Читать книгу A Man in a Million - Jessica Bird - Страница 8

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.