The Rogue (The Moorehouse Legacy #4)(53)

But before she went to find him, she had to finish her work here.

While storm clouds gathered, she humped gear and unused supplies off the boat with the men. She figured when they were done she’d find Hoss, then go into town, check into a hotel and collapse. She was utterly exhausted from sailing for forty-five days straight and she figured she was tired enough to actually pass out. Which was just fine with her. Maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with the nightmares she’d been suffering through lately.

As she lifted a pair of five-gallon water jugs out of the hold and up on deck, she was very aware that her force of will was keeping her going, not her muscles. Yet when Bonz took the dead weight onto the dock, she just went back for more.

In the distance, she heard a dim thunder and wondered whether the storm was gearing up already. When the sound rolled to an end, she didn’t think any more of it, just kept reaching for the next bag and the next box and the next jug. Until she realized there wasn’t anything left.

Mad glanced around the hold. With everything out, the cleaning crew could come in next and scrub down.

“That’s it,” she called up to the deck. Thank God.

“You want to meet us in the bar?” Bonz yelled down to her.

“Yeah, in a minute.”

“Good. And listen, stop by the front desk. When I went to register us, they said they had a package for you.”

As the men took off, their low voices faded and she closed her eyes for a moment. Then she went fore to the six berths that were stacked one on top of the other in pairs. She and the men had slept in rotating shifts. Bonz snored. Jaws talked in his sleep. The other two had been dead quiet either because they were totally pooped or unable to sleep at all.

Her duffel was sitting on her bunk and she fished around in it until she found her new cell phone. With slow fingers she dialed in to the separate number she’d given folks to call when she was at sea and found that there were nine messages.

Which was a surprise even though she hadn’t checked the thing for at least a week.

Two messages were from Sean and they were the kind friends left when they were worried, but didn’t want to press. One was from Alex Moorehouse asking her about her schedule. Then there were five from Richard, none of which she listened to. The final one was from Mick Rhodes, who’d tried to reach her on the cell and failed. Fortunately, it was good news.

As she hit #2 over and over again to clean the mailbox out, she thought of everything Mick had done for her. He was the reason she’d gotten the cell phone and the only one who had the number. Over the past month and a half, he’d called her down in the Bahamas a number of times, updating her on the situation with her trust.

Right after Memorial Day weekend, Richard had brought an action in court to block his being unseated as executor of her trust. And Mick had taken care of her half brother swiftly and decisively. She didn’t know exactly what had transpired, but clearly it had been hardball. Within no time Richard had retracted the lawsuit and she was free of him.

She supposed she should have felt triumphant. Instead, she was resolved.

Mad zipped up the duffel and slung it over her shoulder. As she headed out, she figured finding Hoss wouldn’t be tough. He’d either be sitting in the club’s bar watching the storm come in with the boys or he’d be at his house on Millionaire’s Row. If she didn’t catch him here at the club, she’d walk down Bellevue Avenue to his place after dinner—

She stopped at the foot of the little stairwell to the deck.

What was she thinking? She couldn’t go on that damn trip with Hoss. She had to be in Manhattan for the Value Shop Supermarkets board meeting the day after tomorrow.

Good heavens…how bizarre to have something on her radar screen other than sailing.

Mad emerged out on deck and took a last, long look at the ocean. The storm was churning, coming on fast, darkening the sky. The clouds were so heavy with rain, they were purple as plums.

When she turned around, Spike was standing on the dock.

Her first and only thought was that it was cruel of him to look so good. Black leathers and biker boots. Jacket hanging from one of his hands. Black hair standing up straight off his head. Golden eyes like the sun.

It was as it had been the night he had arrived in Greenwich: a total shock. A lightning flash of attraction. An instant quickening in the air.

The time away from him had changed nothing. He was still captivating. But then she remembered other things about him.

Anger lit off in her chest.

*

Spike was prepared for the worst, and as he waited for Mad to step back with fear or contempt or disgust in her eyes, he absorbed the sight of her, sucking in every nuance. She was tanned and looked healthy, except for the bags under her eyes. And good Lord, she was lovely. Her hair was French braided but the wind had freed some strands and blown them across her cheeks. He wanted to put both his hands on her face, sweep the dark pieces back and…kiss her hello.

Which was so not going to happen.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in a tight voice.

“I came to see you.”

There was a long pause. “How did you get into the club?”

Her utter lack of reaction chilled him to the bone. “I used to work the grill here in the summer. Everyone knows me.”

“Naturally.” She leaped off the boat in a graceful move and walked right by him. “If you’ll excuse me, I was just leaving.”