by J. R. Ward
It was the kind of room Amelia would have liked.
Mad shook her head, wishing she’d been put somewhere else. Better that than to sleep in a place she’d once thought of as a sanctuary, but was now a kind of pink prison.
This was so alienating, she thought as she shut the door. She wasn’t soft or muted or pretty and she didn’t feel comfortable amid all the soft and muted and pretty in the room. Frankly, she found all the femininity…intimidating. Something she felt like she should have and appreciate, but just didn’t.
Except then she thought of the bunks she’d crashed on for the last six weeks and all the things she’d done with the boys on the crew. When you were on a boat in the middle of the ocean, soft and muted and pretty got you classified as ballast. There, out on the sea, power was all that mattered and you needed it both in your head and your body. It was only on land that strength like that sometimes made women less than appealing.
Whatever. This was Richard’s house and Richard’s walls and Richard’s windows and Richard’s floor. She had no claim to any of it and she needed to let go of the past.
She changed into her bathing suit and was wrapping a towel around herself when a knock rang out. She opened the door and wished she hadn’t.
“Oh…hello, Richard.”
Her half brother had downshifted from the suit he’d worn at dinner into a cashmere V-neck and some slacks. He had a bored expression on his face, but those eyes of his were sharp as always. Clearly, he was on a mission.
He walked right in, forcing her to step back. “Swimming?” he said. “This late?”
“Part of my training schedule.”
“As if you need more muscle.” He looked around, cataloging her small bag and the pants and shirt she’d folded neatly and put on the dresser. “Where are the rest of your things?”
“Look, Richard, I was just going down to the pool—”
“To meet Spike, of course.” Richard went over to one of the banks of lace drapery and shook a section of the stuff out. When he was satisfied with how the piece hung, he turned around. “So how did you meet that man? The two of you never did answer my question.”
“It was through a friend.”
“Who?”
“Sean.”
“And how does Sean know him?”
Mad crossed her arms over her chest and took the fact that she was getting pissed off as a good sign. It was better than cowering. “I have no clue.”
“When did you first meet him? How long have you known him?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Then why not tell me?”
This was the problem with Richard, she thought. His mouth was fast and his reasoning was hard to get around. If she didn’t answer him, she would seem petty.
“It was fairly recently,” she hedged. “And we’re just friends, Richard. You heard me at dinner.”
“You don’t look at him like he’s a friend. So obviously he’s the one who’s not interested.”
“Did you come here to make me feel bad? Or was there another purpose?”
He smiled at her a little. “Have I upset you?”
“Oh, not at all. The suggestion that a man couldn’t possibly be attracted to me is a terrific thing to hear. Especially in your tone of voice.”
“I’m sorry,” he said smoothly. He glanced at her duffel bag. “I can’t believe that’s all you’ve brought for a whole weekend. Penelope would need a bag that size to go out to lunch properly.”
And he made this sound as if the defect was Mad’s, not the other woman’s.
“Richard—”
“So.” He clasped his hands together and pointed both forefingers straight at her chest. “I want you to play golf with me tomorrow. I’m inviting two friends of mine to the club and we’re going out at one o’clock. But let’s be clear. I do not want you to win by too much. Just a stroke or three, nothing more. The object is not to embarrass them like you’ve done with some of my other associates. You need to remember that no one likes losing to a woman on the links.” He headed for the open door. “Oh, and by the way, one of them is just divorced. Maybe he’d be interested in you. His ex-wife was a model and I think he’s had it with that beautiful, sociable type.”
Mad closed her eyes. A command performance with a win spread coupled with a single guy who was a buddy of her half brother’s. Just the way she’d hoped to spend a Saturday afternoon. “Richard.”
He paused and looked over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“Can’t go? Why? Spending time with your chef?”
“As a matter of fact we have plans.” Or they would as soon as they thought them up.
“So break them.”
She met Richard’s eyes steadily. Crucible…crucible…This was her crucible…“No.”
Impatience flickered across his face and then his eyes narrowed. “Why did you come out here if you didn’t want to spend time with your family?”
Because I’m going to boot you out of my trust for good, half brother. That’s the only reason I made the trip.
“There’s plenty of time left,” she murmured. “But I will not go to the club with you tomorrow.”
Richard measured her for a long time, as if trying to break her with all the silence. Then he shrugged.
“Fine. I’ll get the pro to play. You always were a hermit, you know that?” He stepped out into the hall, then wrapped a hand around the jamb molding and leaned back in. “One more question about Spike. What is his last name?”
Oh, God. She couldn’t answer that, could she? She only knew him as Spike….
Mad kept her tone mild even though she was about to lose it. “If you’re so interested in him, ask him yourself.”
Richard’s eyes passed over her slowly. “You’re not usually this difficult.”
Welcome to the new world, she thought. And wait’ll you see what else I’ve got planned for you.
“Maybe I’m just getting older.”
“Somehow, I doubt that. Sleep well, Madeline.” Richard didn’t bother shutting the door behind him.
