by J. R. Ward
Man, no wonder she didn’t want to come here alone. This guy was straight-up, high-class trouble, from his icy eyes to his signet ring to his perfectly turned-out bow tie. Real spit-and-polish nasty.
Mad cleared her throat. “I, ah, I wasn’t sure he was—”
“My fault,” Spike interjected. “I didn’t let her know my other plans had changed. As you can imagine, I’m just thrilled to be here, Dick.”
Richard’s stare got transferred to Spike’s face. “I go by Richard, thank you. And apparently, my guests think you’re decent company. Which is a vote in your favor.”
“Yeah, Binder and I go back.” Spike smiled, showing all his teeth. “But I have to tell you, I’m not looking to get elected and I’m not here to be decent company. I’m here for Mad.”
Richard frowned. “Indeed. And exactly how do you know each other?”
Spike glanced at Madeline, figuring this was a question she should answer.
“Friends,” she said. “We’re friends.”
“That I could have guessed.” Richard’s voice was even. Well-modulated. Resonant. “Madeline doesn’t have a lot of success with the opposite sex.”
As Mad flinched, Spike narrowed his eyes. And wondered what good old Richard would sound like if his front teeth were knocked out.
But then he took a deep breath. Before he gave the tooth fairy some extra business, he should probably find out whether Mad wanted him to stay at all. He’d hoped to arrive after dinner so they could talk, but he’d been so anxious to see her that he’d left the Adirondacks too early and gotten to Greenwich too soon. And once he was in the vicinity, he hadn’t been able to stay away from her house.
From across the table, Walter Binder spoke up. “So Spike, what are your long-term plans for White Caps? Are you going to expand? Maybe establish a presence in Manhattan?”
Spike cleared his throat to answer, but then had to lean back while silverware and a napkin and a glass were put down in front of him. The endive salad that landed in the middle of the setup looked good, but when the white wine bottle came forward, he shook his head.
“None for me, thanks,” he told the waiter. Then he glanced over at Binder who, if memory served, was a deep-pockets real estate developer. “Ah, yeah…I think we do want to grow in the next couple of years. And though the Big Apple is a little far away from us, let’s face it, New York is one of the hot spots for food in all the world.”
“Are you looking for capital yet?”
“We’re beginning to.” As a matter of fact they’d already talked to Nate’s brother, Jack, who had a pile of the stuff.
“Now that,” Binder shook his forefinger in the air, “would be a great investment.”
Talk shifted, moving in various wealth-related directions. As Richard launched into a conversation about the S&P with the anemic blonde next to him, Spike looked at Mad. Compared to the other guests, she was under-dressed in her white polo and her loose pants. But to him, she was absolutely stunning: all healthy and vital and beautiful. Man, Chanel had nothing on a pair of khakis when it came to Mad.
In a soft voice, he said, “I really should have called.”
She pushed her endive around and smiled a little, the tilt of her lips catching and holding his eyes. “I am a bit surprised to see you.”
“I don’t have to stay. I don’t want to cause any problems for you.”
She looked over at him, and suddenly, everything faded into nothingness. All he saw was the twilight color of her eyes, a blue so dark it seemed infinite.
The words came out of him quickly. “I’m sorry, Mad. About what I said back at Sean’s.”
“What? Oh…he told me you’d apologized. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s really not.”
Abruptly, Mad’s eyes shifted to the left and she stiffened. Ah, so Richard was listening in.
“Let’s go for a ride on my bike,” Spike said quietly. “As soon as dinner’s over.”
She nodded. “I’d like that.”
Spike picked up his fork, tucked into what was actually a very nice salad, and tried to stop staring at her. To distract himself, he surveyed the room and…whoa. He hadn’t really noticed when he walked in, but the wealth and splendor of the environs was outrageous. If he’d been told the whole thing had been airlifted out of Versailles, he wouldn’t have been at all surprised.
