The Rogue

by J. R. Ward

  Barker, his chairman, was a big problem. And that was why Madeline had to be kept from voting. The last thing Richard needed was another wild card at the table when he was trying to get this acquisition passed by the trustees. Madeline simply wouldn’t understand the issues or how critical it was to expand in this marketplace. For God’s sake, she’d no doubt be dumb enough to vote against the plan just to spite him.

  Richard got out of his sedan and walked into his house through the kitchen. As he looked over the catering staff for the evening’s party, he found them appropriately rushed and so he headed for his bedroom. He was moving at a clip, going toward the grand staircase when he stopped dead in the foyer.

  From out of the bank of windows ahead, he saw Madeline and that chef on the terrace. The guy was facing away from the house and had his shirt off and…holy hell, he had a tattoo all down his spine.

  Except it wasn’t that obscene marking that truly worried Richard. The real problem was Madeline. His sister was staring at the man like he was a god.

  This was not happening. This whole thing…Was. Not. Happening.

  Madeline was docile, meek, soft. For all the muscle on her frame, she had cotton balls in her heart. Where the hell was this backbone of hers coming from?

  Richard shook his head and realized he’d forgotten the essential dynamic: she wasn’t the one who wanted to make a change in the trust.

  If Madeline happened to take control, she could not only vote her shares, she could sell them for cash…and invest in all kinds of harebrained schemes. Like French restaurants in New York City owned by chefs who had tattoos.

  Abruptly, Spike glanced over his shoulder, as if he’d sensed he was being watched. His eyes narrowed and he pegged Richard with a hard look, right through the window.

  Richard smiled and nodded, then jogged up the stairs. When he got to his bedroom, he went to the phone on his desk. His lawyer answered her cell on the first ring with a sharp, ready voice. She was no doubt still at her office in Manhattan even though it was late on the Saturday afternoon of Memorial Day weekend.

  Richard kicked off his loafers. “I want you to do a background check on someone.”

  “I make no promises. Name?” The woman talked like a teletype machine. And was just about as polite.

  “Michael Moriarty. Goes by Spike.” Richard pulled open his desk drawer and took out a piece of paper. “I’ve got his social security number.”

  “Give it to me.”

  Richard read off the page then slipped the thing back into the desk. “I want to know everything about this guy.”

  “An incomplete report is useless.” Her strident tone of voice suggested he’d get details down to Moriarty’s shoe size and first grade teacher. “You will hear from me in twenty-four hours.”

  “And I have disconcerting news.” He explained the situation with Madeline’s trust. “I’ve got to retain control of those shares if the takeover of Organi-Foods is to go through. I need to be the big elephant in the room with the largest block of votes because that damned board is so conservative. I’ve got enough stuffed shirts at that table. I don’t want to have a loose cannon like her there with them.”

  “If I recall, the provisions of the trust will permit you to raise a fiduciary fitness argument on the basis of business incompetence. If you can persuade a judge that she cannot properly steward the trust’s resources, she can be prevented from taking control.”

  “I’m well aware of that and I expect you to start working on it. And I want that information on Moriarty. He’s the one behind all this, a chef looking to expand his restaurant with my sister’s money. Need I say more?”

  Richard ended the call and picked up his loafers.

  Going through Moriarty’s things last night had been the work of a moment and Richard was quite pleased by how well he’d done the job. No way the man would know someone had been in his room.

  The purpose behind the search had actually been for drugs. The last thing Richard needed was an overdose or some horrible crime of passion thing going down at the Maguire compound. Chefs, even well-trained French ones, didn’t necessarily follow the law. Richard had heard stories coming out of Manhattan. Kitchen Confidential indeed.

  While he’d been going through the wallet he’d found, he’d memorized Moriarty’s social security number and had written it down later only on a lark. But now that he knew Spike’s motivation? How useful those nine digits had proven to be.

  Richard smiled. Yes, he was a very fine chess player.

