Книга - The Perfect Distraction

The Perfect Distraction
Jessica Bird


“Have you met Madeline Maguire?” Sure have, Spike thought. I saw her last night in my dreams. As far as sexy bad boy Spike Moriarty was concerned, Madeline Maguire defined female perfection. When they’d met, she’d walked up and asked to see his tattoos as if she wasn’t the most gorgeous thing on the planet. He – a tough guy who’d make grown men run – had just about passed out.Their connection was definitely two-way…it had to be. But could he ever be the man in a million she was looking for? Surely not with the things he’d done and seen. Still, for as long as she’d let him, he’d give her whatever she wanted, whatever she needed…







Praise for the Novels of J.R. Ward Writing as Jessica Bird

‘Jessica Bird gives us a romance of rare depth, humour and sensuality…’

—RT Book Reviews on Beauty and the Black Sheep

‘Dramatic, edgy and intense, this story has a largerthan- life, dark hero who takes the sweet heroine (and the reader) to some exciting places.’

—RT Book Reviews on His Comfort and Joy

‘Jessica Bird’s A Man in a Million features a largerthan- life, irresistible hero and an equally complex, intriguing heroine. Top-notch.’

—RT Book Reviews

Praise for No.1 New York Times bestselling author J.R. Ward

‘Terrific…explosive…exciting… Ward has outdone herself.’

—Publishers Weekly

‘Ward wields a commanding voice perfect for the genre… Hold on tight for an intriguing, adrenaline-pumping ride.’

—Booklist

‘J.R. Ward has a great style of writing and she shines… You will lose yourself in this world.’

—All About Romance on Dark Lover


Also available

WHEN YOU WALKED IN

UNTIL YOU’RE MINE

ME WITHOUT YOU




The Perfect Distraction





J. R. WARD

Writing as Jessica Bird











www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)


J.R. Ward is a No.1 New York Times and Sunday Times bestselling author of erotic paranormal romance. She lives in the outh with her incredibly supportive husband and her beloved golden retriever. After graduating from law school, she began orking in healthcare in Boston and spent many years as Chief of Staff of one of the premier academic medical centres in the nation. Writing has always been her passion and her idea of heaven is a whole day of nothing but her computer, her dog and her coffee pot.

Visit the J.R. Ward Message Boards or e-mail her at jrw@jrward.com (http://jrw@jrward.com).


With love to the better half of WriterDog




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue




Chapter One


Spike Moriarty raced down Park Avenue, legs pumping, arms swinging, black leather jacket flapping behind him in the night air. Big, in great shape and properly motivated, he was like an SUV tooling down the sidewalk. Oncoming pedestrians got out of the way.

Damn, he was late.

And this was no fifteen minute, margin-of-error kind of thing. This was a two-hour black hole of social impropriety.

Usually the rules and regulations of polite behavior weren’t high on his priority list. He never went out of his way to offend people, but he wasn’t in bed with Emily Post, either. But tonight was different. Two of his favorite people were getting married and this was their engagement party. He was supposed to be helping the host and giving a little speech.

Sean O’Banyon, master of ceremonies, was going to kill him. Good thing they were buddies. It might buy him a quick and easy end.

Although it wasn’t as if he’d been dogging it on his couch. The drive from upstate New York to Manhattan had taken twice as long as it should have on account of a fiesta of automotive trouble.

The kickoff had been an eighteen wheeler jackknifing on the Northway right in front of him. Fortunately, no one had been injured, but the semi fell over onto its side and shut down the southbound lanes entirely. Like everyone else, he’d been diverted to Route 9 and had become tangled in rural traffic.

Tangled, that was, until he got nailed by an eighty-five-year-old man driving an ancient Pontiac. Then he’d been stopped dead in the road. Thank God only the Honda had been hurt, but then the real fun and games had begun.

Local cops showed up. The pair of them took one look at Spike’s hair and his tattoos and ran everything but his jockey shorts through every criminal check they could find. They probably even called Interpol overseas. The two had seemed bitterly disappointed when they’d found no outstanding warrants or parole violations. And to work off the frustration at not getting to use the cuffs, they’d detained him at the side of the road for about two hours.

By the time Spike finally made it back onto a highway, he knew he could kiss off any hope of making it to the party before the speeches started. Hell, he’d be lucky if he made it before folks left. After dropping a voice mail message at Sean’s, he’d had to resist the urge to red line the Honda’s speedometer. What stopped him was knowing that the last thing he needed was another run in with some badges.

Once he’d made it to the city, he’d dumped the car in a lot and started hightailing it. For the middle of May, the night was blessedly cool and clear so at least he wasn’t going to look like a total mess when he arrived.

Spike glanced at a street sign. Thank God. Only a couple more blocks to go. If he made good time, he figured he’d get to Sean’s before Alex and Cass—

The taxi came out of nowhere. One minute Spike was shooting across 71st Street, the next he was looking the grill of a yellow Chevrolet right in the teeth. Years of physical conditioning gave him the reflexes and strength to yank his six-foot-four body out of the way. But he did bounce off the car before ending up on his ass in the street.

The taxi skidded to a halt, and evidently the driver didn’t appreciate the assault on his hood ornament. He flipped the bird and hit the gas, kicking up some loose stones that pinged off Spike’s biker jacket.

Much as he could have used a breather, he didn’t hang around resting on his laurels. One: there was no time, not even to swear a little. Two: the asphalt was hard. Three, and most important of all: he had on black clothes, because that’s all he ever wore, so he was indistinguishable from the street. He probably looked like an odd-shaped pothole.

He bolted up and kept running, figuring he’d find out soon enough if anything hurt. When nothing howled, he went faster, letting the motion of his body clean any debris off his slacks.

Finally, he saw Sean’s building up ahead. He shot under the red and tan awning, peeled back the glass door and headed right for the elevators.

As he punched the Up button, a nasal voice cracked through the marble lobby. “Excuse me?”

Spike turned around toward the receiving desk. The doorman he knew wasn’t on duty tonight. But Colonel Klink’s evil twin was. The guy was a dead ringer for the Hogan’s Heroes commandant, just without the monocle.

Wait, that was a double negative of sorts. Klink was a bad guy. So maybe this was his doppelganger?

Spike shook his head, wondering if he had brain fry. Between pants, he managed to get out, “I’m here for…O’Banyon’s party. My name’s…on the list.”

Klink’s eyebrows arched in a haughty rendition of Yeah, right, loser. “Bike messengers aren’t allowed up in the building. You’ll have to leave whatever you’re delivering with me.”

Oh, man…

Sometime soon this night was going to end, Spike thought. One way or another, it was going to be over.



Madeline Maguire hung around the fringes of the engagement party, thinking that she didn’t really have her land legs yet. Or her interpersonal ones, either. As a professional sailor, she spent most of her life battling the ocean and it was always hard to downshift into some semblance of normalcy whenever she took a break.

So this kind of social playing field felt like Mars.

Part of the problem was a crushing lack of urgency. On a racing yacht, every word was significant, every creak a clue to be deciphered, every minute shift in direction an important event. As a result of years of experience and training, her instincts were finely tuned and hyperalert. And her capacity for multiprocessing what they told her was one of the reasons she was such a good navigator.

In this environment, however, there was absolutely nothing to respond to.

Which left her feeling flat.

The high point so far had been arriving and seeing Alex Moorehouse. Alex had been captain of the crew she’d belonged to and was not only her mentor but a friend. He and his fiancée, Cass, were two of the finest people Mad knew and seeing them was well worth the hassle of getting to Manhattan.

In fact, the whole crew had wanted to come tonight, but the rest of the boys were stuck in the Bahamas rehabbing a boat after a bad storm. Following an unanimous vote, Mad had been designated the official ambassador. It was a good choice and they all knew it. The boys didn’t do the civilized world all that well and it was better for everyone that the representative from the crew be able to put up a good front.

Not that she was doing so well at the social stuff right now, Mad thought. She could make a wallflower look like a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.

Except there was no one she really wanted to talk to. The fifty people in the penthouse were mostly from her half brother’s world: powerful, edgy men with competition in their blood; willowy, beautiful women with hard eyes and harder smiles. Of course, not everyone was like that. Alex’s family was warm and lovely and there were a few others who seemed approachable. But somehow, the players stood out and made her want to hang back.