Funny, he’d thought he’d been ready to get a gander at her family’s house. Even though he didn’t come from anything, he knew a lot of rich people because rich people ate a lot of French food and they liked to know their chefs. But this…this was beyond rich and into Rockefeller money.
As Spike reached for his water glass, he knew that even if he hadn’t had a prison record, Madeline Maguire was way outside his league.
Hell, he wasn’t even from the same planet as her.
* * *
Mad put her spoon down, leaving the raspberry compote mostly untouched.
Food was so not on her mind right now. Probably because Spike Moriarty was taking up ninety-seven percent of her brain. With the remaining three percent seemingly focused on giving her hot flashes whenever her elbow touched his or their thighs brushed.
So actually, there wasn’t anything left over, was there?
Which explained why she was breathless and there was a flutter in her chest. Clearly, her heart and lungs had gone free agent and without supervision, they were doing a rotten job.
The grandfather clock in the foyer began to chime.
“Let’s have coffee on the terrace,” Richard announced as he stood up. After he put his folded napkin next to his plate, he helped Penelope out of her chair.
Mad glanced over as Spike rose from the table. His leathers clung to his hips and his legs, the muscles underneath shifting and pulling at the second skin. She’d never actually seen a man wear something like that before. Had always assumed hardcore dressing was ridiculous, just a posing, calculation of masculinity.
On Spike, those pants were sexy as all get-out.
His big palm appeared in front of her. “You ready to ride?” His voice was low, naturally husky. “Mad?”
“Yes…I’m ready.” She got up without accepting his hand, too flustered to touch him.
He dropped his arm. “Any idea where Jeeves put my helmet?”
“Leaving so soon?” Richard said. “Mad drive you away?”
“Hardly.” Spike smiled easily enough, but his stare had an edge like a dagger. “We’re going to take a little joyride together.”
“You’ll miss the terrace.”
“Guess so. But I have a feeling it will still be attached to the house when we get back.” Spike smiled more widely, but only an idiot would have been fooled by the expression.
When her half brother frowned, Mad stepped in. “Spike, I think I know where your helmet is. Come with me.”
“Sure. Love to. Later, Richard.”
As they left, Richard’s expression was along the lines of someone who’d just seen a UFO headline in the New York Times: utter disbelief tinted with dread.
Mad led Spike through the chatty throng of guests who were working their way out to the back of the house. Across the foyer and to the left, there was a hall closet and she opened it. As Spike reached up to get the helmet off the top shelf, he leaned into her, his big body brushing against hers, his aftershave a whiff of dark spice.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Do you—ah, do you need your jacket, too?” She fingered its leather sleeve and resisted the urge to sniff the thing.
“Nah. It’s warm and we won’t be out long. I wore it for protection for the long trip. Just like these things.” He casually slapped the outside of his thigh. “If I skid over asphalt, I’d rather all this leather need a skin graft instead of me, you know?”
Pictures of him in an accident made her panicky, reminding her that motorcycles could be dangerous even if the operator was highly competent.
“Mad? You okay?”
“Absolu
tely.”
But as they went out through the front door, she was still a little shaken. At least until she saw what he rode.
She stopped dead. “Whoa. That is a…serious bike.”
The Harley was the size of a horse. Black. Lots of chrome. And the pipes out the back were thicker than her upper arm. No wonder the thing sounded like an airplane.
“My one luxury.” Spike jogged down the white marble steps. “Her name’s Bette. As in Bette Davis.”
Mad followed. “She looks more like a he. Named Butch.”
Spike laughed. “Oh, no. Bette’s a female. She’s my girl. And I told her about you, so she’ll be cool.”
“You talk to your bike?”
“Of course. Now put this on.”
He handed her the helmet then kicked his leg over the Harley’s seat. He fit the machine perfectly. And those pants…
“Don’t worry,” he said as she hesitated, “I don’t showboat on this thing. And when I have passengers, I always take it extra careful.”