  He threw open his walk-in closet, put his shoes back where they belonged, and then gazed with satisfaction at all the clothes lined up so neatly on matching wood and brass hangers. He changed into a seersucker suit and slipped a red bow tie around his neck.

  Tonight, Madeline would meet Charles Barker, the board chairman, and Charles would be unimpressed because Madeline was unimpressive as women went: she never dressed like anything and had no great intellect when it came to things other than sports. And not even her athletic knowledge was relevant because sailboat racing was so obscure.

  During her meeting with Barker, Madeline would become flustered because that was what she did when she was out of her comfort zone. And she would realize that she had no business being on the board. Then she would back down and sign the papers, allowing Richard to retain control.

  Provided he could get her backbone out of the picture.

  Fortunately, Michael “Spike” Moriarty looked like the kind of man who would have some secrets to hide.

  Everything was going to be fine.

  Richard squared up his bow tie and headed out. Only to pause at the door.

  With a quick stride, he went back to the phone on his desk and dialed. As it rang, he constructed the voice-mail message he would leave, because there would be no answer. Not on a long weekend when everyone who was anyone was out of Manhattan.

  His sister Amelia’s voice was a surprise. “Hello?” she said.

  “Amelia, you’re home.”

  “Richard.” She took a deep breath. “How are you?”

  “I expected you to be out of the city.”

  “I was supposed to have been. But my plans changed.”

  “Good. I want you to come out to Greenwich. You shouldn’t be alone on a holiday weekend.”

  There was a long pause. “You haven’t invited me out in a while.”

  “Your social life is the stuff of a Candace Bushnell novel. When are you ever free?” He looked out the window and made a note that the pear trees needed to be fertilized. “So you’ll come?”

  “Actually…I wouldn’t mind a change of scenery. I’ll be there first thing tomorrow.”

  When Richard hung up, he was smiling. Amelia was a good sister. Astonishingly attractive, for one thing, and she was finally losing that edge of hers, mellowing out, becoming involved in appropriate things down in the city like the Brooklyn Zoo and the Met and MOMA.

  She also trusted that he’d take care of the business.

  When their father had died, no restrictions had been set up for Amelia or Richard’s inheritances because, unlike Madeline, they’d been over twenty-one—the true age of majority in their father’s eyes. Almost immediately, Amelia had executed a durable power of attorney over her shares, granting Richard the right to vote them. In return, he gave her a generous allowance and invested the rest of her holdings wisely. To her credit, she was grateful to him and she had reason to be. In spite of her spending, she was richer now than she’d been just after she’d gotten her money.

  So he didn’t worry about her. In fact, she was an asset. Particularly in a situation like this.

  Amelia would show up at the house and Madeline would kick right into orbit: it was clear she was half in love with Spike, and if there was one sure way to drive a wedge between Madeline and a man, it was Amelia.

  Yes…life was just like chess. It was all a matter of lining up the pieces and letting the play commence.

  * * *

  An hou
r or so later, Spike could not take his eyes off of Mad.

  Which wasn’t exactly a newsflash.

  In the midst of a room full of talking people, she was the only one he saw, and not just because she was standing right next to him. She was wearing the same black knit dress she’d had on at Sean’s and she looked better than ever in it, the simple lines showing off her body’s strength as well as its curves. Her hair was flowing down her back and he had to put his free hand in his pocket to keep from brushing over the dark waves.

  Strange, though. She honestly had no idea that she was beautiful. Even as all the men looked at her, lingered around her, tried to get up the nerve to talk to her, she didn’t seem to notice. The disassociation made him angry on her behalf. How many times must she have been browbeaten by the men in her family to be so removed from how attractive she was?

  “Here comes Richard,” she murmured, taking a sip of her Chardonnay.

  Spike glanced to the right and didn’t like the look in the man’s eyes as the guy approached. Her half brother was way too pleased with himself. And there was someone behind him.