Plus, she had a preoccupation.

Her eyes sifted through the party again, scanning faces and bodies, searching for a tall, broad-shouldered man with black hair that stood up in spikes.

Spike had to be coming tonight. Alex was one of his closest friends. And from what she’d heard, so was Sean.

He just had to be coming.

“Looking for someone?” a deep voice asked from behind her.

Mad glanced over her shoulder. Sean O’Banyon, Wall Street genius, mostly reformed street thug and all-around good guy, was giving her one of his gotcha stares.

She smiled. And lied to one of her nearest and dearest. “I’m not looking for anyone. Not at all.”

“Come on, Mad. Your eyes are playing floor hockey with every man in here. Except you’re not finding the one you want, are you? So who do you wish you were seeing?”

Sean was the brother she wished she had instead of the one she’d gotten. But she didn’t feel comfortable talking about Spike with him. The two were friends. And besides, given her history, nothing good was going to come of whatever interest she had in the man.

And unfortunately, she was interested in Spike. She’d met him when she’d headed up to Saranac Lake this winter to see Alex. The attraction had been instantaneous on her end, but she’d kept it to herself. Like most men, Spike didn’t say much while he was around her and he didn’t make a lot of eye contact. And no touching, not even casually.

So it was pretty much what she was used to. When you were six feet tall in your stocking feet and a professional athlete, most men didn’t think of you as girlfriend material. Or even as a female. If they liked you, or respected you, you were one of the guys. If they didn’t, they stared at you as if you were an alien or wrote you off as a lesbian.

Usually, either reaction was tolerable to her. More than tolerable, really, considering her few tragic attempts to make a connection with someone of the opposite sex. It was just…She wanted Spike to notice her, and not as an oddity, but as someone he might like to put his arm around. As somebody he might want to kiss, even just once.

She winced, trying to think of the last time she’d had a man’s lips against hers. God, how long…Whoa, that was not a good number. Too high for someone her age, way too high.

And that would be years, not months.

“Mad? Where’ve you gone?” Sean prompted.

She shook her head. “Sorry. So I like what you’ve done to the place.”

The penthouse he’d bought last year was done up fit to kill in a sleek, masculine style. Clean lines everywhere, minimal clutter, a lot of leather and metal. The panoramic views of the park and city were phenomenal and unimpeded by fussy drapes.

Sean glanced around. “Thanks, I like it. Architectural Digest photographed everything for next month’s issue. Blair Sanford did the interior.”

“It suits you.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re all about hard edges.”

Sean laughed, his harsh face softening a little. “In my business, soft gets you spread like paste.”

Sean had been her family’s investment banker for the last ten years and he’d helped turn Value Shop Supermarkets into a nationwide chain. Her relationship with him, though, wasn’t based on what he could do for her portfolio. She loved and trusted him more than she did her immediate relatives.

It was ironic. Usually she avoided men who looked like him because they reminded her of her late father and very-much-alive half brother. Sean had a real slick, glossy image. Dolled up in his fancy Savile Row suit and his silk tie, he seemed like your typical Wall Street money man. Except he wasn’t. He’d grown up in South Boston, in a tough neighborhood, and he’d never forgotten the lessons he’d learned on the street.

Which meant he was also a little scary. And gave her only more reason to love him.

“Listen, Mad, we need to talk.”

She cringed. “I can tell by the sound of your voice—”

“It’s about your half brother.”

Her eyes left his. “I’m not going to see Richard, but you can give him a message for me. Tell him to stop calling. He’s using up my voice mail space.”

“Mad, this is important—”

Up ahead, the door to the penthouse opened.

And Mad flushed from her earlobes to her toenails.

Spike was wearing a black leather jacket, a black button-down and a pair of black slacks. His jet-black hair was sticking straight up off his head in all directions, but instead of looking unkempt, the jagged peaks emphasized the hard lines of his beautiful face. His big body filled the doorway. The hall. The whole apartment as far as she was concerned.

Oh, God, his eyes…Those incredible, impossibly yellow eyes were still hidden under heavy lids and thick lashes. And the tattoos…On either side of his neck, two elegant, curving designs marked his skin. In his left ear, he had a thick, silver piercing.

Mad swallowed. It was not possible for a man to be sexier. Otherwise the laws of physics would collapse and the earth would implode into a black hole.

And no, she didn’t think that scenario was an exaggeration.

“Holy Moses,” Sean said under his breath. “You’ve been looking for Spike, haven’t you! How long’s this been going on? When did you meet him? And why the hell don’t I know about this?”

Mad took a sip of her Chardonnay and tasted nothing whatsoever. “Shut up, Sean.”



Spike had just about had it with the world as he walked into Sean’s apartment. He’d been okay with the stream of bad luck until he’d faced off with the lobby tsar downstairs. Now he was spanking pissed as well as embarrassed about being late. And he was hungry.

So heaven help the next person who screwed with him.

He pulled off his jacket, put it in the hall closet and immediately searched for Sean’s dark head in the crowd.

It took a second and a half to find his buddy. And as he saw who was standing next to the guy, Spike’s heart pole-vaulted into his throat.

Oh, good Lord. She was here. Madeline Maguire was here. Standing right across the room. Breathing the same air he was.

Or rather, breathing what he would have been inhaling if his lungs hadn’t frozen solid.

But he should have known she’d come. She was Alex’s navigator, or had been before the man stopped captaining America’s Cup boats. So of course she would be at the guy’s engagement party.

He just wished he could have gotten himself ready. Prepared. Controlled.

Although that would have required a sedative. And a blindfold.

As far as he was concerned, Madeline Maguire defined female perfection. She was confident and smart and tall enough to nearly meet him in the eye. Her no-nonsense warmth was a total turn-on and the rest of her was just as enticing. She had thick, dark hair that fell to the middle of her back. Her sapphire-blue eyes were bright enough to qualify as spotlights. And her smile had enough voltage to shock him right into an idiot-coma.

Tonight, she was wearing a black knit dress with a high neck and her body was…

Yeah, it was still perfect.

And he knew exactly what her curves looked like. He’d seen them, up close and personal. The first time he’d met her, she’d come out of a bathroom wearing nothing but a sports bra and a pair of black panties. She’d walked up to him, like she wasn’t the most gorgeous thing on the planet, and expected him to shake hands as if Amazonian goddesses talked to him every day.

Then she’d asked to see his tattoos. He’d just about passed out.

In fact, he was feeling light-headed right about now, too.

But maybe that was just hypoglycemia, he thought with optimism. The last time he’d eaten had been six hours ago.

Spike hitched up his slacks, tucked in his shirt and walked over to her and Sean, keeping a tight rein on his face. If he didn’t watch it, he was liable to start grinning like an imbecile. And shuffling his feet.

Man, where the hell was his game when he needed it?

“Hey, big guy,” he said to Sean. “Damn sorry about the slow-up. Did you get my message?”

As he and Sean clapped palms, he knew instantly something was up. His buddy’s eyes were twinkling.

And Sean O’Banyon, better known to most as SOB, was not a twinkler.

Sean glanced to his left. “No problem. You’ve met Madeline Maguire, right?”

Sure have, Spike thought. Saw her last night in my dreams.

As he nodded, he allowed his eyes one quick glance in her direction. Oh…wow. Those lips of hers were so pink. And she wasn’t wearing any makeup at all.

“Hi, Spike,” she said.

That voice. Low, husky. As sexy as he remembered it. His skin tingled.

“Nice to see you, Madeline.”

She didn’t offer him her hand and he was glad. He’d already tried out the whole puddle thing in the middle of 71st Street and hadn’t found the experience all that enriching. So melting in front of her wasn’t something he needed to do for a variety of reasons.

“What’s doing with the speeches?” he asked Sean. “Have I missed them entirely?”

“Sorry, buddy. Time’s come and gone.”

“I better go make my apologies. Know where the happy couple is?”

“In my study, I think. Alex insisted that Cass get off her feet and I think he installed her in a chair and ottoman back there. He says the doc’s probably going to put her on bed rest until she delivers the baby. Have you eaten yet?”

