The Rogue

by J. R. Ward

  “And Amelia?”

  Mad’s face became a mask. “She had other ways of getting positive male attention…But listen, enough about my family. Let’s talk about you.”

  Let’s not, he thought.

  “You don’t like to, do you?” she murmured.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Talk about yourself.”

  Fortunately, the waitress showed up with his food. He had to lean away as a plate that took up most of the table was put down in front of him. To help make space, Mad palmed her mug and eased back in her chair.

  “Can I get you to share this with me?” he asked while the waitress topped off Mad’s cup.

  “Oh, no. I’m fine.”

  He picked up the pitcher of maple syrup that had come with his eats. “You ate before?”

  “I’m not big into breakfast. Although I have to say that looks fantastic.” After the waitress left, Mad said, “Spike? You can trust me.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  He nodded, not wanting to keep things from her, but unwilling to drag her down. “Yeah, I do.”

  He bit into the waffles and they were great, light and tasting of vanilla…although it wasn’t as if he could truly savor them. Mad’s soft words had landed in his gut and were taking up most of the space down there.

  Trust…Sure he could trust her, but he’d come to help her, not freak her out.

  He was halfway through the first waffle when she said, “There’s something you should know.”

  “About?”

  “Last night.”

  He fell still and looked up at her. “What…about last night?”

  The blush that hit her cheeks was absolutely gorgeous. “I wanted you to stay.”

  Breath eased out of his lungs. “God…1 wanted that, too.”

  “I’m just not…I’m not into casual sex.”

  “I didn’t think you were.” And he loved that about her.

  “In fact—”

  “Madeline? Is that you?”

  Spike frowned at the low male voice. When he looked up, there was a dark-haired man looming over the table. The guy had sunglasses on, of an expensive variety, and he was sporting that casual, I’m-a-rich-guy-in-the-summer thing, all linen-shirted and khaki-shorted. His watch was gold, almost the size of the table and screamed ROLEX.

  “Mick!” Mad said with delight. “What are you doing here?”

  Good question, Spike thought.

  * * *

  Mad stood up, keeping her mug with her because there was no place to put it down. She was surprised to see her lawyer in Greenwich, but then the town wasn’t that far from the city and it was a holiday weekend.

  Mick smiled a little, his hard expression loosening some as he jogged a paper bag in his hand. “I’ve got a weakness for their corn muffins.”

  Funny, it was tough to imagine the man having a weakness for anything.

  She glanced downward. “I’d ask you to join us—”

  “Don’t think I could fit at the table.” Her attorney stuck his hand out toward Spike. “Mick Rhodes.”

  As Spike shook the palm that was offered, his yellow eyes were intent, as if he were measuring every molecule of the other man.

  “Are you visiting Greenwich?” Mad asked.

  “Live here.”

  “I didn’t know you had a house in town.”

  “The old Murray place.”

  “Wow, that was a train wreck.” Mad winced. Oh, way to be smooth. “I mean—”

  “Not anymore it’s not.” Rhodes smiled coolly then dropped his voice. “Have you talked to Richard yet?”

  “No, but soon. I just arrived last night.”

  “If you need me—” Rhodes reached into his pocket “—call me at home.”

  He wrote a number on the back of the business card and gave it to her. After she thanked him, she watched him walk through the customers.

  “He’s so amazing,” she murmured as she sat back down in her chair again.

  Spike made a low noise. Like a cough. “How so?”

  “He’s really good at what he does.”

  Spike stared across the café as the door shut behind her lawyer. “How do you know him?”

  “Through Sean. The whole reason I came this weekend is because I’ve got some issues with my trust that I have to settle with Richard. I needed some good legal advice and Mick certainly gave it to me.”

  They were silent until Spike wiped his mouth and carefully laid his silverware down on his plate. He’d eaten all of the waffles in a neat and orderly way, his table manners superb.

  When the waitress brought the check, he reached into his back pocket.

  “I think Mad wants a refill,” he said as he took out his wallet.

  While her mug got refreshed, she watched him move in the little chair as his big body shifted. Those tattoos on each side of his neck undulated with his skin.

  She wanted to kiss them.

  He checked the bill, put a twenty on the handwritten slip, then covered the thing with a ten. “No change.”

  The waitress’s eyes widened. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  “That was generous,” Mad said with approval after the woman left.

  “Do you have any idea how hard it is to wait on someone?” His eyes flashed up. “Probably not, though, right?”

  His tone wasn’t condemning or anything. Just factual.

  It stung anyway.

  “No, I’ve never waitressed.” She frowned. “But I know how to scrub a boat deck until my hands bleed.”

  He grimaced. “I’m sorry, that could have come out better, couldn’t it?”

  She put her coffee down and stood up. “It’s okay.”

  But it really wasn’t. Something in the way he’d said the words lingered. When they were outside next to the bike, she said, “Would you think of me differently if I didn’t come from money?”

  “No. I’d still want to be your friend.” He handed her the helmet.

  Friend? But last night he’d wanted to…

  Oh, come on, Maguire, she thought. Men could be sexually intimate with women they thought of as just friends. She’d seen it with her crew. Countless times.

