The Rogue (The Moorehouse Legacy #4)(18)

*

Mad put her spoon down, leaving the raspberry compote mostly untouched.

Food was so not on her mind right now. Probably because Spike Moriarty was taking up ninety-seven percent of her brain. With the remaining three percent seemingly focused on giving her hot flashes whenever her elbow touched his or their thighs brushed.

So actually, there wasn’t anything left over, was there?

Which explained why she was breathless and there was a flutter in her chest. Clearly, her heart and lungs had gone free agent and without supervision, they were doing a rotten job.

The grandfather clock in the foyer began to chime.

“Let’s have coffee on the terrace,” Richard announced as he stood up. After he put his folded napkin next to his plate, he helped Penelope out of her chair.

Mad glanced over as Spike rose from the table. His leathers clung to his hips and his legs, the muscles underneath shifting and pulling at the second skin. She’d never actually seen a man wear something like that before. Had always assumed hardcore dressing was ridiculous, just a posing, calculation of masculinity.

On Spike, those pants were sexy as all get-out.

His big palm appeared in front of her. “You ready to ride?” His voice was low, naturally husky. “Mad?”

“Yes…I’m ready.” She got up without accepting his hand, too flustered to touch him.

He dropped his arm. “Any idea where Jeeves put my helmet?”

“Leaving so soon?” Richard said. “Mad drive you away?”

“Hardly.” Spike smiled easily enough, but his stare had an edge like a dagger. “We’re going to take a little joyride together.”

“You’ll miss the terrace.”

“Guess so. But I have a feeling it will still be attached to the house when we get back.” Spike smiled more widely, but only an idiot would have been fooled by the expression.

When her half brother frowned, Mad stepped in. “Spike, I think I know where your helmet is. Come with me.”

“Sure. Love to. Later, Richard.”

As they left, Richard’s expression was along the lines of someone who’d just seen a UFO headline in the New York Times: utter disbelief tinted with dread.

Mad led Spike through the chatty throng of guests who were working their way out to the back of the house. Across the foyer and to the left, there was a hall closet and she opened it. As Spike reached up to get the helmet off the top shelf, he leaned into her, his big body brushing against hers, his aftershave a whiff of dark spice.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Do you—ah, do you need your jacket, too?” She fingered its leather sleeve and resisted the urge to sniff the thing.

“Nah. It’s warm and we won’t be out long. I wore it for protection for the long trip. Just like these things.” He casually slapped the outside of his thigh. “If I skid over asphalt, I’d rather all this leather need a skin graft instead of me, you know?”

Pictures of him in an accident made her panicky, reminding her that motorcycles could be dangerous even if the operator was highly competent.

“Mad? You okay?”

“Absolutely.”

But as they went out through the front door, she was still a little shaken. At least until she saw what he rode.

She stopped dead. “Whoa. That is a…serious bike.”

The Harley was the size of a horse. Black. Lots of chrome. And the pipes out the back were thicker than her upper arm. No wonder the thing sounded like an airplane.

“My one luxury.” Spike jogged down the white marble steps. “Her name’s Bette. As in Bette Davis.”

Mad followed. “She looks more like a he. Named Butch.”

Spike laughed. “Oh, no. Bette’s a female. She’s my girl. And I told her about you, so she’ll be cool.”

“You talk to your bike?”

“Of course. Now put this on.”

He handed her the helmet then kicked his leg over the Harley’s seat. He fit the machine perfectly. And those pants…

“Don’t worry,” he said as she hesitated, “I don’t showboat on this thing. And when I have passengers, I always take it extra careful.”

Just how many women had ridden with him? she wondered.

Spike flicked a key, rose up from the seat, and slammed his body downward. The bike lit off with a roar that she felt into her bones. Or maybe the buzz was more from the sight of his thighs straddling all that horsepower.

A lot of women, she decided, had been on that Harley with him. Because no one of the female persuasion would turn down an invitation like this.

“I think I love you,” she blurted, overcome by the sight of him. Then slapped her hand over her mouth.

“What?” he said over the noise.

Oh, yeah…sure she was repeating that, even though she’d been joking. “Nothing.”

She put the helmet on, fitted the strap under her chin and mounted the Harley. There wasn’t a whole lot of room and her body immediately went flush with Spike’s backside. With the bike vibrating and her legs cradling his hips, it was really hard not to think about very dangerous, very dumb things. Like what if they were facing each other. And—

“You ready?”

Oh, yes…she was.

Mad winced and then yelled over the noise, “What about your helmet?”