“Nah. I’m starved.”

“Say, Mad, why don’t you show our boy where the eats are?”

“That’s okay,” Spike said quickly. “I’ll find the food. Oh, listen, do you mind if I crash here tonight?”

Sean popped a grin, a big, wide one that pulled out his dimple.

Man, this was such trouble, Spike thought. SOB’s hazel eyes had that whole oh, goody thing going on. What was he up to?

Sean clapped him on the shoulder. “I think that would be a great idea, Spike. Absolutely perfect. Don’t you, Mad?”

For some reason, Madeline was eyeing the guy like she wanted to nail him in the shin.

Spike frowned, wondering how close they were. And in what manner of closeness it might be. He thought about what little he knew of the woman. She came from big money, supermarket money. So maybe O’Banyon was an advisor to her or something.

Sean winked at Mad.

Yeah, or maybe it was something more personal.

From out of nowhere, a mighty testosterone surge knocked out Spike’s frontal lobe and higher reasoning. He was struck by an urgent need to push his body in between them. And maybe drag that handsome, dimple-sporting, eye-twinkling Sean O’Banyon into the hall closet.

He’d look just perfect hanging next to Spike’s biker jacket. In the dark. Away from Madeline. Winking at himself. The bastard.

With a groan, Spike threw a leash on his inner gorilla, pointing out that Sean was a friend. FRIEND.

But then Mad looked at the man like the two shared a secret. And Spike’s core primate started to thump its chest.

Sean is lunch, the thing said. LUNCH.

Okay, it was now retreat time. If he stayed much longer, his personalities were going to start arguing with each other. Out loud.

“Excuse us,” he murmured, turning away. “I mean, me.”




Chapter Two


Mad watched Spike work his way through the crowd. People stepped aside for him, eyeing his looks with curiosity and a hint of wariness.

And in the case of the women, a good shot of blatant sensual appraisal.

But then he was the kind of man who made you think about making love. The way his big body moved with such power and grace told you he knew how to use those muscles and bones of his. In all kinds of different ways.

“So, Mad, what is going on with Spike? I’ve never seen you this entranced.”

She glanced at Sean and dodged the question. “I thought I was staying here tonight?”

“You are.”

“You have one guest room.”

“With two beds in it. And you guys are grown-ups, at least in theory. Shouldn’t be a problem, right?” Sean’s grin got wider, if that was possible. “And, you know, if you get cold at night, I’m sure Spike would—ow!”

Mad hesitated, and then gave him a second nuggie, in case the first one hadn’t made a big enough impression.

“Don’t you dare throw me at that man,” she said tightly.

Sean kept smiling, even as he rubbed his upper arm. “Who’s throwing? I’m not throwing. He needs a place to stay, so do you. Copious amounts of no throwing.”

She closed her eyes, feeling as if her heart had turned into a fist. “Sean…I’m serious. I can’t—Please don’t embarrass me.”

There was a pause and then a heavy arm came around her shoulders. “Hell, honey, I’m sorry. I’d never do that. Come here.”

She let herself get pulled up against Sean’s chest. As she took a deep breath, her eyes focused on the doorway Spike had disappeared through.

Sean stroked her back. “It’s just…I’d like to see you with someone like him. He’s a good man. I know him well. He comes down here all the time and we hang together.”

“Yeah, well, in case you haven’t noticed, he didn’t even look in my direction. He has no interest in me whatsoever.”

“That can change.”

“Not with me, it can’t.”

Sean cursed. “That stuff with Amelia and your boyfriend, it doesn’t mean—”

“I don’t want to talk about my half sister. And it wasn’t boyfriend, it was boyfriends. She slept with two of them.”

Another curse. “Do you want me to tell Spike to go somewhere else?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine spending the night in the same room with him. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he decides to leave. Now, look, you need to get back to your guests, okay?”

“Why don’t you come with me and have some food?”

“I’m not hungry,” she replied, which was her automatic response whenever anyone asked her to eat. “But thanks. Go on…I’m just fine.”

After Sean left, and for the rest of the party, Mad kept to herself. And watched Spike.

He’d struck her as a quiet person when she’d met him up at the lake, but tonight, he was a real charismatic crowd pleaser. He and Sean started trading stories in the living room and soon there was a crew of people around them. A crew with a lot of women in it.

Which made sense. Sean had always been a lady-killer and Spike evidently was one, too. He had this half-cocked grin he sported whenever he let a good one-liner fly, and like the other women, Mad felt her heart kick up a notch every time that wry smile came out.

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.”

Sean grunted. “You certainly looked like you were enjoying yourself. The Livingston sisters were all over you.”

“Yeah.”

They sat down on plush leather sofas that faced the bank of windows. Outside, the city glowed on the opposite side of the dense black square of the park.

“Too bad you spent so much time with them,” Sean muttered.

“Huh?”

“There were other women at the damn party, you know.”

Spike frowned and was about to ask what was doing, when he heard something behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. There was someone coming down the hall from the other end of the penthouse. A straggler?

Madeline came into the room as if he’d conjured her up from his fantasies. Her hair was all over her shoulders, rich and glossy, as if she’d just brushed it. And she’d changed out of that lovely dress and was wearing a pair of men’s boxers and a tank top.

The two didn’t quite meet in the middle so her belly button showed.

Spike shifted in his seat as Sean smiled and said, “Hey, Mad. Coffee’s in the kitchen.”

“Thanks.” She strolled into the other room.

Spike watched her go, his eyes latching on to the sway of her hips. And the muscles of her thighs and calves. And all the smooth, tanned skin of her legs.

Then it hit him.

“Sean? Is she staying here?”

“Yup.”

Spike put his cup down and pegged his hands into his knees. As he stood up, he was aware of a stinging suffocation.

“Where you going, my man?” Sean murmured, Boston accent coming out thickly.

“I better take off.” No way in hell he could be in the same apartment while Sean and Mad were in bed. Together. Doing unspeakable, fabulous things to each others’ bodies.

God, just the thought of them together made him nauseous.

“Sit down, Spike.”

“Nah, you need some privacy. I’ll see you later.”

“Spike, sitcha-ass down. It’s not like that with her, okay? You can relax.”

Spike narrowed his eyes and wondered if he’d given anything away about his attraction to the woman. It wouldn’t have been much if he had, but when it came to his friend, it wouldn’t have to be a lot. The trouble with O’Banyon was the guy was flipping brilliant. Never missed a thing, especially when people were trying to hide their inner goodies.

Usually it was a point in the man’s favor. Not tonight.

Sean’s voice stayed level as he nodded to the sofa. “Sit.”

Spike sank back down. And then another thought shot through his head. He tried to remember how many bedrooms the place had. Not enough.

He eyed the couch. Pushed at it with his hand.

Good to go, he thought, imagining himself stretched out with his head on one of the cushions.

“Don’t even think about it,” Sean said.

“What?”

“Sleeping out here. There are two perfectly good beds in that guest room and you guys are going in them. She’s already said she has no problem with it.”

Him and Madeline Maguire in the same room? Alone? For like, six, seven hours? He’d be lucky if he wasn’t limping by the time it was morning. All the pent-up desire in his blood would probably turn him into a pretzel.

Abruptly, Sean snorted and stared over the brim of his cup. “Why’d you have to spend so much time with Paige and Whitney?”

“They’re easy.” Spike picked up his coffee again. “I mean, they’re simple. You know, just two women. And why do you care?”

“You should have spent more time with Mad.”

Spike narrowed his eyes on his friend once again. “Are you trying to set us up?”

“Yes, I am. So the least you can do is be a gentleman about it and try and kiss her after the lights go out.”

Spike nearly spit out what was in his mouth. “What the hell—”

“It’s obvious you’re into her.”

He coughed, trying to clear his windpipe. “How do you figure I like her? I didn’t talk to her all night long.”

“Precisely. She was the only woman you were not comfortable around. And that spells attraction, buddy. At least the way I see it.”

“You are deranged.”

“True. And I’m right, aren’t I? You like her. And like her, like her. Not just like her.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Holy hell, I feel like I’m in elementary school with this conversation. Where’s my lunch box?”