Mad wheeled away, burning with frustration—and found herself staring at the lace drapes he’d fiddled with so carefully. Though it made her immature as hell, she walked across the room, shoved her hands into the delicate fall, and shook them into a mess.
It didn’t make her feel any better. Instead, she was just ashamed of herself for being so petty.
She left the room and headed down to the pool, working herself up into a lather. Her half brother had been taking potshots at her since she’d been in diapers, and as a child she’d accepted the taunting cruelty as the way of the world, something like bad thunderstorms and monsters in the closet and any meal that had tuna fish in it.
But she wasn’t a five-year-old to be clipped into place. Not anymore.
As she stepped out of the house, a rhythmic splashing sound got her attention.
The estate’s Olympic-size pool was set into the ground on the far side of a slate terrace. Lights glowed around its periphery, the soft illumination picking out the square, boxwood hedging and the Brown Jordan patio furniture. But none of that was important.
The male body churning through the water was doing the freestyle, long arms and powerful shoulders eating up the distance, the rhythmic surging of the strokes…potent, sexual.
Mad walked over, dropped her towel on a chaise and watched Spike swim. When he got to the far side, he executed a perfect kick-turn and shot out from the wall, his stroke resuming easily.
Focusing on him was a lot more enjoyable than thinking of Richard, she decided. But not really more relaxing.
* * *
As Spike kicked out from the wall and resurfaced, he figured he’d done about a half mile already. But he still had plenty of energy to burn off.
That ride with Mad had been an exercise in torture. Her hands around his waist, her torso curved against his spine, her body close as their clothes would allow. He
could have cheerfully taken them to South Dakota and back and still not have wanted to get off the bike.
That woman was like nothing he’d ever been near before. Capable of lighting him up like a football stadium just because she came into a room. And man, did he have to fight not to let the reaction show.
Spike got to the shallow end of the pool and stopped. Planting his feet on the bottom, he pushed his torso out of the water, flipped his hair back and breathed hard.
“Hi.”
He pivoted to the left. Mad was standing on the terrace in a sports bikini, nothing but skin and curves and strength.
And wouldn’t you know it, his body responded. In a rush.
Thank God the underwater lights weren’t on.
“Hi.” He lifted his arm up in greeting.
She sat down on the pool’s edge, dangling her long, beautiful legs in the warm, splashing depths. “You’re a good swimmer.”
“I like the water.” More now that there was some of her in it.
“Me, too.” She watched her feet as she moved them up and down.
“Something wrong? You look tense.”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” She glanced up and smiled. “Well, nothing a good workout won’t cure.”
In the blink of an eye, she was up and diving into the pool, a clean slice of female flesh cutting through the water.
Not surprisingly, she was a fantastic swimmer. She set off at a bruising pace, churning through the water, her body perfectly synchronized. He resumed his own strokes, matching his rhythm to hers until they were doing the laps together. She didn’t let up on the speed and they went hard for a good half hour, doing a mile or maybe two. Eventually, he had to bite at the water with his arms to keep up with her and then she pulled ahead: the weights he lifted all the time were good for building muscle, but she maxed him out cardiovascularly.
Finally, she stopped at the deep end, and hung on to the edge of the pool. Half a minute later, he pulled in next to her and tried to catch his breath.
“That was a good haul,” she said, smiling.
As she draped both her arms up on the smooth concrete lip, she leisurely kicked her legs to cool down.
Meanwhile, he did his best not to notice all the droplets of water that clung to her skin. Or the way her nipples had tightened against the chill.
“I like swimming with a buddy,” she said.
Spike shoved his hair out of his face. A buddy. That’s right. Buddy, as in friend. As in no looking. And no kissing or touching…no licking…
“So do I.” But he couldn’t manage to smile back at her.
Oh man…all he could think about was reaching through the water for her. Dragging her against his body. Sliding his thigh between her legs. Pushing his hips forward until—
Mad playfully nudged his shoulder with her foot. “Now you’re the one looking all tense. Usually workouts bring people down.”
“Sorry.”—their lower bodies fused. Then he would wrap his arms all the way around her and—
“Hey, would you like to watch a movie?”
“Ah…yeah.”—kiss her deep and hard she—
“We have a screening room. And no one else will be up. I’m the insomniac in the family. Well, Richard, too, but he doesn’t really like movies, either…”
Stop it, Moriarty, he told himself. Just stop the fantasizing routine or you’re never going to get out of this water.
“So is it a plan?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
Mad pushed off the side of the pool and went over to the ladder. Her shoulders flexed as she pulled herself out, the water sluicing down her body. As she turned to face him again, she gathered her hair up and squeezed the wetness out of it.
Crystal tears clung to her skin, sparkling in the low light.
Her smile was off-the-charts lovely. “You, Spike, look like an action-flick kind of guy. How about a Die Hard marathon?”
Spike just blinked. Clearly, she’d switched over to a foreign language because he was no longer tracking a word she was saying.