Just how many women had ridden with him? she wondered.
Spike flicked a key, rose up from the seat, and slammed his body downward. The bike lit off with a roar that she felt into her bones. Or maybe the buzz was more from the sight of his thighs straddling all that horsepower.
A lot of women, she decided, had been on that Harley with him. Because no one of the female persuasion would turn down an invitation like this.
“I think I love you,” she blurted, overcome by the sight of him. Then slapped her hand over her mouth.
“What?” he said over the noise.
Oh, yeah…sure she was repeating that, even though she’d been joking. “Nothing.”
She put the helmet on, fitted the strap under her chin and mounted the Harley. There wasn’t a whole lot of room and her body immediately went flush with Spike’s backside. With the bike vibrating and her legs cradling his hips, it was really hard not to think about very dangerous, very dumb things. Like what if they were facing each other. And—
“You ready?”
Oh, yes…she was.
Mad winced and then yelled over the noise, “What about your helmet?”
He looked over his shoulder, yellow eyes gleaming. “You’re wearing it. Just hold on to me, okay?”
She put her hands on his tight waist, right above his leathers. Oh…boy. His body was hard all over. Warm, too.
“Where are we going?” she shouted.
“Anywhere. Nowhere. Away. That all right?”
“Yes…yes, it is.”
He cranked one of the grips on the handlebars, the engine let out a growl and they were off. The bike was a living thing beneath them, the throbbing and the noise and the power humming through her body. With the warm air coming at her, and the moonlit road out in front, she felt like she must be dreaming.
Because real life just didn’t come in this many shades of perfect.
Spike handled the Harley beautifully, shifting gears with smooth coordination, never going too fast or stopping too quickly. Before she knew it, she had relaxed against him and ended up with her hands all the way around his waist and her torso curved around his back. As she smelled fresh oil and his spicy aftershave and the lush summer night, she would have been quite content to keep going forever.
Eventually he pulled over on a secluded stretch of road and turned the bike off. Letting go of him was a tough one, but she did it quickly so he wouldn’t think she was clinging. Kicking her leg up and out, she dismounted and took off the helmet, shaking loose her hair.
In the woods on either side of the road, crickets chimed and fireflies danced among the trees. Now that they weren’t moving, the air was as soft as a sigh.
Spike snapped out the kickstand, but stayed on the bike, plugging his hands into his thighs, eyeing her steadily. “Sean told me how to find you, and as I said, I should have called. If you want me to go, I understand, but I wanted to at least show up and prove I was willing to make the drive even if you turned me away.”
She craned her neck back and looked up at the stars. Then she focused on him. “I’d like you to stay.”
“Good.” His lips tilted up on one side. “So that means I’m your boy for this weekend. I’ll do anything for you. You need me to freak your half brother out? Scare that butler again? Wash the dog? You just let me know.”
How about kissing me, she thought, eyeing the thrust of his jaw and his jet-black hair and those wide shoulders.
Except that was ridiculous. He’d only showed up because he felt guilty. And because Sean had undoubtedly bullied him into it. He certainly hadn’t come because he was interested in her. Spike had never shown one indication that he was attracted to her. The two of them were friends.
Yup. Story of her life. Friends.
But at least he came.
“We don’t have a dog,” she said.
“Cat?”
“Richard doesn’t like animals.”
“Figures.”
“You know, you don’t have to do this just because you feel badly about what you said.” Shoot, why was she giving him an out?
“That’s not the only reason why I’m here.”
Her breath got tight. “Oh?”
An evil little light showed up in his yellow eyes and he smiled more broadly. “I’m dying to get to know your half brother better.”
She laughed, thinking she probably shouldn’t like it that he seemed to want to stand up for her. “I’m glad you came. I appreciate it.”
“Then put ’er there.” He offered her his hand. “We’re a team this weekend, you and me.”