“Same place your head is at.” Sean’s voice dropped down low. “I have it on good authority she’s into you.”

“And this is because she didn’t talk to me, either? Sean, buddy, stick to finance. You’re a rotten social worker.”

“No, she—”

At that moment, Mad came back into the room, sipping from a mug.

Sean put his coffee aside and clapped his hands on his thighs. “I’m turning into a pumpkin. ’Night, all.”

As the man left, he shot Spike a don’t-you-dare-screw-this-up look.

And then Spike was alone with Mad. She didn’t look at him, just walked over to the windows and stared out at the city. Silence elongated until he wasn’t sure whether they’d been in the room fifteen minutes or ten days.

Well, if this wasn’t awkward.

Spike said quietly, “I don’t want to crowd you tonight. I can crash on the couch.”

She shrugged. “If you want to. But bear in mind, I sleep on a boat with twelve men on a regular basis. No amount of snoring is going to get my attention. I can sleep through anything.”

God, the small of her back was beautiful. He wanted to press his lips to the indentation of her spine. Run his hands around to her flat stomach. Reach down and ever so gently stroke her thighs—

“Spike?”

“What?” He looked up, meeting her calm stare as she glanced over her shoulder.

“You just made a funny noise.”

“Did I?”

“Sounded like a groan.”

Well, at least that was better than a squeak of desperation. Much more manly.

Although when it came down to it, he was surprised she couldn’t hear the roar of his blood as the stuff slammed into all kinds of extremities.

“Can I ask you a question?” she said.

“Go ahead.”

“Your eyes. Are they real? I mean, they’re contacts, right?”

Spike looked away. He knew his irises were a peculiar color, but they’d been that way since birth. And most women liked them…thought the yellow was unusual and attractive. She was the first to suggest they were a cosmo-vanity statement.

Which told him a lot about what she thought of him.

And as he abruptly wished his peepers were normal, like a brown or a green or a blue, he got frustrated with himself.

He punched his weight into his feet, standing up in a quick surge. “I’m going to head for the shower. And then I’m hitting the sack.”

“Spike, I didn’t mean to…” Her voice drifted off.

“You didn’t mean to what?”

“Offend you. I’ve just never seen eyes like yours before.”

He shrugged. “I know they’re weird, but, whatever, nothing I can do about it. ’Night, Madeline.”

He put his coffee cup into the kitchen sink and then went down the hallway to the guest room. When he stepped through the door and glanced around, he expected to find her stuff all over the place. It wasn’t. There were no errant hairbrushes or perfume bottles or clothes or shoes dotting the dresser or the desk or the chaise lounge in the corner. All he saw was a black duffel bag at the foot of the bed on the left.

A sailor’s neatness, he thought, wondering what her life must be like.

He took a quick shower and then hunted around the vanity for one of the spare toothbrushes he knew was in there. As he put a high gloss on his teeth, he wasn’t looking forward to getting back into the clothes he’d worn all day long, but he’d left his stuff in his car.

And like naked was even an option in the hypothetical? Not a chance.

Spike went still. On the other side of the door, he could hear her moving around in the guest room. She was probably getting into bed right at this moment.

And wouldn’t that be a picture. Her lithe body bending down to pull the blankets back. Those long legs sliding between cool sheets. Her hair spilling over the pillowcase in waves of deep brown and dark red.

Cursing, he rinsed his mouth out, stepped into his boxers and then pulled on his shirt. While he buttoned the thing up, he eyed his pants. Throwing those on seemed a little much so he folded them and left them on the edge of the tub.

As he swung open the door, he expected to find Mad propped up in one of the queen-size beds, reading and looking wonderful.

Instead, the lights were off. In the glow from the bathroom, he could see her curled on her side with the covers pulled up to her cheeks. And yes, her hair did spill over the pillowcase beautifully.

As he stared at her, he wondered what the auburn waves felt like. Soft, he thought. They would be soft and they would smell like the herbal shampoo she’d left in the shower.

For the first time since his life had changed twelve years ago, he truly mourned the normalcy he no longer had and would never find again.

He thought about the one time he’d tried to have a relationship with a woman. About two years after he’d rejoined real life, he’d found someone he liked enough to want to get to know better. Things had gone well until he’d sat her down and told her about what had happened. She’d said all the right things at the time and he’d hoped they might go on from there. But then she’d stopped returning his phone calls.

He’d understood and let her go.

Ever since then he’d kept himself apart, although he hadn’t been celibate. He’d just done the one-night stand thing when he’d wanted a little company.

Madeline Maguire was not a one-nighter. She was the real deal. A smart, beautiful woman from a high-class family that had a Brinks truck worth of money in the bank. So even if she’d been attracted to him, and she wasn’t, there was no way someone like her would want to be…well, with an ex-con like him.

Spike went over to the bed on the right and got in it. After arranging the pillows the way he liked them, he tried to convince his skin of two things. One, the fact that he was wearing boxers and a shirt to bed was no big deal even though he usually slept in the nude. And two, Madeline Maguire’s hands would in fact not feel like heaven if they were applied liberally over every inch of his body.

He failed. Particularly at the latter.

And goodnight-in-hell, everything was an irritant. He shifted this way and that on the bed. Couldn’t find any comfortable way to lay.

Ten minutes later, he sat up, unbuttoned the shirt and tossed it on the floor. As he slid back down, he heard a soft chuckle from the other bed.

“Was that the shirt or the boxers? Or both?” she asked.

He froze, wondering just how long he’d stood at the foot of her bed and stared at her. Did she know he’d done that? “I thought you said you could sleep through anything.”

There was a pause. “I guess I was wrong.”

Her sigh as she burrowed back into her pillow burned through him.

Spike closed his eyes, hoping that the “fake it till you make it” theory worked with sleep.

It didn’t. He was wide awake. Just staring at the insides of his eyelids.

Happy place. He needed to go to his happy place. Okay…right. Happy place.

Didn’t have one.

God, how much BS was that? Everyone had one. He just needed to picture somewhere he wanted to be.

So how about the bed next door? the gorilla inside him suggested.

“Spike?”

His lids flipped open. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think your eyes are weird. I think they’re the color of sunshine on the waves in the early morning. They have that same hypnotic, shimmering quality, too.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, just wanted you to know.”

His breath left him in a silent stream.

Shimmering. Color of sunshine.

He wanted to tell her that he was glad she thought of his eyes like that. And point out that anytime she wanted to get hypnotized, he’d kill to be her swami of choice.

“Thanks,” he said, turning his head so he could see her. “My dad’s were the same. Or so my mom told me.”

Mad rolled over toward him, tucking her hands under her chin. God, she looked adorable like that.

“What nationality was your father?”

“Don’t know. I never met him and I never asked her. Probably some European flavor.”

“Why didn’t you…”

“Know him?”

“I’m sorry if I’m getting too personal.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Mom said he didn’t stay long, but she loved him like no other. And everything worked out eventually. Right after I was born, she met a guy who she ended up marrying. He was good to her, good to me. Plus I got a half sister, Jaynie, out of the deal.”

“Have you ever wanted to find your father?”

“Wouldn’t know where to start and my life’s okay the way it is. So, no. Besides, Mom’s lived in the same town all her life. If the guy wanted to find her or me, he could.”

Spike frowned, wondering how long it had been since he’d spoken about his family to anyone.

He shifted so he was laying on his stomach and couldn’t see her. She didn’t say anything further. Neither did he.

But it was a long, long while before he could fall asleep.




Chapter Three


When Mad woke up around six-thirty, the first thing she did was turn her head and look at the man in the bed next to hers.

Her breath caught.

Spike was on his stomach, facing away from her, and he’d kicked the blankets off of himself. All that covered him was a thin sheet that was threaded through his legs.

So she finally got to see his tattoos.

He had two of them on his strong back—well, one really, with two halves. It looked like medieval scrollwork; the design running up his spine until it split to go over his shoulder blades and around to the front of him. The tail ends of it must be what showed on his neck, she thought.

The artwork was beautiful. The effect…erotic. The dark lines flowing over his smooth skin made her want to touch him. With her hands. Her mouth.

And not just on his back. She wanted to know his whole body.

