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