  Richard stopped in front of Mad. “Madeline, I’d like to introduce you to the chairman of my board, Charles Barker.”

  Now that guy is right out of central casting, Spike thought. Barker was total chairman material: white haired with wire-rimmed glasses and all suited up in black pinstripes even though it was summer. His eyes were as sharp as his screaming red power tie.

  Mad offered her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Barker.”

  “Call me Charles.” The smile was quick. So was the shake. “I understand you sail. Do you know my son, Charles? He races off Newport.”

  Mad’s eyes flared. “You’re Chuck Barker’s father?”

  “I am.” Now Barker smiled widely. “You’ve heard of him?”

  “Chuckie’s a fabulous helmsman! Were you on shore when he and his team won last year’s Mem Day relay off Newport?”

  Barker let out a guffaw that was a total surprise. And then positively glowed with pride. “I was. We have a house there.”

  “God, I thought Chuckie was going to capsize. I really did. But he held his line. He’s really going to be a great competitor one day.”

  As the two of them kept on chatting, Spike glanced at Richard. The guy was watching the exchange, like he couldn’t wait to jump in and break it up.

  “So what are you preparing for now?” Barker asked Mad.

  “She wants to join our board,” Richard drawled. “In her spare time.”

  The chairman cocked an eyebrow. “That’s a shift from sailing.”

  Mad nodded. “It is. But I’m interested in the company.”

  Barker shook his head. “Well, there’s a lot of moving parts to it. Lot of tedium, too. The monthly financials alone are the size of the phone book.”

  Richard smiled. “I told her that.”

  When? Spike wondered. Not that he’d heard.

  Barker put his hand on Mad’s shoulder. “I can’t imagine it’s as exciting as what you do for a living.” He glanced at Richard. “Surely you can continue to free her up to enjoy the sea?”

  Richard nodded gravely. “That’s the best thing for everyone. And I know Madeline wouldn’t want to slow things down at the top while she tries to get up to speed.”

  Mad smiled, nice and tight. “I think you’ll be surprised at how fast I can go.”

  Charles laughed. “Oh, that we know. I saw how you and Alex Moorehouse handled the last America’s Cup. Amazing! But listen, forget about the Corporate America stuff and concentrate on those boats. Your country needs you! We’ve got to keep that trophy away from the Aussies.”

  Mad opened her mouth, but someone came up to Barker and introduced himself. As the chairman turned away, Richard leaned in and said, “Charles is right. Stick with what you know, Madeline. It’ll be a much better result for you.”

  Her half brother walked off into the crowd.

  As Mad watched him, her expression was one of calculation rather than hurt. “He’s going to make a case that I’m not competent enough to vote my shares and he’s going to bring Barker in on it.” She glanced at Spike. “Thank God for Mick Rhodes. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

  They went in for dinner shortly thereafter and Spike actually enjoyed talking to the grande dame he was seated next to. Naturally, though, he kept staring across the table at Mad, watching her push her food around and smile with reserve at the men on either side of her. With the candlelight flickering over her face, he couldn’t help but think about kissing. And what she would look like without that dress on.

  As there were thunderstorms coming, the party adjourned to the library, not the terrace, for the coffee/ brandy/cigar phase of things. Spike caught Mad just as she left the dining room.

  “How about some air?” His voice was way too husky. And he tried not to think about why he wanted to get her away from the party…knew damn well that it was because he wanted to kiss her again even though that was a stupid idea.

  She smiled at him. “Let’s go.”

  The easy reply told him she had no idea what was on his mind. Which was good. It reminded him that he had no business thinking as he did.

  They walked out onto the terrace then kept going, wandering on to the lawn, drifting down away from the house. The currents in the soft summer evening carried the scents of both the blooming garden and the coming storm. Fireflies danced and flirted all around, their company far more appealing than that of the partygoers indoors.

  More intimate, too.

  “This stuff with Richard,” Mad said, “it makes me think.”