It was obvious he lifted weights regularly. Those broad shoulders were thick with muscle and so was the heavy arm he had curled up next to his head. His biceps were so well-defined she could see the vein that ran down the front of them.

Unexpectedly, he let out a groan and shifted on the bed. She tensed, ready to turn over and pretend she was asleep, but then he took a deep breath and seemed to settle. His rib cage contracted as he exhaled and he moved his head up and down a little on the pillow.

There was nothing she wanted to do more than cross the short aisle between their beds and lie down against him. She could wake him up slowly by nuzzling his neck, maybe. Or kissing the top of his shoulder.

Yeah, and then what?

She was a virgin, not a vamp. And a man like Spike was going to want someone who knew what they were doing.

He made the sound again, deep in his throat.

That wasn’t a groan, she thought. More like a purr.

His legs moved, the sheet pulling at them, constraining him. He rolled over onto his back. As his arm flopped out across the bed, she looked at his wide chest and his washboard stomach. Not a spare ounce of fat on him. Just a whole lot of muscle on a big male body.

Boy, she wished she had more experience. But in her life, there had been only two men who she might have become totally intimate with. One she met as a sophomore in college and the other she got to know during the summer after she left school to race. In both cases, she’d thought she was in love and assumed she was loved in return.

Instead, the men had preferred her half sister. And proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Shortly after the second time someone she cared about ended up in Amelia’s bed, Mad had put her dating life on hiatus. For one thing, if she wanted to be respected in her sport, she couldn’t be with any of the men on the sailing crews she worked on or any of her competitors, either. But more to the point, there had been no way in hell she was getting vulnerable again.

Her life had gone on. A couple of years had passed. And now she was on the verge of being twenty-five years old and she’d never made love all the way.

It hadn’t seemed like a character defect. Until now.

Spike let out another low rumble and his hand fisted against the sheets. In a flowing arch, his body bowed off the bed as if he were rising up to receive something. Then his hips moved in a tight circle, grinding, surging. Her eyes drifted downward.

Good Lord. He had an…

Well, it was clear what he was dreaming about, at any rate. And wow, she really needed to leave the room.

Spike’s hips stopped moving, but his legs scissored restlessly and his calves turned into knots. He threw his head back and bared his teeth, inhaling with a hiss. As his chest and thighs went through a wave of contractions, the muscles tightened and relaxed under his smooth skin.

He murmured something that sounded like, “More.”

Oh, man, he was beautiful. All male. Sexually aroused. In the throes of passion.

For a moment, she imagined she had the guts it would take to wake him up with the kind of sensuous caresses he was clearly getting in his dream. Would he turn to her? Probably. At least until he realized she wasn’t the woman he was fantasizing about.

She wondered who was in his mind right now, who he imagined was pleasuring him so acutely.

Without any warning, his eyes flipped open and he looked right at her. The yellow of his irises was so bright against his long, black lashes, it was as if his stare glowed. And the heat in it was like being hit with a blowtorch.

Mad jerked back. Then blurted, “I’m sorry.”

Because watching him seemed voyeuristic.

The sound of her voice seemed to confuse him. His black brows dipped low and his head went back and forth a couple of times. He mumbled something, closed his eyes and rolled away.

Mad left in a hurry. She used the bath down the hall and then went to the kitchen, relieved to find that Sean wasn’t up yet; she was not feeling particularly coherent.

Sean’s kitchen was all stainless steel and wrought iron, halfway between a professional setup and a neo-classical café. After sitting for a while at the table in the alcove, she went hunting for a bag of coffee. She was about to get some brewing when she heard a yawn.

“Hey, woman.” Sean walked in wearing a pair of plaid boxers low on his hips and a New England Patriots T-shirt. His dark hair was a tousled mess and his beard had grown in a little. He looked like a frat boy in his early twenties, not the thirty-five-year old Wall Street powerhouse he was. “So how’d you sleep?”

Mad looked away, just in case her blush was noticeable. “Fine.”

“Spike keep you up?” As if Sean hoped that was the case.

“No, and don’t start, okay?”

Her friend nodded, clearly sensing she was in no mood to play. “You know, this is heaven. You and my coffeepot, sharing a meaningful moment. Just beautiful.”

“What have you got for breakfast around here?” She always kept her meals light and was hoping he had some fruit she could slice up.

“I don’t know. I never eat at home. But the caterers cooked out of this kitchen all afternoon yesterday so there’s got to be something.”

The two of them cracked open the refrigerator and stared into it. There were all sorts of things crammed in there, a dizzying array of gourmet leftovers. Too many to choose from.

“I know exactly what this calls for,” Sean said. “Wait right here.”

He disappeared and returned a little later. “Help is on the way.”

“You ordered takeout breakfast?” she asked as she poured herself some coffee.

“Better.”

“You ordered breakfast delivered.”

“I ordered us a classically-trained French chef.”

“And this paragon is where?”

“Right behind you,” Spike said.

She wheeled around.

Her eyes did a quick head-to-toe on him, she couldn’t help it. He’d shaved and had all his clothes back on, but she still saw him on that bed in those sheets. His chest. His ribbed belly. His strong arms—

She realized was staring. And figured she better say something.

“You…are a chef?”

A bland look crossed his face and he went to the fridge. “I’m more the hash-slinger type, is that it?”

“No, I—”

“So what do you feel like chewing on, SOB?” he asked Sean sharply.

Shoot, she’d offended him. But she’d just been surprised that he would do something so traditional and rule-based. It wasn’t that she thought he didn’t have the intelligence and discipline it took to become a chef.

But Sean answered his question before she could explain herself. “Surprise me, buddy. Work your magic. In the meantime, Mad, you and I need to talk. And I’m leaving to go to Japan for two months this morning so it’s here and now.”

“Sean—”

“Come on, we’re going into the other room. And let’s hurry up so we’re not late for breakfast.”

Mad looked across the kitchen. Spike was gathering eggs, some leafy stuff and a couple of cheeses from the fridge.

He shot her a level stare. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to burn the place down without your supervision.”

“I didn’t mean that comment as you took it.”

“Okay. My bad.” He sounded bored. And as though even if she had wanted to insult him, he wouldn’t have cared.

She gave up and followed Sean into the living room. Her friend didn’t waste time with any preamble.

“You need to go see your brother, Mad, and you need to do it before you head back out to sea.”

Oh, not this again, she thought.

“Mad?”

“Half brother,” she muttered. “He’s my half brother.”

“Don’t get huffy with me.” Sean sat on a leather sofa and pulled her down with him. “Look, I’m not just telling you this as your buddy. I’m giving you some free professional advice. Go see him. Now.”

“Why? My shares in the company are the only thing that interest Richard. And he’s got control of them as executor of my trust.” Together she and her half siblings owned the biggest portion of Value Shop Supermarkets, one of the largest grocery store chains in the nation. The holdings were valued at an absurd figure that Mad didn’t like to think about. It was just too much to comprehend.

“Mad, in another week and a half he doesn’t have to be. You’re going to be twenty-five. Your father’s will stated that when you reached that age, you could assume control of your holdings provided you took certain affirmative steps to do so. Otherwise, the current arrangement with Richard in charge prevails. He would continue to vote your proxies at board meetings for the next five years.”

She frowned as it dawned on her that she hadn’t thought about her trust or the company in years. Shirking responsibility wasn’t in her nature and it was damn unappealing that she had assets she was taking care of. But her racing had always been the most important thing.

Abruptly, she focused on Sean. “Why are you looking so tense?”

“Frankly, I’m walking a whole lot of ethical and legal lines right now.”

“But you’re our investment banker. You’re supposed to advise us.”

“I’m the corporation’s investment banker. And the CEO of that corporation, namely your half brother, could argue that I’m undermining him by advocating that you establish some independent control over your block of shares.”

She winced at the implications, not wanting to cause Sean problems. “Well, I’m glad you brought it up. But Richard…Richard is going to hate not being executor. He’s going to—”

“You can stand up to him. I know you can.”

She wasn’t so sure about that, but Sean had a point and she was glad he had told her about the trust’s provisions. Except what did she do now?