She swung her hair onto her back and bent over for her towel. “My favorite character in the first one was Argyle.” As she wrapped up, she frowned. “Spike? You feeling okay?”
Oh, he was feeling just fine. Uh-huh.
For a guy whose head was about to explode.
And damn it, she wasn’t even aware of him, was she? She had no idea what she was doing to him as she moved in the warm night air.
“Spike?”
“Tell you what, you go on ahead. I’m going to finish up here.”
“Oh, come on. You’ve got to be tired. You started before I came.”
“Later, Mad. I’ll be up later.”
She dropped her eyes. As she fell silent, the hum of the pool filter seemed to get louder. “Ah, hell…I did it again, didn’t I.”
“Did what?” he asked.
“Look, I’m sorry. And we can forget about the movie.” She shook her head. Looked back at the house. “I guess I’ll…I’ll just see you in the morning.”
“Mad, what the hell are you sorry for?”
“Nothing. I’ll see—”
“What’s wrong?”
“I just didn’t think.” She put her hands on her hips. Frowned. “You know, about the whole…swimming thing.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s nothing.” She cocked her leg up and rubbed her ankle a little, as if on reflex. Her eyes refused to meet his.
“Oh, before I forget. Breakfast is at eight sharp. If you’re not there, you won’t get to eat until lunch. ’Night.”
As she turned away, he said sharply, “What’s going on here, Mad?”
When she stopped and faced him again, he was relieved—given that he couldn’t go after her, not with the erection he was sporting.
With a quick move, she repositioned the towel, tightening it over her breasts. His eyes latched on to the subtle curves.
Stop it.
“Partners talk to each other, Mad. What’s wrong?”
“Oh, it’s…Yeah, nothing new. Most men don’t like the way I swim. Or play golf. Or lift weights. Or run.” She shrugged. “They don’t like it when I can out-drive them on the fairway or go faster around the track or go harder in the water.”
Spike could only stare at her. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”
She rolled her eyes. “Richard reminded me again tonight. Just ask him, he’ll explain the whole—”
“No offense, but I wouldn’t ask your half brother what day of the week he thought it was. And I can’t believe you think so little of me.”
Her eyes shifted to his. “Well, you’re clearly tense so I assume you’re upset about something.”
“And you think it’s because you can out-lap me?”
She shrugged. “It’s happened before.”
“Not with me. I love the fact that you can swim hard.”
Her eyes narrowed. After a moment, the tight lines of her face relaxed.
“Really?” she said, a little smile lighting on her lips. “Because that would be great. That would be…really great.”
“And I want to watch Bruce Willis with you. Or Bambi. Or…whatever.” Hell, he never wanted the night to end.
Now she beamed. “So let’s go.”
There was another stretch of silence as he tried to figure out what to do considering the condition he was in.
She tilted her head to the side. “You don’t want to get out of the pool, do you. Why?”
Well…they were both adults here, weren’t they? And it wasn’t as if she’d never seen an aroused man before. Besides, she was bound to figure out how he felt sometime during the course of the weekend and it seemed more honest to get it out of the way on the first night.
Spike swam over to the ladder she’d used and slowly dragged his body out of the water. He knew exactly when she saw what was doing. Her eyes peeled open and she took a stumbling step backward.
Guess they were clear on that.
He quickly covered himself with a towel. “Tell you what. Why don’t we take a rain check on the movie, okay?”
She just stood there staring at him, clearly not inclined to say much. Which made him feel even more like a total letch.
“Good night, Mad.”
He walked into the house and headed for the second floor. As he went, his internal cursing jammed up his head so badly it was a wonder he could find his room at all.
Except then he had something else to think about. As soon as he opened the door, his instincts went off, warning bells replacing the regret recital. Something was not right.
He closed himself in and looked around. Over on the bureau, his wallet was in a subtly different position than he’d left it in. And at the foot of the bed, the strap of his duffel was off to one side, no longer laying in the middle of the bag.
Now he cursed out loud. When you’d been in prison, you knew all about having your things searched both on purpose and in secret, both by folks who knew what they were doing and others who didn’t. This had been an amateur job. Someone had been sufficiently careful that to the casual eye, you wouldn’t think anything had been disturbed. But Spike knew what had been done.
He checked through his stuff and wasn’t surprised that nothing had been taken. It was a classic, sloppy sneak and peek.
Not what he’d expected. Not what he wanted.
His full name was the door to his past. And he’d just as soon make it through the weekend without Mad knowing a damn thing. She had enough on her hands with that half brother of hers; no reason for her to worry that she’d invited an ex-con home.
Spike took a quick shower and got into bed, feeling distinctly exposed. As he leaned back against the headboard, all he could think about was what had happened after he’d told that other woman he’d dated about the death he’d caused.
For some reason, he couldn’t bear the idea that Mad would have the same response, that she would see him only as some kind of murderer. He could live with being socially and financially beneath her. What he couldn’t handle was her being frightened of him.