  But she needed to know something. “Spike, you’re not with anyone right now, are you?”

  He swung onto the bike and muscled it off its kickstand. “You mean a woman? No, I’m not.”

  His tone of voice was level, his facial expression bland. And that was when an essential truth about him slid into place. It was so obvious, she was amazed she hadn’t noticed it before.

  Spike had a secret.

  For all his jovial, BMOC charisma at Sean’s, Spike was one of those people who didn’t cast a social shadow. There was no real footprint of information about him, except what the eye registered and what the here and now presented you with in terms of his character. The almost bored look he was putting out now was how he did it; he had a very smooth deflection system, giving the impression that there was nothing interesting or relevant about his past at all.

  Of course, he had told her a few things back at Sean’s…Except as she thought about what he’d said about his family, she decided he’d talked like that only because the details had held no great controversy for him. He hadn’t seemed upset that he’d grown up without a father. And clearly his love for his sister and mother was likewise uncomplicated.

  “When was the last serious relationship you had?” she asked, not caring that she was bumping into his barriers.

  He frowned, turned the bike’s key, and started to lift up, preparing to slam start the engine. “Ah, years. Years ago.”

  She stopped him by putting her hand on his forearm. “What happened?”

  He shrugged. “We went our separate ways. I’m no good at relationships and no longer interested in them.”

  He started the bike. In the roaring noise, he seemed totally relaxed, until she looked at his eyes. They were fixated out on the road and narrowed to the point
of being slits. He did not want to continue the conversation.

  She wanted to ask why, but knew that would be rude as hell. Besides, she was already pushing her luck.

  Mad put on the helmet and got up on the Harley behind him. As he gunned the bike, she latched on to his waist.

  While they went back to the house, she began to wonder if she hadn’t just read too much into him, though. Maybe he wasn’t hiding something. Maybe he was only remembering what she seemed to forget: they’d only just met. People didn’t always share intimate things with folks they didn’t really know.

  Yeah, maybe she was over-thinking.

  And as for him not wanting a relationship, that wasn’t a big surprise. It was obvious if he needed a woman, he could find one. He just had no use for a female in his life on a permanent basis.

  For some reason, that hurt. Probably because what had happened between them the night before had been very special to her, but was no doubt just standard operating procedure for him.

  God, she was such a romantic, wasn’t she?

  Mad shifted closer against him, linking her hands around his stomach, bringing her breasts flat against his back. As she thought about kissing him, feeling his body against hers, getting lost in his strength and his heat, the situation between them grew treacherously simple, dangerously clear.

  She wasn’t going to find that kind of passion anytime soon with someone else.

  He was with her now.

  And life was to be lived.

  As temptation rose, it eclipsed even the thundering sound and the vibrations of the bike.

  * * *

  It was over lunch that Spike realized Mad didn’t eat.

  For the past half hour, they’d been sitting with Richard and Penelope in a sun-filled solarium. As talk had focused on the New York foodie scene, Mad had pushed her chicken salad around, cut up the lettuce leaves under it, fooled with the stuffed tomato on the side…and hadn’t lifted her fork to her lips once.

  As the butler cleared the dishes, she smiled at the man and shook her head when he asked if she wanted fruit for dessert. Then she tapped her iced tea glass for a refill.

  Spike thought of all the coffee she’d had with breakfast. The woman was running on caffeine and not much else. And he might have been able to understand it if she was just uncomfortable around her half brother. But Richard hadn’t been at the café this morning.

  Penelope put her napkin down. “Will you excuse me? I’m going to go get ready to head to the club.”

  “I’ll meet you in front in twenty minutes,” Richard said.

  “I’ll be prompt.” She smiled, patted his hand, and walked purposely out of the room.

  Richard glanced over at Spike. “Will you give me a moment alone with my sister?”

  Spike looked at Mad and cocked an eyebrow. When she shook her head slowly, he leaned back in his chair and got good and damned comfortable.

  Richard’s annoyance was obvious, but then he shrugged a little and produced a leather, legal-size folio from under his chair. He slid the thing across the glass table and put a black fountain pen on top of it.

  “What is this?” Mad asked.

  “I’ve done you a favor. It keeps the status quo with respect to your trust. I had my secretary flag where you need to sign in case you couldn’t figure out what those lines at the end were for.”

  Oh, hell, no, Spike thought. No one took that kind of attitude with Mad, not while he was in the room.

  He opened his mouth, but Mad put her hand on his arm and stopped him. “Richard, I have something I need to say.”

  “Then perhaps you should talk to a mirror.” Richard got up, checked his watch and let his napkin fall into his seat. “I’m off to play golf now. Oh, and the guests arrive tonight at six. Please be on time. It should be easier for you as there won’t be any traffic.”

  “Richard, I need you to listen—”

  The man turned his back on her and headed out of the room, talking over his shoulder. “I want those signed now so they can be couriered to my lawyer in the city. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  Mad shot to her feet. “Richard.”

  Her half brother stopped and pivoted on his loafers. His face was frozen, as if he’d never heard that tone of voice before and didn’t like it.

  Showdown time, Spike thought, glad he was in the room.