“Mad, I have a lawyer friend of mine I want you to go see. His name’s Mick Rhodes. I’ve briefed him on the situation, and as soon as you pull the trigger on him, he’ll have the necessary documents drafted. Then you go see Richard. I know he’s going to be in Greenwich next weekend for Memorial Day. Go to him there rather than to his office and don’t bring Mick with you. Richard will view it as an act of aggression if you show up with your attorney. You want to approach him as his sweet, younger sister and then at 9:00 a.m. on your birthday, Mick will go and file the papers and it will all be over.”

“But do I have to go see Richard? Why can’t a lawyer just take care of the whole thing?”

“You’re going to have to deal with the man at some point, why wait? You might as well not have this hanging over your head. And don’t worry, I’ve heard Amelia’s out of the country until the middle of June. She won’t be there.”

Mad pictured her half brother. Richard was razor-sharp, mentally and verbally. And she was quite sure some kind of liquid disdain pumped through his veins instead of blood.

“Legally he can’t stop me, right?”

“I don’t believe so, but he’ll probably file a motion to block the change by arguing against your fitness as executor.”

Probably? Try definitely. Richard hated losing and he fought dirty. Always had.

“But Mad, Mick will know how to deal with that.”

“All right…I’ll go to the lawyer right away.”

Sean pulled her into his arms. “It’s going to be okay. And I promise you, Mick’s the best. He’ll eat your brother alive if he has to. And enjoy every single bite.”

Mad grimaced and murmured, “Half brother.”

They stayed together for a time, with her wishing all the while she was Sean’s sister instead.

When they returned to the kitchen, Spike was working over the stove, spectacular smells wafting up from all the pans he had going. He didn’t look over as she and Sean sat down, but a few minutes later, two plates appeared on the table. On them were perfect omelets that looked out-of-the-world delicious.

“Oh, man, this is some serious beautiful,” Sean said, Boston accent resurfacing. It seemed to do that when he was either really angry or really at ease.

“Thank you,” Mad said to Spike, hoping to catch his eye.

He nodded to her and went back to the stove, making an omelet for himself while he cleaned up. By the time he sat down, Sean had finished eating and she was disciplining herself not to finish what was on her plate.

“Best omelet I’ve ever had,” Sean said, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. “You wanna get married?”

Spike shot him that half-mast grin. “What kind of ring will you get me?”

“Cartier?”

“Try Harry Winston. Four carats, minimum. And I want baguettes.”

“Hard bargain. Very hard bargain.”

“Have you had my leg of lamb yet?”

Sean’s fist hit the table. “Rotten scoundrel. Plying me with inducements.”

“I make the mint jelly myself.”

“Fine. But I want you in a dress. No bride of mine’s walking down the aisle in combat boots.”

The two of them kept up the bantering and she let their deep voices fade into the background.

She wasn’t at all sure she could stand up to Richard. Her half brother excelled at making her feel small, and yes, she let him do it to her. The trouble was, whenever she was around him, she felt like the five-year-old he’d picked on and it was hard to remember she was a grown-up.

So maybe it was time to slay the dragon, she thought. She was a professional with her own life, an adult in the world who was doing well. And those shares were the only thing her father had ever given her except for some serious self-esteem issues. Even if Richard was a peach, she should be responsible for what was hers.

“You can’t come with me, can you?” she asked Sean abruptly. “To Greenwich.”

The men’s conversation halted.

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t.”

She nodded. “I didn’t think so. It’s just…Even without the business stuff, a holiday weekend with my half brother is going to be grueling.”

“What you need is an armed escort.”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “Someone big. And tough…”

“You thinking Robocop tough or Arnold tough?”

“Let’s get into this decade, shall we? Think Wolverine.”

“Arnold’s better.”

She smiled. “Are we talking T2 Arnold?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to send you into the sunset with the mean one.”

Mad laughed, wondering why Sean had never settled down. He was such a nice guy behind those chilly eyes. But every since she’d met him when he’d started working with Value Shop’s management team ten years ago he’d always been single.



While Mad and Sean batted action heroes back and forth, Spike finished his omelet and wiped his mouth. He was stone tired, but very alert.

God, that dream.

Sometime early this morning, he’d had a powerhouse of a fantasy about Mad. They’d been on a beach and tangled in each other’s bodies, kissing and stroking and moving. She had been the single most amazing woman he’d ever been with.

Which was not a surprise.

As he remembered where they had been and what they’d done in his mind, he had the odd sense that he was being assessed. He looked up.

Sean was staring at him and the man seemed very serious.

“What? You want another omelet?” Spike asked.

Sean looked across the table at Mad and cocked an eyebrow. She shook her head.

“Go on,” Sean said softly.

“What?” Spike put his napkin down.

Sean nodded at Mad, as if urging her on. She cleared her throat.

“Ah, would you come with me?” she asked. “To my family’s house for Memorial Day weekend? My half brother will be there and there are a couple of parties scheduled. You know, typical holiday stuff.”

Spike frowned, thinking it was clear she wasn’t looking forward to being with her relatives. So why would she want to add to the burden by bringing a stranger with her?

Then he thought of the way she’d looked him over when she’d heard he was a French chef. Right, he thought. What better way to get back at her high-flying family than to show up at the house with a roughneck like him?

Man, this shouldn’t hurt as much as it did, he thought. It really shouldn’t.

“Not my bag. Sorry.”

Sean spoke up. “Come on, you’re perfect hero material, buddy.”

“She’s looking for a freak, not a hero, aren’t you Madeline.” Spike heard a little gasp as he rose from the table, but he ignored the sound as he carried his plate to the sink. “And while I can’t deny I look the part, she needs to find some other fringe element to use. Hey, maybe she could just buy a weirdo of her own. She’s got the cash, I’m sure. And that way, all she has to do is let him out of the closet any time she wants to shake things up.”

He thought he caught another soft inhale, but he didn’t let it stop him on the way to the door.

“Have a safe trip to Japan, Sean. I’ll call you. And thanks for the bed.”

Spike grabbed his jacket out of the closet, slipped it on and got in the elevator. He was through the lobby and out on Park Avenue before he heard his name being shouted. He glanced behind him. Sean was jogging over the pavement in his bare feet. And he was pissed.

“What the hell did you do that for, Moriarty?” the man demanded, getting right up into Spike’s face.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Mad did not deserve that potshot.”

“Oh, but it’s okay for her to want to use me?”

“I want you to apologize.”

“Fine. Tell her I’m sorry. Later, Sean.” He turned away, only to find a meaty hand clamped on his forearm. He looked down and then met his friend in the eye. “Do us both a favor and let go, buddy.”

Sean cursed, then dropped the hold and used his palm to rub his face. “Look, Spike, she didn’t mean it like that.”

“Just like she didn’t mean that crack about me being a chef?”

“Of course she didn’t—”

“Did you catch the look she gave me? She clearly thinks I’m beneath her. And while that happens to be true, I don’t need to be reminded of the fact.”

“God damn it…Why are you so touchy around her? You’re not usually like this.”

Spike shifted his weight from foot to foot and then made himself take a deep breath. His temples were pounding even though he’d only had one glass of vodka the night before.

“Look, just leave it, okay? But tell her I’m sorry if she’s upset.”

“I want you to go with her.”

He shook his head. “Scuse me, Sean, but have we been having two different conversations here? I’ve said I won’t and I mean it.”

“But you’d be perfect, and no, not to drive her half brother around the bend. It’s just you don’t give a crap about all that social stuff and you won’t be offended by anything Richard says or does to you. And if you went, she wouldn’t be alone.”

“First of all, Madeline Maguire is not the kind of woman who needs support troops.”

“When it comes to her family, she does.”

“Secondly, why doesn’t she call on one of her real friends?”

“She doesn’t have any.”

Spike opened his mouth, prepared to go on to his third point, when he actually heard what Sean said. “What?”

Sean threw up his hands. “Mad’s…She keeps to herself and there are some damn good reasons why she doesn’t trust people. The only folks she’s at all close to are the members of the sailing crew she’s on—”

“So why doesn’t she ask one of them?”

“They’re stuck repairing a boat in the Bahamas. Look, there’s some bad stuff going on with her half brother that she’s going to have to deal with. You’d be a great buffer. And maybe something will…happen between you and her.”

