vicious little word. She hadn’t been able to forget their brief time on his bed and not just because of her embarrassment. The preoccupation struck her as unfair. How could it be so right on one side and so wrong for the other person?

And why had he been so aroused in the first place? Men couldn’t lie about that.

Maybe she just looked like his Miracle.

Oh, there was a lovely thought.

Cass walked down the hall and went through a closed door into a library. Like the rest of Gray’s house, the room was done up with antiques and damask drapes and Oriental rugs. But that wasn’t what recommended the space to her. Quiet was its main attraction.

Across the way there were a bank of windows that faced the water. She went over to them and took in the winter landscape. Snow covered the rolling lawn, a blanket that glowed blue in the moonlight. Farther down, the vast, frozen expanse of the lake stretched out between its cradle of mountains, flat as could be.

Voices broke her solitude as two women walked in, one blond, the other with sable-colored hair. Both were dressed in Soho black: close-cut, dark clothes made by obscure designers. If memory served, the blonde was an editor for Vanity Fair and her friend worked at Town & Country. Or maybe it was the other way around.

“I can’t believe Alex Moorehouse is here,” the blonde said. “I would love to do a story on him. Tragic champion and all that.”

“I like his friend. Did you see those tattoos on his neck? I wonder how far down they go.”

“Allison, your last four boyfriends had roman numerals after their last names. That guy doesn’t even have a surname. Spike? I mean, really.”

“Did you see his eyes? They’re yellow.”

“I was too busy staring at Moorehouse. I wonder what it would take to open him up. Maybe he needs a ride home.”

The two of them noticed her.

“Do you know if there is a bathroom around here?” the one named Allison asked.

Cass nodded to a door in the corner. “I think it’s through there.”

“You first,” the blonde said to Allison. Then she turned and smiled at Cass. “My name’s Erica Winsted, we met at the Hall Foundation Gala last year, remember? You know, I was sorry to hear about your husband.”

“Thank you.”

Erica did a little pirouette. “What a fabulous party this is. When Allison suggested we fly up, I thought she was crazy. But the people here? First-rate.”

Chatty was about the last thing Cass felt up to. “If you’ll excuse me—”

“Say, you wouldn’t be willing to introduce me to Alex Moorehouse, would you? I’m dying to get to him. And he was your husband’s partner, right?”

Cass just stared at the woman. Reporters really were awful, she thought.

Erica smiled. “I mean, you know him, right?”

“No, not at all.”

The woman frowned as Cass walked out.

By a stroke of dumb luck, the stairs were right there and Cass used them with relief, heading up away from the party. She wasn’t a coward to run to her room, she just needed a little space.

At least until the urge to lob a crepe at that reporter faded.