The Rogue (The Moorehouse Legacy #4)(27)

“I’m very sorry.”

“Thanks, but it was long ago.”

“What was your father like?”

The coffee went right up in front of her mouth again, obviously a clue she was feeling awkward. “He was…my father.”

“We can change the subject.”

“No…it’s okay. My father…ah, he was a lot like Richard. The two of them look alike.”

“And did they act alike, as well?”

She lowered the mug and traced a pattern on the tabletop with her finger. “Let’s just say prep school was a relief. Matter of fact, I begged to go. And it wasn’t just that Richard and my father could be very cutting. I was always out of place at home.”

“How so?”

“Richard and Amelia are like Barbie dolls. Fair, blond. Perfect. Especially Amelia. Amelia is truly beautiful. She’s spectacular.”

“Spectacular depends on who’s doing the looking.” For example, he was staring at spectacular right now.

“Oh, but you haven’t seen her. Men go nuts over her. Me? I was this lonely, lanky tomboy who wanted to be in the Olympics.” She frowned. “You know, it’s strange. I like myself. I like who I am. I love what I’m doing. But every time I come home, I just hear my father’s voice in my head. Or Richard’s in my ear.”

“Straight up, your half brother’s a pain in the ass.”

“I know.” She smiled. “He’s always been difficult. Though I have to say, our father was equally hard on him. Richard excelled at school and then in business, but it was never good enough. None of us were good enough for Father. I was the sports without the grace. Amelia was the beauty without the depth. Richard was the brains without the brawn. Father used to say, if the three of us were one person, we could really be something. I coped by leaving. Richard coped by turning into him.”

“And Amelia?”

Mad’s face became a mask. “She had other ways of getting positive male attention…But listen, enough about my family. Let’s talk about you.”

Let’s not, he thought.

“You don’t like to, do you?” she murmured.

“I’m sorry?”

“Talk about yourself.”

Fortunately, the waitress showed up with his food. He had to lean away as a plate that took up most of the table was put down in front of him. To help make space, Mad palmed her mug and eased back in her chair.

“Can I get you to share this with me?” he asked while the waitress topped off Mad’s cup.

“Oh, no. I’m fine.”

He picked up the pitcher of maple syrup that had come with his eats. “You ate before?”

“I’m not big into breakfast. Although I have to say that looks fantastic.” After the waitress left, Mad said, “Spike? You can trust me.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

He nodded, not wanting to keep things from her, but unwilling to drag her down. “Yeah, I do.”

He bit into the waffles and they were great, light and tasting of vanilla…although it wasn’t as if he could truly savor them. Mad’s soft words had landed in his gut and were taking up most of the space down there.

Trust…Sure he could trust her, but he’d come to help her, not freak her out.

He was halfway through the first waffle when she said, “There’s something you should know.”

“About?”

“Last night.”

He fell still and looked up at her. “What…about last night?”

The blush that hit her cheeks was absolutely gorgeous. “I wanted you to stay.”

Breath eased out of his lungs. “God…1 wanted that, too.”

“I’m just not…I’m not into casual sex.”

“I didn’t think you were.” And he loved that about her.

“In fact—”

“Madeline? Is that you?”

Spike frowned at the low male voice. When he looked up, there was a dark-haired man looming over the table. The guy had sunglasses on, of an expensive variety, and he was sporting that casual, I’m-a-rich-guy-in-the-summer thing, all linen-shirted and khaki-shorted. His watch was gold, almost the size of the table and screamed ROLEX.

“Mick!” Mad said with delight. “What are you doing here?”

Good question, Spike thought.

*

Mad stood up, keeping her mug with her because there was no place to put it down. She was surprised to see her lawyer in Greenwich, but then the town wasn’t that far from the city and it was a holiday weekend.

Mick smiled a little, his hard expression loosening some as he jogged a paper bag in his hand. “I’ve got a weakness for their corn muffins.”

Funny, it was tough to imagine the man having a weakness for anything.

She glanced downward. “I’d ask you to join us—”

“Don’t think I could fit at the table.” Her attorney stuck his hand out toward Spike. “Mick Rhodes.”

As Spike shook the palm that was offered, his yellow eyes were intent, as if he were measuring every molecule of the other man.

“Are you visiting Greenwich?” Mad asked.

“Live here.”