The Rogue (The Moorehouse Legacy #4)(33)

Mad opened her mouth, but someone came up to Barker and introduced himself. As the chairman turned away, Richard leaned in and said, “Charles is right. Stick with what you know, Madeline. It’ll be a much better result for you.”

Her half brother walked off into the crowd.

As Mad watched him, her expression was one of calculation rather than hurt. “He’s going to make a case that I’m not competent enough to vote my shares and he’s going to bring Barker in on it.” She glanced at Spike. “Thank God for Mick Rhodes. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

They went in for dinner shortly thereafter and Spike actually enjoyed talking to the grande dame he was seated next to. Naturally, though, he kept staring across the table at Mad, watching her push her food around and smile with reserve at the men on either side of her. With the candlelight flickering over her face, he couldn’t help but think about kissing. And what she would look like without that dress on.

As there were thunderstorms coming, the party adjourned to the library, not the terrace, for the coffee/ brandy/cigar phase of things. Spike caught Mad just as she left the dining room.

“How about some air?” His voice was way too husky. And he tried not to think about why he wanted to get her away from the party…knew damn well that it was because he wanted to kiss her again even though that was a stupid idea.

She smiled at him. “Let’s go.”

The easy reply told him she had no idea what was on his mind. Which was good. It reminded him that he had no business thinking as he did.

They walked out onto the terrace then kept going, wandering on to the lawn, drifting down away from the house. The currents in the soft summer evening carried the scents of both the blooming garden and the coming storm. Fireflies danced and flirted all around, their company far more appealing than that of the partygoers indoors.

More intimate, too.

“This stuff with Richard,” Mad said, “it makes me think.”

“Can I just say, you’re doing great with him.”

“You know…I agree. And it makes me remember other challenges, other things that I thought I couldn’t handle.”

Mad walked a little ahead of him and his eyes clung to the movement of her hips. When she stopped abruptly, he let himself come up right against her until he pressed his body into the back of hers. It wasn’t a conscious decision. It was instinct.

As he molded himself to her, she inhaled sharply.

Immediately he eased off and gave her some space. “Sorry.”

Her head turned so he saw her profile over her shoulder. She was so beautiful in the rich summer night, he thought. The kind of woman a man never forgot.

Good Lord, he wanted her.

“Have you ever fallen into the ocean?” she murmured.

Spike pushed his hand through his hair. Well, if that wasn’t a change in subject from what was on his mind. “Ah, no. I haven’t.”

“I have. In the middle of a storm. With nothing more than a parka, a slicker and a PFD on.” His heart dropped, even though her voice was utterly level as she spoke. “The boat took off without me. I watched it disappear.”

Spike stopped breathing, imagining her lost. Alone. In the vast sea. His gut clenched.

“You know what I did?” she said.

“What?” he whispered. Oh, God…

“I activated my GPS, turned on my flasher and waited.”

Spike’s breath eased. “Smart.”

“I was found eight hours later.”

Holy…Eight hours? In a storm? “Mad.”

“I thought I was dead. I really did. And after I got through the fear of it all, I was okay with the dying…because I kind of figured I’d done what I wanted to. I mean, I’d found the thing I loved to do above all others and I’d excelled at my sailing and my competing. I had lived the way I wanted.”

Spike swallowed. “How long ago did this happen?”

“Two months.”

Spike cursed.

Her eyes flipped up to his. “I saw you watching me during dinner.”

Whoa. And to think he’d assumed his blushing days were long over. “I, ah…”

“You kept looking at me. Every time I glanced over the table, you were staring. You were focused on my lips, weren’t you.”

He cleared his throat. Okay, so maybe she had known what he was thinking of when he asked her to go for a walk. “Mad, I—”

“I want to be your lover. Tonight.”

Spike’s body instantly shot into the stratosphere. As their eyes held fast over her shoulder, he read everything in her face: the decision, the conviction…the wanting.

And he wasn’t going to turn away from her. Even though he in no way deserved her and she didn’t know the particulars of the why in that, he was not going to walk away.

Because he couldn’t.

He moved in closer, bringing his chest to her back again, sinking his hips into her. He moved her long, dark hair out of the way, balling it into his hungry fist. Then he leaned down, pressed his lips to her neck and growled, “Say that again.”

She swayed. “I want to be your lover.”

“When,” he prompted, biting at her throat then kissing what he’d taken between his teeth. He was gentle…but not too gentle.

“Tonight…”