The Renegade (The Moorehouse Legacy #3)(36)

On the top landing there was a bench, and she sat on it, taking a deep breath. The party noise was dimmed only slightly, but it was enough to take the edge off and she found she liked watching the people funnel through the hall down below.

Until she heard, “Alex! Alex Moorehouse.”

Alex came into view, and she caught the darkening of his expression.

The blond reporter came up to him and stuck her hand out. “Hi! I’m Erica Winsted. I’m such a huge fan of yours. All those races. I watch them religiously.”

Alex looked at the woman from his height advantage. When he stayed silent, Erica plowed ahead.

“Listen, I would love to interview you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “what was your name?”

“Winsted. Erica Winsted. I write for—”

“Erica, I don’t do interviews. Not now, not ever.”

“Couldn’t you make an exception for me?” She sidled up to him, moving her body closer to his.

Cass stiffened, imaging how Reese would have welcomed that kind of attention with a charming joke and an arm slipped around the woman’s waist.

Alex stepped back pointedly. “Not for you. Sorry.”

“Are you sure?”

God, you could practically hear the woman’s eyelashes bat, Cass thought.

“Excuse me,” Alex murmured, turning away.

“When are you going back to the boats?” Erica said. “When’s your next race?”

Alex looked over his shoulder. “That’s none of your business.”

Cass frowned as he disappeared from sight.

She’d never thought about him going back. But of course he would. His leg was healing, and sailing was his profession.

The idea left her cold, even as she told herself it was none of her concern.

But, dear Lord, that hungry, scary ocean. That vast graveyard for sailors.

“Hey, beautiful. What’s doing?”

She glanced down. Sean was at the foot of the stairs, leaning on the banister. He held out his hand. “Let me get you some dessert and coffee. Fireworks are going off at midnight and we don’t want you to miss them on your birthday. Especially if Gray manages to toss the lit punk into the roman candle box. Like he did last year.”

Cass smiled and went to him. As her palm slid into his, she said, “Sean, you’re a nice guy, you know that?”

“Shh. Keep it to yourself. Nice guys get eaten alive on Wall Street.”





Chapter Eleven




Sean O’Banyon liked to believe he had a talent for accurately assessing people. Aggressive men such as himself in particular.

So as he eyed Moorehouse from across the dining room, he knew the two of them were going to go at it tonight. Ever since he’d walked into the mansion with Cass, he and that hard-eyed athlete had been circling each other like a couple of wolves.

Cass stepped in front of him, pressing a coffee cup into his hand. “Sean?”

He smiled down at her. “What?”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why do you look like you want to wipe the floor with someone?”

He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

She gave him a level look. “I’m going to go find Joy, okay? Try and stay out of trouble.”

The moment she left, he pegged Moorehouse with a hard look that was returned pound for pound.

Time to get this over with, he thought, putting the coffee down.

Moorehouse must have come to the same conclusion because the guy started heading around the table from the other side. They met head-to-head in front of the dessert tray. Just as someone called out that the fireworks were about to go off down at the shore.

“You got a problem there, Moorehouse?” Sean asked as the room cleared.

“No more than you do.” Moorehouse’s sizable shoulders moved back, his unblinking eyes steady as a cobra’s.

Man, he was a big one, Sean thought with satisfaction. This was going to be fun.

“You know,” Sean said, “Cass left here a week ago feeling like hell. But as soon as she was back in Manhattan her mood improved. I wonder why?”

“None of my business.”

Sean laughed and slipped the buttons on his suit jacket free.

“Well, wouldn’t you know. You and I agree on something.” He tapped his temple with his forefinger. “But see, this is where I get confused. You’ve been staring at me all night like maybe you and I have something going. Except considering that Cass is not your woman, I can’t figure out why you’re bothering. Unless you like the color of my eyes or something.”

“I don’t like much about you.”

“Why’s that?”

“You know your reputation as well as I do.”

“Ah. Don’t approve of my working-class background, do you?”

“How many lovers have you got going right now, O’Banyon? In addition to her, I mean?”

“So protective,” Sean murmured. “You clearly think of yourself as her champion in some twisted way, don’t you? Like it’s okay for you to treat her badly, but no one else can, is that it?”

Moorehouse’s blue eyes narrowed. “Careful, O’Banyon, reading other people’s minds can be a real buzz kill.”