“Whatever.”

“She likes you. She told me so.”

Spike looked at the sidewalk, unable to believe his friend. “Don’t—”

“Go. Please.”

“I can’t.”

“Yeah, you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“If not for her, than as a favor to me? Come on, Spike, I’ve waited for years for that woman to notice a man. She sees you. Last night, she spent the whole party waiting for you to walk through the door. She’s really—”

“Stop.” God, something close to panic was fanning in his chest. He had to open his mouth to breathe. “Sean, I don’t—”

“I know you like her—”

“Just…stop it.” His voice sounded choked, even to him, and Sean obviously thought the same thing because the guy shut up.

Spike rubbed his hair. “Ah, hell, buddy…You’re right, I do like her. She is special. I would love to be with her. But even if she was attracted to me, and I don’t think she is in spite of what you say, I’m not the kind of man she’s going to want to be with or bring home.”

“What a load of horse—” Sean ended the statement with a four-letter word. “I haven’t known you very long, but you’re one of my best friends. And I’m a damn good judge of character. So is Mad, by the way.”

“Sean, listen to me. I’m not right for her.”

“Why? Give me one damn good reason. And it better not be the tats on your neck because I know for a fact they turn women on.”

Spike looked down at his combat boots. Took a deep breath. “You say you haven’t known me long? Well, you also don’t know a lot about me. I’ve got a heavy-duty past, O’Banyon.”

“Like what?”

Spike exhaled on a shudder. God, was he really going to do this?

He locked stares with Sean.

Yeah, he thought, he really was.

“Five and a half years at Comstock for manslaughter. That’s maximum-security prison, Sean, and I did the crime. I killed a man. I killed him with my bare hands and I went to prison for it.”

As his friend’s hazel eyes peeled wide open, Spike wanted to curse. Damn it, he didn’t want to lose Sean over this, he really didn’t. But it wasn’t like you could soft-pedal what he’d done. A human life taken was a shocking thing, as it should be.

“That’s some hard time,” Sean murmured. “How old were you?”

“Twenty-four when I did what I did. Twenty-five when I went in.”

“Would you do it again?”

“If the circumstances were the same? Yeah. I would.”

There was a long pause. “What happened?”

“Someone was beating my sister with a baseball bat. While screaming that he loved her. It was her life or her abuser’s. I picked her.”

Sean’s shoulders eased up. “I’m glad you told me. And not just because of Mad.”

“So do you understand why I can’t go with her? Why I couldn’t pursue her even if she’d have me?”

“No, actually, I don’t. I’m willing to bet that if you told—”

“Already tried that on a woman once. Most females don’t feel comfortable around a killer and I can’t blame them. What I did…it doesn’t sit well with me, either.”

“Mad’s not most women.”

Spike shrugged. “Maybe so. But I know for sure she could find someone better to help her out of this little family storm she’s heading into.”

“I think you underestimate her.” Sean shook his head. “Still, it’s your decision. And no, I won’t tell her anything.”

“Except that I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

There was another long silence between them. Spike could feel Sean searching his face and knew the guy was running through all the implications of what had been revealed. Someone like Sean O’Banyon, big, fancy, finance guru that he was, was not going to want to hang with a violent felon, not with the high profile the guy had.

“It’s okay, Sean,” Spike said softly. “I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“No prejudice, man. You and I can just go our separate ways. I’ll disappear quietly.”

Sean’s lips thinned as he glowered. “Let me get this straight. You think I’d dump your friendship because of this?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“You’re such a lunatic.”

Before Spike could say another word, two meaty arms shot out and pulled him into a fierce hug. Sean clapped him on the back hard enough to make his molars sing and then let go.

“Here’s the deal, Spike. I’ve got a juvenile record that has been thankfully buried somewhere in a courthouse back in South Boston. And I do business with white-collar thieves all the time. So no, I’m not punting on you because of this. Jeez, what kind of lightweight loser do you think I am?”

As Sean glared, Spike cleared his throat, choking down a wave of gratitude.

“We’re solid, Spike. You and me are cool. Got it? Got it?”

“Yeah, all right,” Spike said hoarsely. “Good deal.”



Up in the penthouse, Mad took care of the remaining dishes and washed the pans. Then she went into the guest room.

The bed Spike had slept in was made up perfectly. The pillows were all arranged neatly. The duvet was square on the mattress and smoothed out. The sheets had been tucked in.

It was as if he’d never lain there.

She went over and sat on the chaise. She couldn’t totally blame Spike for thinking what he had about the invitation. It had come from out of left field and they didn’t really know each other. She just wished she’d had enough time to explain herself before he left.

And it also would have been nice if he’d had a little more faith that she wouldn’t want to use him, or anybody else, like that.

God, what had made her think for even a second that he’d want to spend a long weekend with her?

Mad listened to the silence in the penthouse, hoping to hear a door open and shut. She really wished Sean wasn’t outside on the street yelling at Spike right now. She’d tried to keep her friend from going after the poor guy, but you couldn’t stop a freight train just by standing in front of it.

Suddenly tired, Mad glanced over at the bed she’d used. Maybe she should go back to sleep—

She frowned, noticing the strangest thing.

One of her pillows was at the foot of the mattress. As if someone had dropped it there.

It hadn’t been her. When she’d slipped out of bed, everything had been pretty much in place. But why would Spike have moved it?

She got up and walked over to the pillow. When she picked it up, she caught a whiff of aftershave. As if the thing had been held against a man’s cheek.

How odd.

She put it against the headboard and stretched out on the bed. As she smelled the masculine scent again, she took a deep breath.

And yearned for what she couldn’t have.




Chapter Four


A week later, Mad decided that one nice thing about the ocean was you never had to deal with traffic. Especially not the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, getting out of Manhattan, parking-lot-on-a-highway variety.

She turned the AC up a little higher and eyed the shoulder with evil in her heart. Her Dodge Viper was small enough to fit on the asphalt strip between the steaming cars on the road and the scratchy grass that ran up to the guardrail.

Too bad she was a lawful citizen.

With a curse, she glanced at her watch. Quarter after six.

Which meant, twenty miles away at the Maguire family estate, her half brother had just given the nod for the hors d’oeuvres to be passed. Cocktail hour would be over at precisely seven o’clock and the guests would sit down for dinner. Dessert would be cleared at eight. Coffee, brandy and cigars for the men would be offered on the terrace thereafter. Everyone would be out of the house at nine sharp.

It had been her father’s timetable and she knew without a doubt that Richard had adopted the same schedule now that he was in charge. Dinner parties weren’t so much thrown in the Maguire family as dealt like cards.

She thought about calling ahead and telling Richard that she’d be late, but she didn’t have a cell phone and she wouldn’t have dialed his number even if she’d had one.

It was time to approach the start line with him. So she needed to get her head together. The way she looked at it, this weekend at home was her crucible. A three-day event marked with obstacles.

It made no sense that someone with her athletic accomplishments found it so difficult to stand up to her family. And she was surprised by how stressed out she was, but then it had been a long time since she’d dealt with them. Her job on the ocean had allowed her to put old problems on the back burner, taking her far away from any contact with Richard or Amelia, lulling her into the false sense that everything was fine….

Allowing her to run away and keep running, which was her first instinct when it came to conflict.

So it was good that this issue with her trust had come up. Sometimes you needed to be forced to slay your dragons.

And she wasn’t really going in without back up, even if she was alone in the car. She had a great new lawyer, one she had absolute faith in. Mick Rhodes had been all business when she’d met him at his firm’s office. He’d reviewed the trust documents she’d brought with her, told her exactly how he was going to proceed, and warned her about what Richard was likely to do in response.

Which apparently wasn’t anything Rhodes was too worried about.

If she had any hesitation about her attorney at all, it was because clearly the only reason he was taking her on was that Sean had asked him to. Rhodes was a heavy hitter corporate litigator, not a private client T&E guy. And she knew this because while sitting in the man’s waiting room, she’d read all about him in the newest issue of Business Week. He’d been on the cover.

