The Rogue (The Moorehouse Legacy #4)(55)

And then it was all a moot point. The test had been negative.

As Mad glanced down at herself, she saw that her hand was on her lower belly and the yearning in the gesture was tragic, frustrating.

Great. Terrific. Her biological clock was still kicking in.

Except it wasn’t really hormones, was it? No, it was the image of a little baby with black hair and yellow eyes, and how lousy was that? It was utterly self-destructive to want to carry the child of a man who had played her.

A crack of lightning lanced through the sky and the boom that followed was sonic. As rain started to fall, she looked at her watch. Driving to Manhattan didn’t appeal, not in a storm, not this late. It was far better for her to find a B&B in town and leave first thing in the morning.

Mad shouldered the duffel again, picked up the FedEx box and left the lounge. She knew what was inside the overnight delivery: the materials for the board meeting. Going by how heavy the thing was, she knew there was a lot, but she had every intention of going through each page until she’d memorized what was on it. She might not have a background in big business, but Mick Rhodes had said she could call him anytime with questions and she was sure Sean would be willing to help, too.

Mad left the clubhouse, not feeling up to dealing with the boys in the bar, and jogged out through the downpour to the garages beyond the parking lot. While she’d been away, the Viper had been housed in one of the rentable car stalls, and the engine fired up so fast, it was like the thing wanted out.

Crouching over the wheel, she headed into town, wipers slapping madly yet losing the battle against the deluge. Thunder crashed above her, all around her.

The tears came slowly at first. But by the time she pulled around to the back of the Lancet Bed and Breakfast, she was weeping openly.

As she sobbed, she realized why she was having a meltdown here and now. This moment in her car was the first time she’d been alone since she reunited with the crew.

While the storm raged, she let herself go and cried until she had nothing left.





Chapter Thirteen




Spike was soaked to the bone by the time he walked through the front door of the Lancet B and B. He’d gone over the bridge to Rhode Island proper, made it maybe five minutes in the storm and realized he was crazy. He turned and went back to Newport because he knew for sure where he could find a place to stay.

The Lancet House was an historic landmark, a rambler of an old mansion with ten guest rooms and a nice kitchen. Needless to say, the B and B was a huge step up from where he’d slept when he’d cooked summers at the New England Yacht Club—back in the day, he’d crashed on couches, assuming he’d slept at all.

The room he was given for tonight was small, but it was dry and luxurious. He peeled off his leathers, stripped the rest of himself bare and hit the shower. Ten minutes later he was down in the house’s dining room, sampling a buffet dinner with the other guests.

As he sat down and tucked into some roast beef, he felt a kind of isolation no crowd could cure. In fact, he was so removed from everyone, he felt as if he were watching a movie about people eating their dinners and talking to each other. In black and white.

Except suddenly some kind of ripple went through his body. He looked up.

From across the way, through doorways and archways, around the moving bodies of other guests, he saw Mad come in the front door. Her hair was damp, water was dripping off her duffel bag and she looked wretched. As she checked in, she seemed unaware of her surroundings, and when she went up the stairs, it was as if in a total daze.

Heart in his throat, Spike waited and waited for her to come down, until all the other guests in the dining room had finished eating and had drifted out to whatever their evenings held.

As a rolling growl of thunder permeated the mansion, it was clear the arrival of another storm was imminent.

He looked out the window to his left and sipped his cold coffee.

He was willing to bet Mad hadn’t eaten anything at the club.

But that was none of his business, he reminded himself.

“Are you finished with the buffet?” a waiter asked. “Because we’d like to put it away now.”

Spike glanced up at the guy. “Ah…yeah. I’m finished with it.”

*

Mad eased back against the pillows and stretched her legs out. It was always disorienting to lie on an unmoving bed after having bunked it on the ocean for a couple of days. But man, it was good. And the superhot shower she’d taken had also done wonders. It was a guilty pleasure to just stand under the spray until her fingers pruned up and her feet turned bright pink.

Now, lying down in a terry-cloth robe marked with the Lancet’s insignia, she felt a little stronger, provided she didn’t think too much about the accommodations. Her room was lovely. Romantic. Perfect for a weekend spent indoors. With its antique four-poster bed and its marble fireplace, she imagined many couples had found or rekindled passion here.

Not wanting to think about that kind of thing, she dragged the FedEx box onto her lap and ripped it open. Inside were three spiral-bound books of financial statements, memoranda and graphs.

She opened the book marked 1 of 3, figuring she might as well start at the top and hoping there was some logic to the order. The first page was an agenda and she skimmed the issues. Approval of the minutes of the previous meeting. Election of officers. Financial report for the fourth quarter. Summary of performance for the prior fiscal year. Acquisition of Organi-Foods Corporation.