She leaned forward and grasped his palm carefully. The contact was electric, a hot sizzle bolting up her arm and nailing her in the chest. And yet as she struggled to keep calm, he didn’t linger or show any kind of reaction at all. He just gave her a solid shake and let go.
“So, partner,” he said. “What else do you have on deck tonight? Anything?”
“Well, I usually swim after dinner.”
“I brought my trunks.”
“Then let’s go back.”
“Ah, yes, and the terrace is going to want to see us. So we shouldn’t keep it up worrying about our safe return.”
She laughed and then thought of Richard’s party logistics. “Actually, maybe we should drive around a little longer. That way we can miss the whole aprés dinner thing.”
“Hot damn.” Spike clapped his hands together. “See, this is what I’m talking about. You and I are going to make a great pair. We already think alike.”
He fired up the bike and looked at her with expectation.
Staring back at him hurt. He was so relaxed and easy. Because obviously being around her was uncomplicated.
Friends. Just…friends.
She mounted the Harley and put the helmet on, but Spike didn’t set them in motion until he was sure she had the chin strap clipped together. She waited until they were going at quite a clip before sneaking her hands across his stomach and linking them together. It was pathetic, but the only reason she didn’t lay her cheek on his shoulder was the bulky helmet.
Well, that and the fact they were…friends.
Chapter Five
By the time they got back to the house, the cars in front had all left and most of the lights were off. Mad hated letting go of Spike, but as he flipped out the kickstand and cut the Harley’s engine, she lost the socially acceptable excuse to drape herself over him like a tarp.
“Place cleared out quick,” he said as they dismounted.
“Richard likes to get up early.” She removed the helmet and let it dangle from her hand. Then she looked the bike over. “Did you say you had things to bring in?”
“Yup.” Spike nodded to the black leather saddlebags on either side of the Harley. “All I need is in there.”
He leaned down and reached inside one of them, taking out a folded up duffel and snapping the thing open. With quick movements, he transferred over a bunch of rolled-up clothes a
nd a dopp kit and she tried not to notice that there was nothing even vaguely pajama-like as far as she could see.
Then again she already knew from their night at Sean’s that he preferred sleeping in the nude.
“You pack economically,” she murmured.
“Coming from a sailor, that’s a compliment, right?”
“Absolutely.”
They went inside and were met by Richard’s butler who insisted on taking Spike upstairs to his guest room. Mad went with them, following the two men all the way around to the opposite side of the house from her room.
If she and Spike had been any farther apart, he’d have been sleeping in the house next door.
She waited until the butler left.
“Will this be okay for you?” she asked, glancing around the formal room with its antiques and its hand-painted wallpaper.
Spike rolled his eyes and tested the plush bed with his heads. “Oh, I’ll make do.”
“The pool’s out back,” she said, going over to a window. “You can see it from here.”
He came over and pushed the heavy satin drape out of the way. As he peered out around her, she shifted to the side and glanced back. She was very tall for a woman and physically strong as well, so it took a lot of man to make her feel dainty, feminine. Spike had four inches and at least seventy-five pounds on her, maybe more given the size of his shoulders. So he did the trick. Nicely.
God, they were so close that she could see the shadow of his beard growth and each and every one of his eyelashes. Her eyes locked on his lips.
“You want to meet down there?” he said. When she didn’t answer, he frowned and looked at her. “Mad?”
“Ah—yes. That would be great.” She stepped away. “Do you know how to find—”
“Don’t worry about me.” He smiled at her easily. “I’ll get there.”
She left and didn’t remember walking to the other side of the house.
When she opened the door to her bedroom, however, she came back to reality with a jerk.
Everything inside had been done over. Everything was different.
No, not just different. Her imprint on this space had been eradicated.
The walls had once been a deep red she’d loved, a rich, powerful claret she’d chosen with her mother long ago. Now the room was a pastel rose, as if the color she’d liked had been exposed to too much sun and had faded. And then there was the lace. On the windows. On the bed. In the bath.