Anyway, with Rhodes in her hip pocket, she felt like she was going into battle with a Sherman tank. And didn’t that make her feel better about her odds.

Except…well, the trust was only part of it. She really did need to learn how to relate to Richard. They were tied together through her father, and though that man was dead, the web he’d spun remained in the business he’d started. As well as in the bad blood he’d left behind among his children.

Forty-five minutes later, she spotted the Greenwich exit on the highway. As she got off, she tried to remember when she’d last been to the family house. It hadn’t been since her father had died. So that was four years? Five?

Richard was the one who’d inherited the place and she was willing to bet everything was exactly the same now that he was living there. Say what you would about her half brother, he’d always been a loyal child. Loyal to the point of obsession. The son had not so much admired the father as he had aspired to be the father.

So yes, everything was going to be as it had been.

Mad drove through the town proper, smiling at the shops she recognized, assessing the new ones that had cropped up. She had memories of visits to the ice cream shop and the stationery store and the fruit market. The trips had always been chaperoned by different people. The nanny. The housekeeper. The cook. And she’d love the excursions not just for the excitement of it all but because she’d been with kind people whose company she’d felt comfortable in.

Beyond the town center, she came up to a pair of stone pillars that were marked with brass plaques engraved with the name Maguire in Old English text. As she eased into the driveway and proceeded down the alley of trees, her hands tightened on the Viper’s gearshift and steering wheel.

Relax, she told herself. Just relax…This is going to be fine.

Because you’re going to make it fine.

She forced herself to breathe and took refuge in the summer splendor that surrounded her. The canopy of maples overhead formed a verdant tunnel and the grass that flowed over the grounds was a smooth, liquid green. Waning sunlight trickled through the leaves and dotted the drive…until it seemed that gold coins had been tossed from the heavens and were still bouncing as they landed.

What a beautiful color, she thought. So yellow, so bright.

She pictured Spike’s eyes and wanted to curse.

Thoughts of that man were always popping into her mind, usually when she least appreciated the shocking jolt. Like now. Or when she was trying to fall asleep.

Boy, she and Spike had really gotten off on the wrong foot, hadn’t they? Their few interactions had had the rhythm of a skipped record, mostly jarring, bad interruptions of what two people should be like when they met up. If only they’d had a little more time.

Yeah, but then what? He was all about blondes like the Doublemint twins and she didn’t have a lot of chewing gum in her.

And yet…even though it was crazy, she hoped she’d see him again. Maybe at Alex and Cass’s wedding? Assuming she could get to the ceremony given her sailing schedule?

Or maybe…not at all. Maybe she would never run into him again.

Somehow that made her feel hollow.

Enough, she thought, taking the last bend in the drive. She had plenty to deal with considering she was about to take Richard by the horns. For her to waste time pining after some man was not only pathetic, but draining.

Mad eased up on the accelerator.

Up ahead, the house she’d spent her childhood in appeared before her like a mountain, all red bricks and white columns and black shutters. The place was a real show-stopper: twenty-one rooms on five acres smack dab in the middle of Greenwich.

The estate had been bought by their father when Value Shop Supermarkets had gone public in the seventies and it was just the kind of mansion you’d expect a business magnate to live in: big money even in a wealthy zip code.

Personally, she’d always liked the lawn best. It was great for catching fireflies and doing cartwheels. As for the rest of it—the pristine facade and the formal rooms and the decorator style and the antiques—that kind of stuff she could cheerfully leave at the side of the road. There was something about engineered beauty that made her nervous.

Probably because it was just such a cover-up in their case. Subterfuge for the ugly dysfunction within the family.

As she went around the circular drive, there were a number of cars parked in front of the house and not much room. She ended up easing the Viper in between a Mercedes the size of an elephant and a vintage, mouse-like MGB convertible. After turning off her car, she picked her duffel bag up from the passenger seat, got out, and realized she wasn’t breathing again.

Looking to the sky, she wondered whether there was a patron saint for flinchy younger half sisters? Probably not.

So instead of praying, she decided to lead with the false confidence routine, squaring her shoulders and marching up to the house as though she had a backbone thick as a red oak.

The butler who answered the front door was someone she’d never seen before, but she recognized the formal dress. Her father had always made the staff wear uniforms and evidently so too did Richard.

“Yes?” the man said. His voice was as precise as his tidy gray hair. Matter of fact, he kind of looked like a living doll, all perfectly arranged. Eyes were even a little beady, too, though not unkind.

“I’m Richard’s half sister, Madeline. Madeline Maguire.” She felt like flashing a picture ID.

“Oh—ah, you are expected.” Although clearly not what he had expected. “May I take your bag to your room?”

“Thanks. Are they already seated for dinner?”

“Yes.” He hesitated as he took her bag. “But…perhaps you’d like to change before going in?”

“No.” She was late enough already.

She thanked him again and went to face the lions. By the volume of talk coming out of the dining room, she figured there were probably twenty people tonight. Not a surprise. Her father had always said that was a good number. Intimate enough so there could be a single conversation over the table; public enough so that rivalries could be diffused.

The moment she came into the dining room’s archway, Richard looked up from the head of the table. Somehow, it was a shock to seen him, even though he hadn’t changed at all.

No, she thought, he was just the same. Still pale-haired, tanned, fit…with eyes like motion detectors. When Richard looked at you, you weren’t so much stared at as surveilled.

While the conversation at the table dimmed, his eyes flicked over her, reviewing the khakis and the polo she had on. His annoyance and disgust were evident without the benefit of words: his lowered eyebrows said it all.

To avoid the urge to run back to her car, Mad assessed his guests. As she took in the group, all she could think of were salt-and-pepper shakers: everyone was lined up, men alternating with women, the whole lot of them glowing with wealth. And their fancy exteriors honestly seemed to house dry goods. Not a belly laugh in any of them, she’d wager.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said to no one in particular.

“Traffic must have been awful,” Richard replied smoothly. He nodded to an empty seat on his right. “You will sit here.”

As several people murmured and all of them stared, Mad started on the walk of shame down the long, thin room, her loafers making a clicking sound on the inlaid floor. She smiled in a general way, feeling like an inept, ugly Miss America candidate. Who was about to get dinged by the judges.

When she sat down, Richard said under his breath, “You could have called.”

“I know. But I don’t have a cell phone.”

“Which makes you the only person in America without one.”

Richard turned away and promptly started to talk horses with the woman on his left, as if he were resuming a conversation that had been rudely interrupted.

Mad took a sip from her water glass and thought fondly of her new lawyer.

As a salad plate was put down in front of her, she snuck a peek at her half brother, and up this close, she realized he had in fact changed. Richard no longer resembled their father, he’d reached his life goal and had turned into the man: he was a carbon copy now, presiding over his fancy guests, eating with Christophe silver on Royal Crown Derby plates, sipping from Baccarat glasses. And yes, the Maguire family signet ring was on his right ring finger.

As their father had always worn it.

Looking at the stamp in the heavy gold, everything slid into place.

Richard was like a Brooks Brothers bobble head spitting back criticisms that had made her cringe when she was growing up: her father back from the dead. That was why she was so weak around her half brother. It wasn’t just because he’d been hard on her when they’d been younger.

Putting a label on the dynamic kind of helped and she wondered why she hadn’t figured it out sooner. Then again, she’d always done her best to avoid thinking about Richard.

Which was part of the problem, wasn’t it?

Mad blotted her lips, returned the damask napkin to her lap and realized that she’d crossed her feet together under her chair like a good little girl.

Oh, hell, no, she thought. If she was going to make it through this weekend in one piece, she needed to fight the urge to fall into place.

Feeling like a rebel, she eased up, cocked one foot under her butt, and sat back down with her leg on the chair.

“Isn’t that right, Madeline,” Richard drawled.

“Excuse me?” She deliberately played with the tassel on her loafer. Sure enough, Richard caught the movement and his eyes bugged out.

He opened his mouth as if he were going to scold her, but seemed to realize that would have been absurd.

As he cleared his throat, it seemed more curse than cough. “Penelope was commenting on the new Rubens exhibition at the Met. But I told her you wouldn’t have seen it because that kind of thing doesn’t interest you.”





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/jessica-bird/the-perfect-distraction/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.