The Rogue (The Moorehouse Legacy #4)(23)

“Look, I’m sorry. And we can forget about the movie.” She shook her head. Looked back at the house. “I guess I’ll…I’ll just see you in the morning.”

“Mad, what the hell are you sorry for?”

“Nothing. I’ll see—”

“What’s wrong?”

“I just didn’t think.” She put her hands on her hips. Frowned. “You know, about the whole…swimming thing.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s nothing.” She cocked her leg up and rubbed her ankle a little, as if on reflex. Her eyes refused to meet his.

“Oh, before I forget. Breakfast is at eight sharp. If you’re not there, you won’t get to eat until lunch. ’Night.”

As she turned away, he said sharply, “What’s going on here, Mad?”

When she stopped and faced him again, he was relieved—given that he couldn’t go after her, not with the erection he was sporting.

With a quick move, she repositioned the towel, tightening it over her breasts. His eyes latched on to the subtle curves.

Stop it.

“Partners talk to each other, Mad. What’s wrong?”

“Oh, it’s…Yeah, nothing new. Most men don’t like the way I swim. Or play golf. Or lift weights. Or run.” She shrugged. “They don’t like it when I can out-drive them on the fairway or go faster around the track or go harder in the water.”

Spike could only stare at her. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”

She rolled her eyes. “Richard reminded me again tonight. Just ask him, he’ll explain the whole—”

“No offense, but I wouldn’t ask your half brother what day of the week he thought it was. And I can’t believe you think so little of me.”

Her eyes shifted to his. “Well, you’re clearly tense so I assume you’re upset about something.”

“And you think it’s because you can out-lap me?”

She shrugged. “It’s happened before.”

“Not with me. I love the fact that you can swim hard.”

Her eyes narrowed. After a moment, the tight lines of her face relaxed.

“Really?” she said, a little smile lighting on her lips. “Because that would be great. That would be…really great.”

“And I want to watch Bruce Willis with you. Or Bambi. Or…whatever.” Hell, he never wanted the night to end.

Now she beamed. “So let’s go.”

There was another stretch of silence as he tried to figure out what to do considering the condition he was in.

She tilted her head to the side. “You don’t want to get out of the pool, do you. Why?”

Well…they were both adults here, weren’t they? And it wasn’t as if she’d never seen an aroused man before. Besides, she was bound to figure out how he felt sometime during the course of the weekend and it seemed more honest to get it out of the way on the first night.

Spike swam over to the ladder she’d used and slowly dragged his body out of the water. He knew exactly when she saw what was doing. Her eyes peeled open and she took a stumbling step backward.

Guess they were clear on that.

He quickly covered himself with a towel. “Tell you what. Why don’t we take a rain check on the movie, okay?”

She just stood there staring at him, clearly not inclined to say much. Which made him feel even more like a total letch.

“Good night, Mad.”

He walked into the house and headed for the second floor. As he went, his internal cursing jammed up his head so badly it was a wonder he could find his room at all.

Except then he had something else to think about. As soon as he opened the door, his instincts went off, warning bells replacing the regret recital. Something was not right.

He closed himself in and looked around. Over on the bureau, his wallet was in a subtly different position than he’d left it in. And at the foot of the bed, the strap of his duffel was off to one side, no longer laying in the middle of the bag.

Now he cursed out loud. When you’d been in prison, you knew all about having your things searched both on purpose and in secret, both by folks who knew what they were doing and others who didn’t. This had been an amateur job. Someone had been sufficiently careful that to the casual eye, you wouldn’t think anything had been disturbed. But Spike knew what had been done.

He checked through his stuff and wasn’t surprised that nothing had been taken. It was a classic, sloppy sneak and peek.

Not what he’d expected. Not what he wanted.

His full name was the door to his past. And he’d just as soon make it through the weekend without Mad knowing a damn thing. She had enough on her hands with that half brother of hers; no reason for her to worry that she’d invited an ex-con home.

Spike took a quick shower and got into bed, feeling distinctly exposed. As he leaned back against the headboard, all he could think about was what had happened after he’d told that other woman he’d dated about the death he’d caused.

For some reason, he couldn’t bear the idea that Mad would have the same response, that she would see him only as some kind of murderer. He could live with being socially and financially beneath her. What he couldn’t handle was her being frightened of him.