The Rogue (The Moorehouse Legacy #4)(20)

“Place cleared out quick,” he said as they dismounted.

“Richard likes to get up early.” She removed the helmet and let it dangle from her hand. Then she looked the bike over. “Did you say you had things to bring in?”

“Yup.” Spike nodded to the black leather saddlebags on either side of the Harley. “All I need is in there.”

He leaned down and reached inside one of them, taking out a folded up duffel and snapping the thing open. With quick movements, he transferred over a bunch of rolled-up clothes and a dopp kit and she tried not to notice that there was nothing even vaguely pajama-like as far as she could see.

Then again she already knew from their night at Sean’s that he preferred sleeping in the nude.

“You pack economically,” she murmured.

“Coming from a sailor, that’s a compliment, right?”

“Absolutely.”

They went inside and were met by Richard’s butler who insisted on taking Spike upstairs to his guest room. Mad went with them, following the two men all the way around to the opposite side of the house from her room.

If she and Spike had been any farther apart, he’d have been sleeping in the house next door.

She waited until the butler left.

“Will this be okay for you?” she asked, glancing around the formal room with its antiques and its hand-painted wallpaper.

Spike rolled his eyes and tested the plush bed with his heads. “Oh, I’ll make do.”

“The pool’s out back,” she said, going over to a window. “You can see it from here.”

He came over and pushed the heavy satin drape out of the way. As he peered out around her, she shifted to the side and glanced back. She was very tall for a woman and physically strong as well, so it took a lot of man to make her feel dainty, feminine. Spike had four inches and at least seventy-five pounds on her, maybe more given the size of his shoulders. So he did the trick. Nicely.

God, they were so close that she could see the shadow of his beard growth and each and every one of his eyelashes. Her eyes locked on his lips.

“You want to meet down there?” he said. When she didn’t answer, he frowned and looked at her. “Mad?”

“Ah—yes. That would be great.” She stepped away. “Do you know how to find—”

“Don’t worry about me.” He smiled at her easily. “I’ll get there.”

She left and didn’t remember walking to the other side of the house.

When she opened the door to her bedroom, however, she came back to reality with a jerk.

Everything inside had been done over. Everything was different.

No, not just different. Her imprint on this space had been eradicated.

The walls had once been a deep red she’d loved, a rich, powerful claret she’d chosen with her mother long ago. Now the room was a pastel rose, as if the color she’d liked had been exposed to too much sun and had faded. And then there was the lace. On the windows. On the bed. In the bath.

It was the kind of room Amelia would have liked.

Mad shook her head, wishing she’d been put somewhere else. Better that than to sleep in a place she’d once thought of as a sanctuary, but was now a kind of pink prison.

This was so alienating, she thought as she shut the door. She wasn’t soft or muted or pretty and she didn’t feel comfortable amid all the soft and muted and pretty in the room. Frankly, she found all the femininity…intimidating. Something she felt like she should have and appreciate, but just didn’t.

Except then she thought of the bunks she’d crashed on for the last six weeks and all the things she’d done with the boys on the crew. When you were on a boat in the middle of the ocean, soft and muted and pretty got you classified as ballast. There, out on the sea, power was all that mattered and you needed it both in your head and your body. It was only on land that strength like that sometimes made women less than appealing.

Whatever. This was Richard’s house and Richard’s walls and Richard’s windows and Richard’s floor. She had no claim to any of it and she needed to let go of the past.

She changed into her bathing suit and was wrapping a towel around herself when a knock rang out. She opened the door and wished she hadn’t.

“Oh…hello, Richard.”

Her half brother had downshifted from the suit he’d worn at dinner into a cashmere V-neck and some slacks. He had a bored expression on his face, but those eyes of his were sharp as always. Clearly, he was on a mission.

He walked right in, forcing her to step back. “Swimming?” he said. “This late?”

“Part of my training schedule.”

“As if you need more muscle.” He looked around, cataloging her small bag and the pants and shirt she’d folded neatly and put on the dresser. “Where are the rest of your things?”

“Look, Richard, I was just going down to the pool—”

“To meet Spike, of course.” Richard went over to one of the banks of lace drapery and shook a section of the stuff out. When he was satisfied with how the piece hung, he turned around. “So how did you meet that man? The two of you never did answer my question.”

“It was through a friend.”

“Who?”

“Sean.”

“And how does Sean know him?”