The Rogue (The Moorehouse Legacy #4)(5)

As the knot of people around him laughed once again, she shook her head. Boy, she’d read him wrong. He wasn’t an introvert at all.

He was also very secure in himself. He seemed singularly unimpressed by the guests at the party and there were some pretty famous people around. It wasn’t that he was unfriendly, though. He smiled and talked, shook hands and clapped shoulders. He just didn’t kiss up. No matter who was standing in front of him, he never lost the slightly aloof, mocking confidence that drew people to him.

And speaking of magnetic, two women in particular had cozied up to him. Both were blond and aristocratic-looking, and pretty soon, one had her arm around him while the other tried to sit in his lap.

Mad shook her head, telling herself she had no right to be jealous.

Abruptly, Spike roared with laughter, the sound rich and very male. And then his eyes shifted across the room. As he caught her staring, his face tightened and the smile dropped off his lips. When the blonde sitting beside him playfully swatted at his chest, he recovered quickly and grinned down at the woman.

Yup, this was it in a nutshell, Mad thought. The story of my life.

The only time she wasn’t invisible to men was when she was giving them attention they didn’t want.

*

Spike had been totally surprised to find Mad looking at him and the shock of meeting her eyes had cut off his train of thought. He managed to finish his story about the first fish he’d cleaned as a chef only because he’d told the thing so many times, it was rote.

No doubt Mad thought he was just a rowdy show-off. And as the people around him broke out into laughter, he thought she was probably right.

Mad, on the other hand, wasn’t rowdy or a show-off. She stayed away from the crush of people, lingering near the bank of windows, beautiful and still as a piece of art. In her regal silence, she made him feel awkward and unworthy, as if his stories were pathetic rambles with predictable starts and flat endings.

But then a lot of men at the party seemed to feel the same way about her. Every single male in the place had admired her from afar and obviously lacked the courage to approach her. What they settled for was looking at her from the corner of their eyes, watching her, measuring her. He saw all the glances and noted each one of them with a curse.

He knew exactly what kind of thoughts were going through those minds of theirs. The sexual speculation. The awe. The intimidation.

Because that sticky morass was swimming in his own head.

There was just something so…unreachable about her. It was as if she had seen things and done things on the ocean that none of them had come close to on land. And the gap worked against the men, setting them apart as pasty versions of something she probably didn’t want and definitely didn’t need.

And her beauty was downright threatening. Anchored by the strength of her body and her smart, smart eyes, she turned the other women at the party into f-words.

Frail. Flighty. Forgettable.

Spike felt something hit his chest lightly. Paige Livingstone or Livingworth—or something equally WASPy—seemed disappointed he’d retreated into his head. As did her sister, Whitney, who had somehow wiggled her way onto his lap.

Spike set Whitney aside and smiled in an empty way the sisters didn’t pick up on. An hour later, after the party had wound down, he showed them both the door even though they’d given him their number and plenty of come-hither-you-bad-boy looks. He just wasn’t in the mood to be their savage conquest fantasy. He’d done that before and had never really gotten much out of it even though the women had seemed to enjoy the experience.

Man…it was crazy, but for some reason, the sweater-set, pearl-draped, scarf-wearing types just went nuts for guys who looked like him.

Well, nuts for one night. Or maybe two. Though never longer than that.

Which was fine with him. He wasn’t looking for a relationship.

No, he’d given up on that a long time ago. With his past, he wasn’t ever going to settle down. As soon as a woman knew what he’d done and where he’d gone, she’d bolt and he was sure of this because it had happened to him. Since full disclosure was a guaranteed exit door, and he couldn’t stomach lying by omission, he was never going to be more than a short-term visitor in a woman’s life.

And he really was cool with that. He was a survivor both by nature and experience so his prime directive was clear. If you can’t change something, you adapt and move along.

As Spike shut the door on the two blondes, he took a deep breath. The penthouse was silent now and the lack of noise was a relief.

Except then he realized that Madeline had left and he’d never gotten a chance to say goodbye.

Maybe that was just as well. Usually he had a good rapport with women; he could charm the pants right off them if he wanted to. But with Mad, there was no way to fake the social fluff.

And besides, all things considered, he should be grateful. He sensed she was someone he could fall hard and sloppy for. And where would that land him?

Ah, yes. 71st Street. On his butt.

Sean came out of the kitchen, tie hanging loose, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He had two cups of coffee in his hand and he held one out.

“Thought you might need a pick-me-up, too,” the guy said in a curiously disgruntled tone.

Spike took what he was offered and they made a beeline for the living room.

“So I think Alex and Cass had a fine time,” Spike said. “And they were really nice about my being late.”