The Rogue (The Moorehouse Legacy #4)(52)

He also really liked knowing she had a roof over her head and a place where she could sleep safely at night. Well…not that she slept much at all. He’d heard her walking around a lot after hours.

“So how about not being a guest anymore,” he said. “How about becoming my roommate?”

“We’ll see.”

Which meant no. But at least she was here now.

He stared down into his glass. “Listen, Jaynie, I need to take a little trip tomorrow. Just an overnight. Will you be okay here on your own? Nate and Frankie are a minute and a half away. In fact, you could stay with them—”

“I’ll be fine. This is a safe building.”

“I won’t be gone long.”

“Is this about Madeline?”

Spike’s head whipped up. “How did you—”

“You say her name. In your sleep.” Jaynie flushed. “I’m not eavesdropping. It’s just, when I’m up, I hear it. You sound like you miss her.”

He exhaled. “I, ah…yeah, this is about her.”

His sister’s soft smile transformed her face, making her utterly beautiful. “Good. It’s about time you cared about someone enough to miss them.”

*

The following afternoon, Mad stood on the deck of a seventy-five-foot sailing yacht and watched the land on the horizon grow larger. Newport, Rhode Island, was nothing but a smudge on the top of the sea right now, just a strip of dirt that looked like you could wipe it off with a paper towel. Soon, though, it would be three dimensional and overwhelming, trading places with the ocean for supremacy.

She’d spent the past month and a half putting the rehabbed America’s Cup boat through its paces and doing over-nighters on other yachts down in the Bahamas. Then she and two of the crew had hopped on this boat and made the Newport run with a pair of sailing hopefuls who wanted a shot at the big-time. The trip had been successful. Both newbies had proven they had good sea legs and fast reflexes. Plus they could handle themselves with Bonz and Jaws, two of the toughest sailors around.

“Mad Dog, what is up with you?” Bonz sidled over to her, all blond hair and tanned muscles. His real name was Garrison Fitzhugh Bonnycastle IV, but he was Bonz to everyone in the sailing world. “You’ve been so damned quiet.”

“Nothing doing.” As he rolled his eyes, she said, “Hey, do you know when Hoss’s boat is going out for the Caymans?”

“Tomorrow morning first light. Me and Jaws were going to crew but we need some downtime.”

“Wonder if there’s still a berth available.”

“For you? Hell, Hoss would pitch his own mother over the gunwale to get you on one of his boats.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

“Truth, not charm.”

For a little while, they were silent, both focused on the sea. Then Bonz’s hand landed on her shoulder.

“Time for a caring and sharing moment here, Mad Dog.”

“Oh, no—”

“So listen up and I’ll get through it quick. Jaws is worried about you, too. And if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I’m going to be forced to let all the boys know you’re upset about something.”

“There’s nothing—”

“Think about it. All twelve of us. All over you. Until you tell us why you’ve been so quiet since Mem Day.”

She smiled and glared at him at the same time. “You are bullying me.”

“Without hesitation or remorse.”

She had to chuckle. “Well, I appreciate your concern…I think. But it’s nothing.”

“Come on, Mad Dog. What’s under your skin? Spill it.”

“Fine. You win.” She grabbed the front of her shirt and swooned, throwing one hand over her forehead. “I’ve got a broken heart.”

Bonz barked a laugh. “Yeah, right. Over a man? I’ll believe it when I see it. You’d be more likely to get upset over a bad day in the wind. Why can’t you be honest? I mean, I figure you’d be psyched on life right now. Crew’s in good shape. Boat’s fine. Our buoy times have been great.”

“And so am I. Great, just great.”

He stared at her and rubbed his jaw. “I’m getting nowhere here, am I?”

“Nope.” Even though she’d actually given him the truth. Spike was a curse, a man who had betrayed her who she couldn’t get out of her mind. Her heart was utterly broken. “I’m just fine.”

Bonz leaned in close. “You’re lying.”

As he walked off, she thought that was certainly correct. The six weeks away had done nothing to make her feel better and the idea of being trapped on land for even a day made her want to scream.

Alone on deck, she watched Newport get bigger with dread.

Two hours later, at around six in the evening, they were docked and unloading gear at the New England Yacht Club. The N.E.Y.C. was a superexclusive enclave of ocean-faring folks and it looked the part, all pristine white buildings, perfectly maintained boat berths and landscaped lawns. There were at least fifteen world class sailboats anchored off its quarter mile of shoreline and there were more yachts tied within its maze of docks.

Hoss’s eighty-five footer, her escape hatch, was just four boats over from her. Pausing, she assessed the La Belle Femme with approval. The trip to the Caymans would be a long one. A good one. And Hoss probably would boot off anyone he had just to get her on board as navigator.