  “Can I just say, you’re doing great with him.”

  “You know…I agree. And it makes me remember other challenges, other things that I thought I couldn’t handle.”

  Mad walked a little ahead of him and his eyes clung to the movement of her hips. When she stopped abruptly, he let himself come up right against her until he pressed his body into the back of hers. It wasn’t a conscious decision. It was instinct.

  As he molded himself to her, she inhaled sharply.

  Immediately he eased off and gave her some space. “Sorry.”

  Her head turned so he saw her profile over her shoulder. She was so beautiful in the rich summer night, he thought. The kind of woman a man never forgot.

  Good Lord, he wanted her.

  “Have you ever fallen into the ocean?” she murmured.

  Spike pushed his hand through his hair. Well, if that wasn’t a change in subject from what was on his mind. “Ah, no. I haven’t.”

  “I have. In the middle of a storm. With nothing more than a parka, a slicker and a PFD on.” His heart dropped, even though her voice was utterly level as she spoke. “The boat took off without me. I watched it disappear.”

  Spike stopped breathing, imagining her lost. Alone. In the vast sea. His gut clenched.

  “You know what I did?” she said.

  “What?” he whispered. Oh, God…

  “I activated my GPS, turned on my flasher and waited.”

  Spike’s breath eased. “Smart.”

  “I was found eight hours later.”

  Holy…Eight hours? In a storm? “Mad.”

  “I thought I was dead. I really did. And after I got through the fear of it all, I was okay with the dying…because I kind of figured I’d done what I wanted to. I mean, I’d found the thing I loved to do above all others and I’d excelled at my sailing and my competing. I had lived the way I wanted.”

  Spike swallowed. “How long ago did this happen?”

  “Two months.”

  Spike cursed.

  Her eyes flipped up to his. “I saw you watching me during dinner.”

  Whoa. And to think he’d assumed his blushing days were long over. “I, ah…”

  “You kept looking at me. Every time I glanced over the table, you were staring. You were focused on my lips, weren’t you.”

  He cleared his throat. Okay, so may
be she had known what he was thinking of when he asked her to go for a walk. “Mad, I—”

  “I want to be your lover. Tonight.”

  Spike’s body instantly shot into the stratosphere. As their eyes held fast over her shoulder, he read everything in her face: the decision, the conviction…the wanting.

  And he wasn’t going to turn away from her. Even though he in no way deserved her and she didn’t know the particulars of the why in that, he was not going to walk away.

  Because he couldn’t.

  He moved in closer, bringing his chest to her back again, sinking his hips into her. He moved her long, dark hair out of the way, balling it into his hungry fist. Then he leaned down, pressed his lips to her neck and growled, “Say that again.”

  She swayed. “I want to be your lover.”

  “When,” he prompted, biting at her throat then kissing what he’d taken between his teeth. He was gentle…but not too gentle.

  “Tonight…”

  He reached around and swept his hand up her neck, capturing her jaw. He moved his thumb back and forth over her lower lip. “How about…right now?”

  He twisted her head around, tilted it back and kissed her long and slow. As her body arched back against his own, he braced his weight, holding her up.

  “Let’s go to my bedroom,” he said roughly against her mouth. Then he pressed his tongue between her lips. She met the thrust with one of her own and he moaned.

  Man, much more of this and he was going to have her on the grass…which was not only indecent, but ungentlemanly.

  “There’s something you need to know,” she murmured.

  “What?” He slid his hand lower, going between her breasts, down over her stomach and lower…until he brushed the tops of her thighs.

  “I’m a virgin.”

  Spike froze.

  The first thing that went through his mind was that a man like him shouldn’t take something so special from a woman like Madeline Maguire. But then that conviction was followed immediately by something even more powerful: Let me be the one. The only one for her. Ever.

  The idea was so outrageous and so deep, he stunned himself into silence and had to release her. He took a step back. And then another.