The Renegade (The Moorehouse Legacy #3)(49)

As she stood in front of his buddy, Alex considered his navigator as a woman. Which was exactly what Spike was doing.

Yeah, Mad did have the whole Amazon-goddess thing working for her. She was tanned and muscled, but you definitely knew she was a female. And not just because her black hair was almost down to the small of her back.

He glanced at Spike. The guy was extending his hand slowly, like Mad was either an apparition or something that might take his arm off.

“Your hair is great,” she said, taking his palm and giving it a good shake. “And I seriously dig the tat on your neck. How many do you have?”

Spike blinked. “A couple.”

“Can I see them?”

Those yellow eyes actually popped. “Ah, not all of them, no.”

“How about only the decent ones? I’ve never had the courage to get inked, but I love to look at them.”

There was a pause.

“You mean now?” Spike asked.

Mad nodded and focused on his chest. Like she was looking forward to getting a load of it.

Spike glanced across the room at Alex and flared his eyelids a little, flashing the international masculine symbol for: Save my ass, buddy. Right now.

Alex nodded gravely and said, “Yeah, let’s see ’em, Spike. Even the naughty ones.”

Those yellow eyes spit such fire that Alex figured he had to relent. Either that or he was never getting a ride anywhere ever again.

“Okay, Mad, we better lay off.”

Mad shrugged and headed for the weights. “Pity. So who’s first with the iron?”

“Aren’t you going to get dressed?” Spike muttered, pointedly looking anywhere else but her backside.

Mad cocked an eyebrow and looked down at herself. “I am dressed. I mean, I didn’t bring my workout gear and this is just like a bikini.”

Alex frowned, finding it hard to imagine she was missing the effect she had on Spike. The guy was actually sheepish, he was so blown away by her.

Who knew the guy even had sheepish in him?

Alex thought about her on those boats with all his men. She treated them the same way. Up front, on the level, with never a hint of anything sexual. Of course, that was a professional environment.

Had she ever been with anyone? Not that he knew of. And sailing was a very closed club with a gossip mill like a sorority house.

“Mad, toss on some shorts, will you? Before you burn Spike’s retinas.”

“Shorts? Who brings shorts to the Adirondacks in January? I almost took a dogsled to get here. And before you suggest it, I’m not lifting in my jeans.”

Alex went over to his duffel bags and tossed her a pair of his boxers. “Try these.”

Mad caught them, tugged the things on her smooth legs and the three of them hit the weights. They’d been at it for about twenty minutes when there was a knock on the shop’s door.

“It’s open,” Alex called out while he spotted Mad on some bench presses.

Cassandra walked in and froze, as if she’d stepped into the wrong place. Then she looked away wildly, eyes bouncing around.

Mad released the bar and sat up.

“Hi, Cassandra—” Alex didn’t get further than that.

Cassandra’s words trampled over his, coming out of her mouth in a rush. “Joy’s been trying to reach you. Your phone’s bouncing to voice mail.”

“I turned it off.”

Man, she totally refused to meet his eyes.

“Well, Joy would like you to come over for dinner tonight. She and Gray will be arriving in a couple of hours, and Frankie and Nate are due later this afternoon. I’m sure your…guest is welcome. And, Spike, you’re invited as well. Six o’clock.” She headed for the door. “You might want to call your sister. Anyway, that’s all. Will you excuse me?”

“Cassandra, wait—”

She left so quickly, he didn’t have time to finish.

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered as he grabbed his cane. Outside, the cold air bit into the bare skin of his chest. “Cassandra!”

Usually that tone of voice could stop a sailboat in a stiff breeze, but she just kept going.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, focusing on the ground so he didn’t fall on his face.

He caught up with her just as she pulled back the plastic flap over White Caps’ kitchen doorway. She halted only because he grabbed her hand.

“Will you stop already! What the hell is the problem?”

Cassandra glanced over her shoulder at him. “There is no problem. Whatsoever.”

She looked terrible, he realized. Dark circles under her eyes. Hollows under her cheekbones that he hadn’t seen before. She was pale as salt, too.

“Cassandra,” he said gently, “are you all right? You look sick.”

“I’m fine. Please let me go.”

Her listless voice lit off the back of his neck, and his nape tingled so badly he had to use his free hand to rub it.

“Cassandra, what’s going on?”

Flat green eyes shifted away. “Please…let…Oh, God—”

She clapped her hand across her mouth, doubled over and gagged.

“Cassandra!” What the hell was she doing coming to work if she was sick? “For God’s sake, let me take you back to Gray’s.”