The Rogue (The Moorehouse Legacy #4)(28)

“I didn’t know you had a house in town.”

“The old Murray place.”

“Wow, that was a train wreck.” Mad winced. Oh, way to be smooth. “I mean—”

“Not anymore it’s not.” Rhodes smiled coolly then dropped his voice. “Have you talked to Richard yet?”

“No, but soon. I just arrived last night.”

“If you need me—” Rhodes reached into his pocket “—call me at home.”

He wrote a number on the back of the business card and gave it to her. After she thanked him, she watched him walk through the customers.

“He’s so amazing,” she murmured as she sat back down in her chair again.

Spike made a low noise. Like a cough. “How so?”

“He’s really good at what he does.”

Spike stared across the café as the door shut behind her lawyer. “How do you know him?”

“Through Sean. The whole reason I came this weekend is because I’ve got some issues with my trust that I have to settle with Richard. I needed some good legal advice and Mick certainly gave it to me.”

They were silent until Spike wiped his mouth and carefully laid his silverware down on his plate. He’d eaten all of the waffles in a neat and orderly way, his table manners superb.

When the waitress brought the check, he reached into his back pocket.

“I think Mad wants a refill,” he said as he took out his wallet.

While her mug got refreshed, she watched him move in the little chair as his big body shifted. Those tattoos on each side of his neck undulated with his skin.

She wanted to kiss them.

He checked the bill, put a twenty on the handwritten slip, then covered the thing with a ten. “No change.”

The waitress’s eyes widened. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“That was generous,” Mad said with approval after the woman left.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to wait on someone?” His eyes flashed up. “Probably not, though, right?”

His tone wasn’t condemning or anything. Just factual.

It stung anyway.

“No, I’ve never waitressed.” She frowned. “But I know how to scrub a boat deck until my hands bleed.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry, that could have come out better, couldn’t it?”

She put her coffee down and stood up. “It’s okay.”

But it really wasn’t. Something in the way he’d said the words lingered. When they were outside next to the bike, she said, “Would you think of me differently if I didn’t come from money?”

“No. I’d still want to be your friend.” He handed her the helmet.

Friend? But last night he’d wanted to…

Oh, come on, Maguire, she thought. Men could be sexually intimate with women they thought of as just friends. She’d seen it with her crew. Countless times.

But she needed to know something. “Spike, you’re not with anyone right now, are you?”

He swung onto the bike and muscled it off its kickstand. “You mean a woman? No, I’m not.”

His tone of voice was level, his facial expression bland. And that was when an essential truth about him slid into place. It was so obvious, she was amazed she hadn’t noticed it before.

Spike had a secret.

For all his jovial, BMOC charisma at Sean’s, Spike was one of those people who didn’t cast a social shadow. There was no real footprint of information about him, except what the eye registered and what the here and now presented you with in terms of his character. The almost bored look he was putting out now was how he did it; he had a very smooth deflection system, giving the impression that there was nothing interesting or relevant about his past at all.

Of course, he had told her a few things back at Sean’s…Except as she thought about what he’d said about his family, she decided he’d talked like that only because the details had held no great controversy for him. He hadn’t seemed upset that he’d grown up without a father. And clearly his love for his sister and mother was likewise uncomplicated.

“When was the last serious relationship you had?” she asked, not caring that she was bumping into his barriers.

He frowned, turned the bike’s key, and started to lift up, preparing to slam start the engine. “Ah, years. Years ago.”

She stopped him by putting her hand on his forearm. “What happened?”

He shrugged. “We went our separate ways. I’m no good at relationships and no longer interested in them.”

He started the bike. In the roaring noise, he seemed totally relaxed, until she looked at his eyes. They were fixated out on the road and narrowed to the point of being slits. He did not want to continue the conversation.

She wanted to ask why, but knew that would be rude as hell. Besides, she was already pushing her luck.

Mad put on the helmet and got up on the Harley behind him. As he gunned the bike, she latched on to his waist.

While they went back to the house, she began to wonder if she hadn’t just read too much into him, though. Maybe he wasn’t hiding something. Maybe he was only remembering what she seemed to forget: they’d only just met. People didn’t always share intimate things with folks they didn’t really know.