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
