The Rogue (The Moorehouse Legacy #4)(21)

Mad crossed her arms over her chest and took the fact that she was getting pissed off as a good sign. It was better than cowering. “I have no clue.”

“When did you first meet him? How long have you known him?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Then why not tell me?”

This was the problem with Richard, she thought. His mouth was fast and his reasoning was hard to get around. If she didn’t answer him, she would seem petty.

“It was fairly recently,” she hedged. “And we’re just friends, Richard. You heard me at dinner.”

“You don’t look at him like he’s a friend. So obviously he’s the one who’s not interested.”

“Did you come here to make me feel bad? Or was there another purpose?”

He smiled at her a little. “Have I upset you?”

“Oh, not at all. The suggestion that a man couldn’t possibly be attracted to me is a terrific thing to hear. Especially in your tone of voice.”

“I’m sorry,” he said smoothly. He glanced at her duffel bag. “I can’t believe that’s all you’ve brought for a whole weekend. Penelope would need a bag that size to go out to lunch properly.”

And he made this sound as if the defect was Mad’s, not the other woman’s.

“Richard—”

“So.” He clasped his hands together and pointed both forefingers straight at her chest. “I want you to play golf with me tomorrow. I’m inviting two friends of mine to the club and we’re going out at one o’clock. But let’s be clear. I do not want you to win by too much. Just a stroke or three, nothing more. The object is not to embarrass them like you’ve done with some of my other associates. You need to remember that no one likes losing to a woman on the links.” He headed for the open door. “Oh, and by the way, one of them is just divorced. Maybe he’d be interested in you. His ex-wife was a model and I think he’s had it with that beautiful, sociable type.”

Mad closed her eyes. A command performance with a win spread coupled with a single guy who was a buddy of her half brother’s. Just the way she’d hoped to spend a Saturday afternoon. “Richard.”

He paused and looked over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Can’t go? Why? Spending time with your chef?”

“As a matter of fact we have plans.” Or they would as soon as they thought them up.

“So break them.”

She met Richard’s eyes steadily. Crucible…crucible…This was her crucible…“No.”

Impatience flickered across his face and then his eyes narrowed. “Why did you come out here if you didn’t want to spend time with your family?”

Because I’m going to boot you out of my trust for good, half brother. That’s the only reason I made the trip.

“There’s plenty of time left,” she murmured. “But I will not go to the club with you tomorrow.”

Richard measured her for a long time, as if trying to break her with all the silence. Then he shrugged.

“Fine. I’ll get the pro to play. You always were a hermit, you know that?” He stepped out into the hall, then wrapped a hand around the jamb molding and leaned back in. “One more question about Spike. What is his last name?”

Oh, God. She couldn’t answer that, could she? She only knew him as Spike….

Mad kept her tone mild even though she was about to lose it. “If you’re so interested in him, ask him yourself.”

Richard’s eyes passed over her slowly. “You’re not usually this difficult.”

Welcome to the new world, she thought. And wait’ll you see what else I’ve got planned for you.

“Maybe I’m just getting older.”

“Somehow, I doubt that. Sleep well, Madeline.” Richard didn’t bother shutting the door behind him.

Mad wheeled away, burning with frustration—and found herself staring at the lace drapes he’d fiddled with so carefully. Though it made her immature as hell, she walked across the room, shoved her hands into the delicate fall, and shook them into a mess.

It didn’t make her feel any better. Instead, she was just ashamed of herself for being so petty.

She left the room and headed down to the pool, working herself up into a lather. Her half brother had been taking potshots at her since she’d been in diapers, and as a child she’d accepted the taunting cruelty as the way of the world, something like bad thunderstorms and monsters in the closet and any meal that had tuna fish in it.

But she wasn’t a five-year-old to be clipped into place. Not anymore.

As she stepped out of the house, a rhythmic splashing sound got her attention.

The estate’s Olympic-size pool was set into the ground on the far side of a slate terrace. Lights glowed around its periphery, the soft illumination picking out the square, boxwood hedging and the Brown Jordan patio furniture. But none of that was important.

The male body churning through the water was doing the freestyle, long arms and powerful shoulders eating up the distance, the rhythmic surging of the strokes…potent, sexual.

Mad walked over, dropped her towel on a chaise and watched Spike swim. When he got to the far side, he executed a perfect kick-turn and shot out from the wall, his stroke resuming easily.