  Richard’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon.”

  “I’m not signing these.” Mad put her hand on top of the folio.

  “Excuse me?”

  “In fact, I’m filing to remove you as executor.”

  The change in the man was eerie. For a split second, his eyes flashed with fury, then no emotion showed in his face at all. “Why would you want to do that, Madeline?”

  “It’s time I took over my shares. Nothing more.”

  “Why now?”

  “It’s just…time.”

  “You don’t know anything about business.”

  “I’ll learn.”

  “How? On one of your boats?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are aware, are you not, that Value Shop is a billion-dollar-a-year enterprise.”

  “Whether it’s that or a mom and pop store, the shares are mine. I want to be responsible for them.”

  “You haven’t earned the right to vote them. You don’t know a P&L from a paper clip.” He smiled, as if she were a five-year-old who was asking to eat crayons for dinner. “Why don’t you stay out on the ocean where you belong and leave the business and the numbers to people who can handle them.”

  Spike couldn’t keep his mouth shut a moment longer. “How about you dial down that tone of voice, buddy?”

  “Perhaps you’ll do me the favor of keeping out of this,” Richard snapped.

  Spike rose to his feet. “Like I said, lose the edge when you speak to her, my man.”

  “It’s all right,” Mad said, reaching out for his hand and tugging him back down into his chair. “No matter what he says, he can’t change the outcome.”

  There was a long silence and then Richard’s eyes settled on Spike. “Oh, I get it. Well, at least I understand why you came with her.”

  Spike frowned, wondering just what kind of conclusion the guy had jumped to.

  Mad pushed her hands into her pockets and tilted up her chin. “Richard, you can tell your lawyer not to hold his breath because you’re getting no ink from me this afternoon. In fact, I’m going to go pack now. The only reason I came here was to get this conversation over with.”

  Richard’s voice cooled out. “This isn’t finished between us.”

  “The hell it’s not.”

  There was another stretch of silence. Then Richard said, “I’ll tell you what. The chairman of the board is coming tonight. Stay until then. Matter of fact, stay through Monday when I host the shareholder’s picnic. All of the trustees will be there.”

  “Why?” Mad countered. “So you can try and set me up in front of them? You’re not going to stop this.”

  “Then what do you have to lose, Madeline? If you’ve got me against the proverbial ropes, why not meet the chairman face-to-face tonight. Because you’ve never even seen him before, have you? You don’t know him at all, do you? If you want to be a trustee in more than name only, then it makes sense to meet the man at the head of the table, doesn’t it?”

  Richard’s expression was as smooth as pudding. And if Spike hadn’t been a poker player, he might have bought the I-don’t-care routine. Instead, he focused on the guy’s flared nostrils and knew Mad’s half brother wasn’t quite as relaxed as he wanted to appear.

  “Do you still vote Amelia’s shares?” Mad asked.

  “Yes, and she hasn’t complained. Neither have you. Until now.” Richard’s eyes drifted to Spike. “Funny how things change.” The man rechecked his watch. “I’ll leave you two to decide what to do. Just permit me a social grace. If you decide to leave, have the courtesy of letting the butler know so he doesn’t set places for you at the t
able. And remember, for every action, there is a complete and opposite reaction. You might consider the laws of physics before you try and take me on, sister.”

  Richard left and Mad eased down into her chair. With a heavy breath, she put her head in her hands.

  Spike leaned over to her, laid his palm on her back, and rubbed her shoulder. Her body started jerking, little hiccupping sounds rising up from her tucked position.

  “Mad, I’m sorry that was so tough.”

  Her face lifted and slowly turned to his.

  She was smiling, laughing.

  “I did it! I stood up to him.” Mad giggled some more. “And we’re going to damn well stay for dinner. I want to meet that chairman!”

  Spike grinned back at her, but then lost the expression. He wanted to tell her he was proud of her. And he wanted to kiss her.

  As she laughed with unrestrained joy, he could feel himself getting pulled into her orbit, trapped by the whirling feeling she created in his heart and his head.

  I will not fall for this woman, he told himself. For her sake and mine, I will not.

  Chapter Seven

  Richard Maguire had many claims to fame and he liked to remind himself of these strengths when he felt off his game.

  Harvard and Wharton. CEO of a multi-national company. Soon to be engaged to a Smithie if things with Penelope kept apace. His handicap on the links was under ten and sinking. And he was still able to wear the tuxedo he’d had in high school. Comfortably.

  But his most useful attribute? He was a very good chess player.

  So his sister Madeline’s silly little offensive was not going to be a problem.

  Feeling more satisfied with himself, Richard pulled into his driveway, noting it was five o’clock sharp. He steered his Lexus back to the garages and reviewed the evening ahead. Penelope had gone home to change at her father’s and she and the other guests would be arriving in an hour.

  Perfect. A perfect afternoon and a perfect night to look forward to.

  He was very pleased with the way the golfing had gone today and things were looking up. Over eighteen holes, he’d been able to make some more progress with the President of Organi-Foods. If all things fell into place, the acquisition of that company by Value Shop Supermarkets would go forward. Provided that Richard’s conservative board got with the program.